OUT OF THE STORM; Or, GRACE WRAY'S TRIALS.

BY MAJOB ALFOKD KOCHEFORT,

CHAPTER XXIII.

HARRY QUAY LS AT SEA—SO IS RALPH.

Mrs Seville did not understand Harry Gray. She said so, and she told tho truth.

She had never liked him, and now sho liked him less.

" Can I not do as I please?" she asked,

"Certainly; no ono can force you to make a complaint against Grace Wray." " And I do not wish to do so."

" But you asked my advice—'

" And for giving it I am much obliged," sho said, with a coldness she could well assume. "I can hardly say you are welcome to what you think to bo worthless," said Harry, laughing. "But I have always ob served)' that there is only one kind of accept able advice." "What is that, Mr Gray ?" "Such advice as agrees with our own preconceived notions of what is right. Ah ! here comes a messenger from the chief of police. 1 had an engagement with him at this hour, but as you havo sent in your name I will give way to you, my dear madam.''

"Quo word, Mr Gray." " A hundred, Mrs Seville." "I will not sec tho chief." " Very well." " But there will bo a trial?" "Without doubt." " Can tho Court force mo toappear against this girl?" " No." "Can I get my jewellery back without doins so ?" " You can." " Will you do it for mo?" " If you desire it." " 1 do desire it." " Very well, Mrs Seville. I will explain to Mr Thornton how it is to bo done.' You will not sue tlio chief?" " Not now." " You can trust me, madam." "Good-day, Mr Gray."

"Good-day, Mrs .Seville." Harry Gray raisod'his hat and accom panied her to thu door. Inatoad of putting on his hat as he camo back, he scratched his head with tho still' rim, and was so much porploxod that he did not. know where ho was.or why ho camo there, till the clerk said :

" Mr Gray, the chioffis roady to see you." " You mean to see the lady." "No, to see you. Ho saw the lady going out." Harry (sray wont back to tho chiof of polieo's private olh'co, and was mot by that important person with tho cordiality of a friend. "Who was tho lady?" asked tlio nliiof, with a roguish wink, when he and Harry woro seated. " Tho Sorillo." " I Mii-pouted as much. Beautiful woman." " Very, Did you sco her!" " Yen ! but, bless you, I know her face." "You know tho face of every pretty Woman in town." •' If s!iu i» a strangor—you." 11 Well, she has surprised inc." "Didn't know you could bo surprised, Harry. " 1 am being ever surprised ; the world is lull of surprise.*." "It you wore chief of police for a few weeks, you would believe that more lirmly than you do now. May 1 ask what the lody wonted ':" ■' She wanted to sco you, for one thing." "1 know that." "And her reason for wanting to see you' w:us to say that who did not wish to appear lurainxt Grace Wray." ■ You amazo me, Harry." " Hut 1 tell you tho truth." "Then your theory falls to tho ground. Mrs Seville cannot have conspired against this girl, and you are at sea," said the chief of police, as he brought his hand dovm on tliotnblo, "You inn sure of that?" '• Of course 1 am. Why, it is like saying that, a limn sets a trap, and after he has caught his animal goes d.oliboratoly and frees It." "1,«." " Why. you don'tfsee at all," continued the chief, "or you would see that Mrs Seville hh* this girl in her power, just as I have this (K.ii'-il between my lingers; if I boar down on either end I break it, and all tho king-, horses and all tho king's men Can't mako it as it was again."

" 1 think you are right." " I know 1 urn right." "Then 1 am in a fog." "So nm 1." "Can't it bo," said Harry Gray, after a pauxo, "that you are deceived?" "Of course." "Thon I may still be rightV " Not in this case. A man that knows arithmetic can't bo deceived as to tho result of two multiplied by throe. Ho can give you the annwer to that in a second, and bo roady to swusr to it. You aro on the wrong track. Now, if this girl is not a thief—" " But she is not." 11 Wait. Harry : it is my business to deal with facts, nut with feelings. If this girl is not a thief, who could place those articles in her room ? Before you answer, lot mo say I am sure Mrs Seville did not. But Mrs Seville has a French maid." , "Nonsense." " Hear mo out. This French maid may liavo seen that Ralph Thornton was at tracted to this girl, and, in spite, she and tho hostler, to whom Mrs Sevillo gave the key, may have put up tho job." "Ican't deny your theory, but it docs not satisfy mo." "It is the best I havo, Harry. When I can think of a better one I will tell you. But before you go, let me assure you of ono thing." "What is that? " You have dono Mrs Seville an injus tice." " That forces mo to tho altornativo that this girl or Mrs Seville is a fiend incar _natG. * '' Not necessarily," 51. " Well, I cannot fathom it. Tho best way is to lot the whole matter ferment and work Itself Into a clear and healthful state," said Harry Grey, rising and roaching out his hand. "My opinion exactly," said the eluof of police, adding, as Harry turned to leave, " I shall keep tho detectives at work, and I think, till this matter is settled, that it would bo well for you to drop in and sco mo evory day." "At this hour?" "At any hour that suits you, Harry, for I must confess," said the chief, "I was never co much interested in a case in my lifo." Harry Gray, a very much perplexed man, hastened to his office, where he found Ralph Thornton, whom he left there, still await, ing his return.

