MIDWINTER GARDENS 



but by the absence of the tyranny. The lawn- 

 mower is there, of course; no one is going to 

 propose that the lawn-mower anywhere be 

 abohshed. It is one of our modern marvels 

 of convenience, a blessed release of countless 

 human backs from countless hours of crouching, 

 sickle-shaped, over the sickle. It is not the 

 tyrant, but only like so many other instruments 

 of beneficent democratic emancipation, the ty- 

 rant's opportunity. A large part of its conven- 

 ience is expedition, and expedition is the eas- 

 iest thing in the world to become vulgarized: 

 vulgarized it becomes haste, and haste is the 

 tyrant. Such arguing would sound absurdly 

 subtle aimed against the uncloaked, barefaced 

 tyranny of the street-car conductor, but the 

 tyranny of the man with the lawn-mower is 

 itself subtle, masked, and requires subtlety to 

 unmask it. 



See how it operates. For so we shall be the 

 better prepared for a generous appreciation of 

 those far Southern gardens whose beauty has 

 singled them out for our admiration. We know, 

 of course, that the "formal garden," by reason 



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