And let them look the deeper into this in so far as our reformers who trust to inspection for all education, our would-be philanthropists or newspaper correspondents who visit a court or block once and think they have seen it, even our painstaking statisticians who catalogue what can be catalogued, are unable to deal with these facts. Those who know the life of the poor know—those who watch the effect of letting to a given family a set of rooms in a block in a rough neighbourhood, or rooms in a small house in the same district, know—those who remember how numerous are the kinds of people to whom they must refuse rooms in a block for their own sake, or that of others, know. To the noisy drunkard one must say, “For the quiet people’s sake, No”; to the weak drunkard one must say, “You would get led away, No”; to the young widow with children one must say, “Would not you be better in a small house where the resident landlady would see a little to the children?” thinking in one’s heart also, “and to you.” For the orphaned factory girl who would “like to keep mother’s home together” one feels a less public life safer; for the quiet family who care to bring up their children well one fears the bad language and gambling on the stairs. For the strong and self-contained and self-reliant it may be all right, but the instinct of the others who cling on to the smaller houses is right for them. For, after all, the “home”—the “life”—does not depend on the number of appliances, or even in any deep sense on the sanitary arrangements. I heard a workman once say, with some coarseness but with much truth, “Gentlemen think if they put a water-closet to every room they have made a home of it,” and the remark often recurs to me for the element of truth there is in it, and there is more decency in many a tiny little cottage in Southwark, shabby as it may be—more family life in many a one room let to a family—than in many a populous block. And this is due partly to the comparative peace of the more separate home: for it seems as if a certain amount of quiet and even of isolation made family life and neighbourly kindness more possible. People become brutal in large numbers who are gentle when they are in smaller groups and know one another, and the life in a block only becomes possible when there is a deliberate isolation of the family and a sense of duty with respect to all that is in common. The low-class people herd on the staircases and corrupt one another, where those a little higher would withdraw into their little sanctum. But in their own little house, or as lodgers in a small house, the lower-class people get the individual feeling and notice which often trains them in humanity.