SUUM CUIQUE.

"The rain has spoiled the farmer's day;
Shall sorrow put my books away?
Thereby are two days lost.
Nature shall mind her own affairs;
I will attend my proper cares,
In rain, or sun, or frost."

This is right stoical philosophy all can not practise. Ralph Hoyt's "Rain" is as perfect a picture as his "Snow;" the two most delicate cabinet-pieces of rural art we know of. The "Shower" is a pearl pendant from the ear of Venus. Hawthorne's picture of a shower, in "Sights from a Churchsteeple," is the best prose shower we can remember; at least, not surpassed by Irving's " Rainy Day at an Inn.”

The last characteristic piece of writing on this subject we can refer to, is Read's poetical picture, entitled

A MORNING, BUT NO SUN.

"The morning comes, but brings no sun;
The sky with storm is overrun;

And here I sit in my room alone,

And feel, as I hear the tempest moan,
Like one who hath lost the last and best,
The dearest dweller from his breast!

For every pleasant sight and sound,
The sorrows of the sky have drowned;
The bell within the neighboring tower

Falls blurred and distant through the shower;
Look where I will, hear what I may,

All, all the world seems far away!

The dreary shutters creak and swing,
The windy willows sway and fling

A double portion of the rain
Over the weeping window-pane.

But I, with gusty sorrow swayed,
Sit hidden here, like one afraid,
And would not on another throw

One drop of all this weight of woe!"

A fine sympathetic melancholy doubtless inspired the lines, which find an echo in the heart of every reader of taste and feeling.

Something germane to this topic is that of the influence of the weather. Some pretend an exemption from all "skyey influences," while others suffer a complete martyrdom to clouds, storm, and rain. It is, doubtless, a matter of constitution and temperament. A sensitive being will be exhilarated or depressed by causes completely trivial to the robust or unimaginative. A man may by fortitude breast his sufferings and brave the storm, but he must have little discrimination if he perceive no difference between the genial heat of a fine day in June or the cordial cold of a clear December morning; if a dusty day, a rainy day in spring or fall, a bitter cold day, are equally agreeable or indifferent to him. How can he appreciate good who sees no distinction between it and the bad?

So feel not the true poets or men of poetical temperament. Crabbe made verses best in a snow-storm; inspiration descended upon him with the falling flakes of snow. Jean Paul could not invent with his usual facility if the sky was leaden; it transmuted his golden thoughts to the same metal. Burns found his impulse of composition strongest in winter and amid external desolation. Milton fancied bis genius was in its fullest force in spring and autumn. Numberless instances might be added.

Mr. Tuckerman has penned a very pleasing paper on this subject in his "Rambles and Reveries," and, if we are not mistaken, lately included it in the Optimist.

TEA-TABLE TALK.

MOST raillery is mere impertinence in disguise; sarcasm, rudeness; and humor, buffoonery.

A fool thinks a man of sense, who looks grave at his stupid jests, incapable of pleasantry or of understanding ridicule; not suspecting that one may not choose to take what is offered to him in the guise of a joke, any more than he would be willing to accept counterfeit coin for legal currency.

There is a good deal of coarse familiarity in what passes for modern friendship.

Annuals are, of all books, the most ephemeral.

Standard authors, to be read for pleasure, (implying intimate knowledge,) should be read without note or comment. The Baptist sect in England have produced at least two very great men, John Bunyan and Robert Hall: the former a poet of the first class, though he wrote in homely prose, a man of true and high genius; the latter a scholar and orator of brilliant talents.

Tennyson's blank verse is Milton's effeminated; Antinoüs in the part of Hercules. The idea of the Princess appears to have been originally suggested by a paper in the Tatler. A fool is wise in one sense-non-sense.

The breast is properly called the chest, since it contains the richest of man's treasures-the heart-locked up in it.

The Moravian Society, like that of the Shakers, flourishes more naturally and luxuriantly in country places. In the city of New York there never has been more than one congregation of that sect. To see them at home, one must visit Bethlehem or Nazareth, in Pennsylvania.

Bishops are said to be of divine institution, but Archbishops are confessedly of human creation, an after-thought of the ecclesiastical polity; and yet Canterbury and York would swallow up a score of the poorer sees, (as those of the colonies, for instance,) and in worldly dignities rank much higher.

How they who hold the doctrine of innate, utter depravity, can by any means account for the pleasure every unsophisticated heart receives from the company of pure, innocent children, we are very much puzzled to account. The love of a fond mother must appear to them more senseless than the dotage of feeble age. These little creatures are angels in truth, as well as in fancy, for the Divine Master has declared of them, that "of such is the kingdom of heaven." They have genuine faith and truth, and are much nearer heaven than the best of us.

The presence of a sweet young child is a more cogent argument against the dogma of universal and utter innate depravity, than all the controversial discussion in the world.

No poor-laws can altogether eradicate poverty; no charitable provision suppress the cause of pauperism.

All of the great old English writers give excellent counsel on all subjects, travel, among the rest; but Bacon and Fuller, amidst much good advice, press a particular point, not always adverted to. Bacon: "As for the acquaintance which is to be sought in travel, that which is most of all profitable is acquaintance with the secretaries and employed men of ambassadors; for so, in travelling in one country, he shall suck the experience of many." Fuller enjoins: "Contrive correspondence with some choice foreign friend after thy return; as some professor or secretary, who virtually is the whole university or state."

DISPARITY OF AGE IN MARRIAGE.

Mahomet's first wife, Kadyah, was at least forty, when he, at the age of tweny-five, married her. Shakspeare's Ann Hathaway was seven years his senior. Dr. Johnson's wife was literally almost double his age. The wife of Lord Herbert, of Cherbury, six or seven years older than her lord. Sir Thomas More's wife was also seven years older than her husband. Howard, the philanthropist, at the age of twenty-five, married a first wife, who was then fifty-two. Mrs. Rowe, the authoress, was fifteen years older than Mr. Rowe. Rahel, the German De Staël, was about as much older. The Countess D'Ossoli (Miss Fuller,) was nearly ten years her husband's senior. Jenny Lind, too, is said to be eight or ten years older than Herr Goldschmidt.

COMPLIMENTS.

The two most elegant prose compliments we recollect to have ever read, are recorded by Lord Herbert, of Cherbury, the celebrated philosopher, as made by himself in his entertaining Autobiography. At Venice he heard a beautiful nun sing, to whom he declared, after a ravishing musical performance, that "She needed neither to change voice nor face to become an angel." In Paris he met a distinguished French Marshal, who was quite deaf, and begged him to excuse his infirmity. The chivalric philosopher answered, that it was " for him (the hero) to speak, and for others to hear: that he was to command, and they to execute his orders !"