The Weather.

never getting any exercise—never 'letting off the steam' out of doors . What is a poor fellow to do when everybody becomes short , unpleasant , and touchy ? and even the wife of your bosom—your own angelic Ellenwishes she had never come down to such a disagreeable country and such " bad weather ; " declares that her dear mother says it is very dull ; and

that she does not know what will become of Tommy . " Poor Jones ! he is to be pitied ; and as I suspect he has not a few companions in misery just now , I think it well to insert these few lines of thoughtful consideration and sympathy for any such suffering victims of " connubial felicity" and bad weather . And certainly "deponent" must admit that Jones ' s complaints are true . The weather has been very bad and trying ,

alike for farmers and the harvest , as for tourist and holiday-seekers . It has not been cheering , for instance , to read such authoritative remarks as these : " The weather for the past week has been exceedingly rainy and unsettled , and the month of August closes with temperature nearly ten degrees below the average , and dull inclement conditions generally . " The poet of the hour can find no other subject to dilate upon but " the weather . " Listen to his strains—Mr . Wilfred B . Woollams' I mean—they give you a cold shiver—in the Graphic newspaper :

IT RAINS . It rains in the morning : it rains at night , And all the day . It rains on the fields , where the crops now white With plenty sway . It rains while the farmers murmnr and mutter ; It rains through the prayers the churches utter .

It rains alway . It raina on the sad and increases their sorrow ; And on the gay ; " On those who declare 'twill be better to-morrow ; On those who such comfort don't readily borrow , But hope it may . It rains in the city , the crowded streets

So dense and grey ; It rains in the country , the still retreats Where tourists stray . It rains , whatsoever we wish to see ; It rains through the land , wherever we be , Where'er we stray , And wearilydrearilon the sea

, y It rains for aye . It rains , and what will become of the raining ? And what of our hoping ? of our complaining ? Of all we say ? It rains , and it must while there ' s any remaining : — So rain it may .

As the writer transcribes these words the glass is again falling , and there seems nothing before us but rain , rain , rain . Some of us may recall to mind those lines of a great poet , which serve to describe the same state of things , whether in Lakeland , or Welsh vales , or in Scotch hills , or amid Italian plains . But when we crossed the Lombard plain

, Remember what a plague of rain—Of rain at Reggio , at Parma , At Lodi rain , Piacenza rain , & c . A recent writer , alluding to a similar position of affairs as that we have sought feebly to portray in this little paper , tells us the following amusing story : —