As we passed Zion Temple, near Twelfth Street, the home of the Dowieites, the Professor said: 

“A very remarkable man, that Dowie.”

“A fraud and an impostor,” I retorted, reflecting current opinion.  “Possibly; but we all impose more or less upon one another; he has simply made a business of his imposition.  Did you ever meet him?”

“No; it’s hardly worth while.”

“It is worth while to meet any man who influences or controls a considerable body of his fellow-men.  The difference between Mohammed and Joseph Smith is of degree rather than kind.  Dowie is down towards the small end of the scale, but he is none the less there, and differs in kind from your average citizen in his power to influence and control others.  I crossed the lake with him one night and spent the evening in conversation.”

“What are your impressions of the man?”

“A shrewd, hard-headed, dogmatic Scotchman,—­who neither smokes nor drinks.”

“Who calls himself Elijah come to earth again.”

“I had the temerity to ask him concerning his pretensions in that direction, and he said, substantially, ’I make no claims or assertions, but the Bible says Elijah will return to earth; it does not say in what form or how he will manifest himself; he might choose your personality; he might choose mine; he has not chosen yours, there are some evidences that he has chosen mine.”

“Proof most conclusive.”

“It satisfies his followers.  After all, perhaps it does not matter so much what we believe as how we believe.”

A few moments later we were passing the new Christian Science Temple on Drexel Boulevard,—­a building quite simple and delightful, barring some garish lamps in front.

“There is another latter-day sect,” said the Professor; “one of the phenomena of the nineteenth century.”

“You would not class them with the Dowieites?”

“By no means, but an interesting part of a large whole which embraces at one extreme the Dowieites.  The connecting link is faith.  But the very architecture of the temple we have just passed illustrates the vast interval that separates the two.”

“Then you judge a sect by its buildings?”

“Every faith has its own architecture.  The temple at Karnak and the tabernacle at Salt Lake City are petrifactions of faith.  In time the places of worship are the only tangible remains—­witness Stonehenge.”

Chicago boasts the things she has not and slights the things she has; she talks of everything but the lake and her broad and almost endless boulevards, yet these are her chief glories.

For miles and miles and miles one can travel boulevards upon which no traffic teams are allowed.  From Fort Sheridan, twenty-five miles north, to far below Jackson Park to the south there is an unbroken stretch.  Some day Sheridan Road will extend to Milwaukee, ninety miles from Chicago.