"What does tho chief say?" asked Ralph when Harry appeared. " Tho chief and I are at sea.' '' What do you mean ?" " I have just seen Mrs Seville." " Where—at the chief's office ?" And thereupon Harry Gray sat down and told Ralph all about his interview with Mrs Seville, and his subsequent talk with the chief of police. "It is just as I expected," said Ralph. " Mrs Sevillo is a noblo woman, if there ever was one, and she would suffer to save this girl." "Ihoposo, Ralph." "I know so, Harry ! Gracious powers ! why Is it that the profession of law fills the hearts of the most trusting men with sus picion ?" "If I thought that such was the easel would try to find an explanation for myself and tell you about it. But you are wrong in this. Lot us talk business." " Go on, Harry." "Grace Wray is a thief—" "No ! no ! no !" "Hear me out. Grace Wray is a thief, or Alice Seville is that, or a thousand times worso." "I won't beliovo it." " But what if I prove it to you ?" " I don't want you to provo it." " Then I'll give up tho caso right here. I thought, Mr Thornton, that you wanted me to get at the truth without regard to your feelings or anybody else's," said Harry Gray, with a spirit that brought Ralph Thornton to his senses. " Get another lawyer, and let him fix tho matter to suit you. I can't do it without losing my self-respect, and I value that more than I do your friendship or your patronage." "Forgive me, Harry. I am to blame. Go on. Do as you please; but try to think how lam situated," said Ralph, and voice and eyes showed how deeply he was moved. " I do think of that," said Harry, taking his hand and holding it. "But boar in mind, old fellow, that it is your long futuio as well as your brief prosont that in involved"

"I try to think of that." " And then if I have this case I must work it out in my own way, and if I fail lot all tho blamo bo on my own hoad. Apart from my regard for you, I fool that all my professional' future is involved in it, so I try to act from pure reason, while you are only moved by pure feeling." " You aro right, Harry. Go on and do as you ploaHo, and, on my honour, I shall never hereafter question your methods or your conclusions." They shook hands, and Ralph Thornton went slowly up town. As ho noarod his own housc'thc thought eamo to him that ho would drop in and sco George Wray, who was at tho oculist's a few squares further on. Ralph had takon a groat liking to tho un fortunate man, and realising how dreary it was to bo alono, lie often dropped in and talked with him.

It had been arranged between hirasolf and Grace that they should say nothing to George Wray about her troublo, for the doctor had told thorn that his recovery de pended on rest of body and peaco of mind us much hh it did upon drugs or surgical appliances. Kalph knew that George Wray had spent much of his lifo in tho Western mines, and ho also know that l'eter Monks, tho man whom ho knew to be his uncle, had been much in tho same region; sb ho thought that ho would go in this day and try to loam if his crippled friend had over heard of his undo.

For tho better protection of the oyo under treatment, George Wray was kept in a (lark room, no that tho poor man's days and nights were all alike, and ho had only his own thoughts to fall back on—and they wcru not choorfu! — or tho visits of Grace and his few friends to look forward to, like golden threads across the black woof of his monotonous life.

Ho was delighted at a visit from Ri lph so early in the day, and he told him so with much feeling as he groped for his hand in the darkness.

" It is so kind in you to come and see a broken-down old man like mo," said Goorgo Wray, with tears in his voice; "but tho doctor thinks that, except tho one eye that's gone, I may yet be myself again." "You aro neither old nor broken down," said Kalph, with an earnestness that was heartfelt, for ho had a manly young man's admiration for this calm, sterling man. " Bless yon, you will noon bo on your feet again, and wo boya will fool liko little children in the presence of a kindly giant. Why, I'd give half I'm worth for your hands and arms—leaving out the othergood things things that you have and I have not. I long to sco you well." "I thank you, Itnljih—l may call you Ralph !" said Georgo Wray, his big heart deeply touched by the young man's warmth and earnestness.

