MINE ENEMIES 



[ERE is a certain cult that tells us with an air of 

 superiority that " our enemies are those with whom 

 we have failed." I was inclined to question this 

 large way of throwing the blame upon the inno- 

 cent sufferer, but the garden sustains the New Philosophy; for 

 surely my garden pests are but so many examples of my negli- 

 gence, ignorance or tender heart. 



When I first began gardening I should have put the tender 

 heart first on the list, for my early life was molded by a prig- 

 gish anecdote about a boy who needlessly put his foot upon 

 an ant. There was no question left in the mind of the reader 

 that the boy might have been absorbed in boyish projects and 

 did not see the ant. No generous extenuation was allowed; 

 the foot went on the ant with deadly precision, and the 

 wickedness of that act will be handed down to the seventh 

 generation. I feel that the little boy should now be absolved, 

 in view of full expiation of his crime through having served as 

 a moral lesson to countless young minds, who, in the aggre- 

 gate, have walked tens of thousands of miles out of their path 

 to give right of way to ants, caterpillars and spiders. 



I recall my shrinking desire to let my first instalment of 

 white grubs live, and how I deposited six of them in a capa- 

 cious bushel basket awaiting my stout-hearted executioner, 

 Adam, and how four of them crawled out through the holes 

 before the man's hand appeared. But necessity and Adam's 

 tardy coming have hardened me, and I have gone through 

 progressive stages of ferocity, from throwing them over the 



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