'^ HAPPY— RAIN OR SHINE 125 



a pang to see them drooping in a drought, but 

 when the rain comes at last (in New York it 

 usually comes at last every day) you will feel 

 an altruistic elation that will make the day one 

 of cheer instead of depression of spirits. The 

 fine, sunny days you will, of course, enjoy for 

 your own sake as well as the garden's; where- 

 fore you will always be happy, rain or shine. 

 How is that for a philosophy of life? 



THE ART OF TRANSPLANTING 



I am superlatively happy to-day because it 

 rains dismally. It rained dismally all yesterday 

 and last night; but it is the first rain in a month 

 and the garden needed it desperately. The 

 time had come, too, for transplanting, and you 

 cannot transplant successfully on scorching, 

 sunny days unless you put a circus tent over 

 your garden. I got up at five o'clock, put on 

 my rubber suit, which makes me as amphibious 

 as a frog, and carried down a box of young 

 Trianon plants. 



What's a Trianon plant? You really don't 

 know? Why, it's a variety of romaine, or cos 

 (lettuce), self-folding, so you don't have to tie 

 it up to bleach it. I enjoyed it first in the Paris 

 restaurants, where the epicures prefer it to the 

 finest head lettuce. Lean and green specimens 

 of it are often in our own markets, but for the 

 snow-white Parisian sorts you pay fifty cents a 

 head over here. You do, I say — ^that is, if you 

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