Immoral, licentious, anarchical, unscientific⁠—call them by what names you will⁠—yet, from an aesthetic point of view, those ancient days of the Colour Revolt were the glorious childhood of art in Flatland⁠—a childhood, alas, that never ripened into manhood, nor even reached the blossom of youth. To live was then in itself a delight, because living implied seeing. Even at a small party, the company was a pleasure to behold; the richly varied hues of the assembly in a church or theatre are said to have more than once proved too distracting for our greatest teachers and actors; but most ravishing of all is said to have been the unspeakable magnificence of a military review.