In the countryside it was possible for men and women to live clean and
decent lives, and those who are left there continue to do so. In proof
of that it may be cited that the north-west districts of Scotland can
still show a birthrate of 34.8. Were it not for the 'Celtic Fringe'
and the country places, the birthrate of Scotland would be far lower
than it is. For the country and the hillsides are the land of far
vistas and empty spaces, so that the apostle of racial limitation could
not there plead that there is no room for more. And life is natural;
children, {85} so far from being an endless burden to their parents,
are looked upon as life's true riches, the helpers and the supporters
of their parents. The crofter's house may be poor, but it rings with
the shouting of children at play, and love spreads its endless feast.
In these places, so unsophisticated and so 'uncivilised,' children are
not a burden, and, however large the family, there is room in the heart
for more.

But far different is it when the family is driven from the countryside
into the slum. There the new civilisation decrees that men and women
must no longer live natural lives. If they have children they must pay
the penalty, and the penalty is that landlords refuse to accept them as
tenants. Long, long ago a Child was born in a stable 'because there
was no room for them in the inn.' There was room for tax-gatherers and
soldiers and traders, but there was nobody found to make room for a
woman in the hour of her direst need. The Child was shut {86} out.
But that was in a rude age and the door was shut by untutored men. The
most startling of all the facts which leap to light as we consider the
social and moral condition of our generation is the fact that after
nineteen centuries of Christianity, in the heart of the most 'perfect'
development of civilisation, the same tragedy is perpetrated--the child
is shut out. There is room for everything but not for innocence.
There is conclusive evidence to prove that the property owner in London
has set his face against tenants who happen to be the unhappy parents
of little children.[2] Childhood is {87} that which nobody now desires
except a few poor people whom the Malthusians have not yet instructed.
'A printer told me the other day,' says Monsignor Brown, '...he had
five children; when he went to an agent the other day, the agent bowed
him out and would not listen to him, though he wanted five rooms