"You not only may, but I shall fcol bap liicr to have you do so. Do you know that onco had mi Undo Gcorgo who went out West ?" " Indeed ?" " Yes, my mother's half brother, and sho loved him very much." " George is a good old English name, but not an uncommon one," said George Wray, quietly. " Itisvory common ; but I liavo a favour to ask of you." " Can 1 grant it, Ralph !" " If you could not I would not auk it." " Then it is granted. What is it?" "It is the liberty to call you Uncle George. Ah, I sco I have hurt your feel ings. Well, never mind—" " But I do mind, Ralph," said Georgo Wray, huskily. "If you would ndd to my happiness, call mo Uncle Georgo, for I onco had a nephew. But never mind that [ let us not talk about that." " I had another uncle," paid Ralph, drawing his olmir closer to tho bud so that lie could sco tho form of tho invalid, for his eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness, " and he also went to the West." " Tho West in tho great field for men of energy," said Georgo Wray. "1 fear this uncle had more energy than principle." " Not an uncommon thing in this driving land." " No, Unclo Georgo," said Ralph, pressing tho hand on which his own rested. " But the thought camo to me a whilo ago that in your wanderings you might havo como across this man." 1 "That is possible." " His nnmo was Monckton Seville. Did you over hear of such a man ?" Beforo George Wray answered he drew his hand away, that Ralph might not feel that it was trembling; then ho said, slowly : " Sovillo is a New York name'1 "It is my grandfather's name." " Did you ever meet a man in the West of that name 1" " No. I never mot a man of that name." " This uncle," continued Ralph, " got into trouble here, and I understand ho changed his name—" "That is not an unusual thing, Ralph, with men going West." "I suppose not, but this man changed his name to Peter Monks. Did you ever hear of ssch a person ?" " Peter Monks, did you say ?" "Yes." "No," replied George Wray, slowly. "I never heard of such a man in the West."

This was the truth, yet George Wray could not but feel at Jthe moment that he was deceiving the young man—tho nephew —by his side. Ralph was in a communicative mood, and once he had started on this subject he could not stop till he had finished.

Ho gave George Wray his own family history, and dwelt particularly on tho fact that he, Ralph, had a large estate which by will belonged to his uncles, satisfactory evi denco of whoso deaths had never been pre sented to tho courts, though lapse of time was taken as an evidence that they were not living. " If the courts are satisfied that your mother's half-brothers are not living," said George Wray, "then I should not trouble myself more about it." "But I can get along without their money." " That may bo ; yet on that account you are not going to scatter the money in the street." " But I know I am sure that one of my uncles is living." " You are ?'*said Georgo Wray, sitting up in bed.

" Yes ; and he is in this city." " Ho must be very rich, or no would como for his money." " I do not think he is rich." "Then ho does not want tho money." "Ho does want it, but he is charged with crime, and if he claims tho estato by proving his identity, as he can easily do, then the law will seize him. What do you think of that?" " I think that a man who cannot enforce his rights under tho law has none. I should notgive a thought to this uncle, un less—" " Unless what ?" " Unless you can save him and build him up." " I cannot do that. But I want to find tho other uncle." " You may rest assured, Ralph, that if tho othor uncle wanted to be found—that is, if ho is alive—he would bo forthcoming be fore this time. Do not trouble yourself about him, my dear young friond, but look on him as ono dead."

In this voin they talked for somo hours, till tho doctor came in to' dress tho poor man's wounds, and Ralph felt that it was timo for him to leave.

CHAPTER XXIV.

ALICE SEVILLE fJOES BACK TO THE OLD LOVE. Gkack Wr.AY was so overwhelmed by the position in which she found herself that she could not be said to reason. She was stunned. 1 Sho made no loud protestations of inno cence. She could not have dono so if the proof of her innocence depended on her self-awsortionH. After Ralph Thornton brought her homo from tho police station that night, she thanked him in her quiet, graceful way, but it was as sho would havo thanked any one for an ordinary favour. But from this want of demonstration it must not be inferred thatsho was indifferent, or that her ignorance of the world's ways led her to under-estimato the full danger of her jjosition. Death wounds are never followed by groans and cries. Tho shock is so groat that nature cannot respond 08 in tho case of an ordinary pain. Who can fathom the agony of a tearless griof? Grace went up to her little room off tho parlour, and threw liersolf on the bed in the darkness.

