will give me a taste for ritual and bring me into the true fold.  I
have been hearing dear old Dr.  Kyle a great deal lately, and aunt
Celia says that he is the most dangerous Unitarian she knows,
because he has leanings towards Christianity. 

Long ago, in her youth, she was engaged to a young architect.  He,
with his triangles and T-squares and things, succeeded in making an
imaginary scale-drawing of her heart (up to that time a virgin
forest, an unmapped territory), which enabled him to enter in and
set up a pedestal there, on which he has remained ever since.  He
has been only a memory for many years, to be sure, for he died at
the age of twenty-six, before he had had time to build anything but
a livery stable and a country hotel.  This is fortunate, on the
whole, because aunt Celia thinks he was destined to establish
American architecture on a higher plane,--rid it of its base, time-
serving, imitative instincts, and waft it to a height where, in the
course of centuries, we should have been revered and followed by all
the nations of the earth.  I went to see the livery stable, after
one of these Miriam-like flights of prophecy on the might-have-been.
It isn't fair to judge a man's promise by one performance, and that