slumberous protests against the multiplicity of errands and the
intricacies of the kitchen range.

Even man has been affected by the change, has begun to realize that it
is quite impossible to alter custom while leaving custom unaltered,
which, as anybody knows who reads parliamentary debates, is mankind's
dearest desire. Changes in his habits and in his surroundings, such as
the weekend, the servant problem, the restaurant, the hotel; all these
have been separate disruptive factors, have begun to bring about the
downfall of the English household. I do not know that one can assign a
predominant place to any one of these factors; they are each one as the
drop of water that, joined with its fellows, wears away stone. Moreover,
in socio-psychologic investigation it is often found that what appears
to be a cause is an effect, and _vice versa_. For instance, with regard
to restaurant dining, it may be that people frequent restaurants because
the home cooking is bad, and, on the other hand, it may be that home
cooking has become bad because people have neglected it as they found it
easier to go to the restaurant. This attitude of mind must qualify the
conclusion at which I arrive, and it is an attitude which must be
sedulously cultivated by any one who wants to know the truth instead of
wishing merely to have his prejudices confirmed.

But, all allowances made, it is perfectly clear that the first group of
disruptive factors, such as the restaurant dinner, the week-end, the
long and frequent holidays, the motor car, the spread of golf, is
inimical to the home idea and, therefore, to the house idea. (Home means
house, and does not mean flat, for which see further on.) The home idea
is complex; it embraces privacy, possession; it implies a place where
one can retreat, be master, be powerful in a small sphere, take off
one's boots, be sulky or pleasant, as one likes. It involves, above all,
a place where one does not hear the neighbor's piano, or the neighbor's
baby, or, with luck, the neighbor's cat; but where, on the other hand,
one's own piano, one's own baby, and one's own cat are raised to a high
and personal pitch of importance. It involves everything that is
individual--one's own stationery block, one's crest, or, if one is not
so fortunate, one's monogram upon the plate. If the S.P.C.A. did not
intervene, I think one might often see in the front garden a cat branded
with a hot iron: "Thomas Jones. His Cat." It is the ra