The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-05-10
THE STANDPOINT OF THE BOARDlNG.HOUSE,


question of husks in general, for that would
be matter encyclopedia and endless. pro
pose rather to consider simply mere variety
of one of the physical husks of the soul, in
connection with its parallel moral husk; in
other words, to look at the boarding house in
the light of civilization. For the boarding
house is, take it, the modern type of one of
the SOULS primeval husks-the new light YER
sion of the old-time idea of shelter and habi-
tation, house and home, hearth and roof-tree-
the lineal descendant of wigwam, porch, cabin,
cell, bungalow, booth, den, pagoda and all
the rest.
1t was the theory of Vico that nature re-
peats herself; that history, civilization, soci-
ETY., and polity come back at last into them
selves, their progress being always in circles
conformed to one great archetypal plan. So
that every large fact or form is sure to reap
pear sooner or later in the course of ages
whenever its round has been completed.
Goethe, while he adopted the substance of
this view, modified it so far as to represent
the course of history as a spiral instead of a
circle. A law of advance blends with the law
of returns; and hence epochs and phases and
forms and events return, not just as before,
but changed somewhat, and farther on along
the winding line. This has always seemed to
me a true solution of the problem of civili-
cation, and the only one, inasmuch as it
alone reconciles and explains the too great
necessary and coequal facts of change, and of
the equality of action and reaction. Here we
have the key to much in literature, too, as
well as in life. Within the past month have
read the words of an American Plotinus, an
English Thucydides, and Gallo Aristophanes.
In each there was the old Greek, but moved
forward.
So, too, these habitable husks which man
makes from age to age for shelter and home
have their appointed cycle of change. How
different the roof-trees under which the CEN
turies have dwelt Yet each housing was an
utterance of the spirit of the time, changing
only with its informing spirit. Like man,
like house. And as the race is sure to come
back to the old traditions, and to stand by the
old landmarks, sooner or later, so the house
hold gods return after while to their start
ingpoint to sojourn for a period in their an
cestral home, and quicken themselves at the
native hearth.
"Iectd mutantur, nos ct mutamur in ills"
In order to describe this household circle, at
least three points must of course be fixed. In
the present case, there seems to me to be four,
all natural, necessary, and easily determined.
For leaving out of view all subordinate types
and mere variations, mems local habitatiOns
reduce themselves to these simple forms-the
Tent, the Cabin, the Castle, the Home The
circle then completes itself in the boarding
house, which is at once both the original last
form and the fac-simile or parody of the first
form in the old circle, as well as the original
first form in a succeeding series The locus of
the boarding house. and it's relations to society,
! shall hope to define the more exactly by first
outlining in a rough way the prominent
features of each of its three predecessors just
named. And
l. The Tent. The type of this epoch is
nomadism. Men live nowhere. They only
exist, making bivouac for night and pack
ing off in the morning. You don't know
where to find them: they have no cities, no
streets, no fixed numbers on their houses.
The places through which they range-they
never inhabit-are deserts, yielding no good
thing. The occupation of society is chronic
war, not satisfactory internecine destruction,
but chickering's, endless feuds, and cavalier
One-horse engagements. Everybody nights
with everybody. The result is seldom seri-
Gus: at it they 60 again: it is hammer and
tongs forever. The great question IN life is
about their daily food. They produce nothing,
and consume much. Each tribe is dOmineered
over by patriarch-some hoary rutian who
gains his place either by seniority in the
flmily, or by being less scrupulous than his
fellows His word is law; his ipSe diru settles
everything.
The arts and sciences never flourish here.
The only talk is gossip and speoulatiOns on
the weather. The only reading, if there is
reading at all, is the local news and the war
bulletins of the patriarchs. The only fine art
at all practsed is music, which expresses itself
partly in whistling, and partly in humming
over plaintively the familiar airs of the coun-
try. There is also much drumming OF rude
musical Instruments such as the jewsharp
and its descendants and the fierce clangor of
the gong both urges the tribes to good, and
launches them against the enemy. The chiet
aim of this vagabond people, in the brief
intervals of war, is to kill time. To this end
the men prey upon society, and the women
watch the weather, the neighboring tents, and
the tunics of casual travellers.
Humanity looks back with fond fancy to
this epoch of the tent and sees it loom radl-
ent through the mists of long generations
1t is called the Age of Gold, either on the
lucuS-1-non-Lucendo principle, or on the omne,
ignotlnl- o-magnifco theory. Being most
distant and different from the present, 1t is
dreamed of, sighed for, and sung, as some
thing never to be seen again. Yet 1t comes
back, though changed.
IL. By-and-by the Tent gives place to the
Cabin. Restlessness, being tired, Graves rest
and war subsidies for a while into peace
AS population increases tillage begins, the
land of itself not being able to teec
swarms of idle roamers, who do nothing bu
Craze, and hunt, and fight So each maj
builds his rude cabin, ties himself to the earth
turns sod, watches nature, and sees his breaC
at his own door. This should be the true age o
iron, the time of the ploughshare, the spade
the axe, and the sickle. 1t is the era OF natu
ralism, when man lives close to nature, hken
ing himself to vegetables and animals. III
strives to get at the heart of nature, hoping u