The variety and complexity of the phenomena which have to pass under careful observation render the science of the weather an exceedingly difficult one to study, more especially as, up to the present, we have done little more than master its fundamental principles. The time ought not, however, to be far distant when we shall have the means at our disposal to enable us to forecast the weather with a nearer approach to certainty than we can attain at present. The results already obtained by the Meteorological Office are certainly encouraging, and it must be remembered that, in attempting to forecast the weather in this country, it labours under two serious disadvantages. The first is our geographical position, which at present precludes us from obtaining any but the shortest notice of weather approaching from the west—the point from which most of our weather comes. The other drawback is of a pecuniary nature, and it is to be regretted that it prevents us from testing to the full limit the usefulness of the Meteorological Office. It may be argued that, in this country, storms are seldom so sudden or disastrous as to justify us in maintaining at a very much larger outlay an organisation which would enable us to be warned of their approach. It is, however, only necessary to take into account the enormous losses in life and property occasioned every year by the weather in shipwreck alone, in order to appreciate what might be the value to the nation of a properly organised system of weather science, did it only succeed in reducing, even by a small percentage, the annual number of wrecks on our coasts. BY MEAD AND STREAM. BY CHARLES GIBBON. CHAPTER LIV.—POOR COMFORT. Madge awakened from the reverie into which she had fallen, to find Aunt Hessy’s kind eyes resting on her inquiringly and with a shade of sorrow in them. She, however, instantly awoke, brightened and spoke with cheerful confidence, although there was a certain note of timidity in her voice indicating that she had not yet quite recovered from the effects of the scene in her bedroom. ‘You see, aunt, how wickedly Philip has been deceived, and that I was right to trust Mr Shield.’ ‘Yes, but—Mr Beecham?’ Madge’s cheeks flushed, the smile disappeared, and the head was lifted with something like impatience. It seemed as if the pronunciation of Beecham’s name in that questioning tone revealed to her the full significance of Wrentham’s insinuations—that she was not acting fairly to Philip. ‘I have told you, aunt, that he is Mr Shield’s friend, and that he is doing everything that can be done to help Philip out of his difficulties. You cannot doubt that whatever I may do is for the same object.’ ‘Ah, child, I never doubted thee. My doubt is that whilst desiring to do right thou may’st have done wrong in giving the trust to a stranger thou’rt afraid to give to those that love thee.’