133. For, supposing that we were for a moment to consider that we built
a house _merely_ to be lived in, and that the whole bent of our
invention, in raising the edifice, is to be directed to the provision of
comfort for the life to be spent therein; supposing that we build it
with the most perfect dryness and coolness of cellar, the most luxurious
appurtenances of pantry; that we build our walls with the most compacted
strength of material, the most studied economy of space; that we leave
not a chink in the floor for a breath of wind to pass through, not a
hinge in the door, which, by any possible exertion of its irritable
muscles, could creak; that we elevate our chambers into exquisite
coolness, furnish them with every attention to the maintenance of
general health, as well as the prevention of present inconvenience: to
do all this, we must be possessed of great knowledge and various skill;
let this knowledge and skill be applied with the greatest energy, and
what have they done? Exactly as much as brute animals can do by mere
instinct; nothing more than bees and beavers, moles and magpies, ants
and earwigs, do every day of their lives, without the slightest effort
of reason; we have made ourselves superior as architects to the most
degraded animation of the universe, only insomuch as we have lavished
the highest efforts of intellect, to do what they have done with the
most limited sensations that can constitute life.
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