are useful, and have been largely used by Mr.
Glashier for recording changes of temperature
at different elevations, the action of the
barometer, the propagation of sound, and the laws of
storms.  The philosopher, a mile above the earth,
is on a new platform, highly adapted for meteorological
observations.

MABEL'S PROGRESS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "AUNT MARGARET'S TROUBLE."

CHAPTER XI. CONCLUSION.

Two years later the village of Hazlehurst,
near Hammerham, was full of excitement early
on a bright October morning; and the not very
musical bells of the little parish church were
doing their best to inform the world, with their
tinkling old voices, that a man and woman had
then and there been joined together in holy
wedlock.  It was not a grand wedding, nor
even a gay one; but the sun has seldom shone
on a bride whose face reflected more quiet
happiness and trusting love than did Mabel
Earnshaw's, as she stood by Clement's side before
the mild old clergyman (Dooley's friend), and
repeated after him the solemn words that made
her a wife.  Yes; they were married.  After
the death of little Corda—long wept and always
lovingly remembered—Clement and Mabel had
spoken solemnly together of their future.  The
sympathy which had united them by the child's
dying bed, had served to show them how
entirely they were one in heart, and how strong
was the affection that bound them together.
In the passing away of that pure spirit, and the
last links that tied it to earth, they had recognised
the omnipotence of love, and had acknowledged
that without it the world and all that it can
give is but dust and ashes.  Clement did not
swerve from the plain duty that lay before him
—the duty of providing a home for his mother
and sister.  And Mabel, on her part, had no
thought of sacrificing those who were dependent
on her exertions.  "But," said Clement, "we
can each work better and more cheerfully, my
dearest, when we know that we belong to each
other by a solemn engagement."

"Ah, Clement," Mabel made answer, "you
are good, and strong, and wise.  How much
wiser and stronger than the undisciplined girl
who once rejected your proffered love, from the
promptings of a foolish pride!"

By which it may be seen that our heroine, in
her progress, had learnt some good lessons.

They had made up their minds to wait for
years—to wait until Clement's prospects were
clear and unencumbered, but an unexpected
circumstance had enabled them to marry sooner
than they had dared to hope.  Mr. M'Culloch
proposed to Penelope Charlewood.  The old
Scotchman had become a frequent visitor at
De Montfort Villas, and had observed very
shrewdly that the neatness, order, and economy
which reigned there were mainly owing to
Penny's thrift and energy.  Mrs. Charlewood,
after Walter's departure—he sailed for Rio
Janeiro with a letter for Stephens's brother in
his pocket, and many solemn promises of amendment
on his lips—sank into a state of almost
childishness.  Her health was good, and her
body still active; but her memory deserted her
almost entirely, and the only two things in
which she took an interest were, first, a letter
from her absent boy, and, secondly, the condition
of the street-door lock, which she insisted on
keeping oiled and cleaned with her own hands.

Mr. M'Culloch, pleased and amused, in the
first instance, by Penny's keen repartees and
sharp sayings, gradually conceived a great
respect and regard for the notable, self-sacrificing,
brave woman who was the wise and
successful ruler of a little territory, the absolute
conditions of whose government were economy,
industry, and forethought.  How the idea of
removing Penny's administrative talents to a
wider and less hard-working sphere of action
gradually entered into his head it boots not
here to tell.  But certain it is that he astonished
everybody very greatly one fine day, by soberly
and deliberately asking Penelope Charlewood
to be his wife, and that she still more astonished
every body by accepting him!

"I have bargained that mamma shall always
have a home with us, Clem," said Penelope,
imparting the unexpected tidings to her brother,
with an assumption of great coolness and
unconcern, "and so you will be free to—to do as
you like, and to find your own happiness, Clem,
when I am no longer a millstone round your
neck, my poor boy; and I hope, Clem dear,
that you may be as happy as you deserve to be;
and I would wish you a better wish if I knew
how, but I don't know how.  Dear, good,
kind, brave, darling Clem!"

Here Penny's self-possession forsook her, and
she clung, sobbing, round her brother's neck.

"My dear, dear sister," he said, embracing
her, "I trust you do not consent to this
marriage from any consideration such as you hint
at.  You are no millstone round my neck,
Penny, nor have you ever been anything but
my dear, helpful fellow-worker.  After these
years of loving and living together, I could not
bear to resign you to any but a better care and
protection than my own can be."

"Clem, I'm very, very fond of you; but
whilst charing and plain sewing are open
professions in the land, I shouldn't think of marrying
a man I didn't care for, even to oblige you.
No; the fact is, I have a great regard for
Donald—who is, I need not tell you, a thoroughly
good fellow, Clem—but I would not have left
you to marry the best man that ever trod, if I
had not plainly seen that— that there was one
nearer and dearer ready to take my vacant place
dear."

So it came to pass, that Penelope Charlewood
became Mrs. Donald M'Culloch, of the
Hawthorns, Highgate.  And it may here be stated
that the marriage proved in all respects a happy
and well-assorted one.  If Mrs. M'Culloch's
nimble tongue occasionally outran the limits of