Sho had not boon long there when Mrs Bciuor camo in. Sho had left Mrs Murphy mid her .son in chargo of the rooms at the Mechanics' Apartment House, and Ralph Thornton had stepped in on tho way home and told them the news.

"Grace—Grace Wray ! Mcm fraulein ! My shiltl! I vill speak mit you, Grace," said Mrs Bauer, as she stood in the door and looked into tho room, the light from the parlour tire shining in and enabling her to sec the outlines of the girl on the bed.

Grace did not stir. Mrs Bauer called in louder tones, but still no answer.

She went inon tiptoeand gently shook the girl, whom she thought to be asleep. Slio gave rib respou.se, and Mrs Bauer ran back in alarm, got a match, and lit the gas at the head of Grace's bed.

" Ach, Himrael I" cried Mrs Bauer, for getting her English as she saw the white fueo and closed eyes. "They have killed the poor child ! She is dead ! Heavenly Father ! she is dead ! "

Conrad Bauer, down in the bar, and the servant girl asleep up under the Mansard roof, heard Mrs Bauer's cry, and ran to her.

A German doctor, who was a boarder, was summoned, and he relieved tho lookers-on "The poor child is not dead. She has fainted."

This doctoi was a big-hearted, generous gentleman, and when ho saw that Grace was coming back to consciousness he step pod out of tho room, whispering to Mrs Bauer as he did so :

"Got tho poor child to bed. She will have a fever of tho head before morning, and I will stay here and watch til) day comes."

Graco did not realise that sho had fainted,

She oponcd her eyes, and seeing Mrs Bauer leaning over her, she tried to smile, as she said :

"I was so weary when I came in that I fell on tho bed and went to sleep at onco."

" Yoa, my swoet pet, you was weary unt tired, unt you must hafo rest. Now dot vas all ride. Don't spheak 'bout dem p'lecco nor noddings—dot s all played oud. Come, mem girlein, unt I vill help you mit dom fines oaf. Dot's it." Ah ! bloss tho lady-heart—tho woman heart—insido your big, strong body, Mrs Bauer ! And bless tho sweot words—none tho loss precious for the accent in which they wore uttered ! There aro many such in tho world, else it .would bo a less desirable placo to live in.

How largo and lustrous Grace's oves wore when Mrs Bauer lowered the gas above her head !

What a deep vormillion there was on the lips, as if all the heart's blood were rushing thithor to express thanks. What a glow there was on tho cheeks, usually so pale; and how tho blue veins, visible on tho white temples, throbbed and bounded.

" You aro weary, good Mrs Bauer. Iso thank you."

" I want no thanks, my girlein. Dot's it; closo do oyos unt go rido oaf to schloop." Mrs Bauer thought her asleep, for she camo quietly out to whore the doctor was sitting, and asked: "Do you think, Doctor Honkle, that the poor child will be sick?" "She is sick, Frau Bauer." " But she will not bo more sick 7" "I fear so." "But you have skill." "Who has skill when death stands in his path with his lance raised? I will sit horo. My heart ib vory sore for that bravo child. Now go to sleep, and if I want help I will call," said the doctor.

Mrs Bauer fixed a cot for the doctor in the corner formerly occupied by George Wray, and then she went to her own room.

But it was no use. She was back and forth a dozen times before morning '; and as the sun rose upon the world tho doctor told her that the fever had destroyed Grace's reason, and he must have assist ance, for he did not want to go on with the case alone. - ■ "In her perplexity Mrs Bauer thought of Ralph Thornton, and when she could get time from her essential dutie3 she went to see him, bub ho was out. She went round again in the afternoon, and Ralph was still out; but she saw Mrs Thornton; and the old lady ordered tho carriage, and taking Mrs Bauer in, she drove to her familydoctor's, and made him accompany them to the little hotel where Grace lay. Mrs Thornton regretted Mrs Seville was not home, so that she could go along; but had that lady been home, no matter what she might have said, she would have rejoiced at Mrs Bauer'H news. After leaving police headquarters—which she did with an intense dislike for Harry Gray—Mrs Seville went to Peter Monks's Club House, and was at once shown by the watchful Sam to the proprietor's sitting room. Tom Pegg had been before her, and ac quainted Monks with all the events of the past night, though ho coloured them, for the fellow could not help lying, even where fhe plain truth would better servo his pur pose. The habit had grown into him liko his teeth, and was a part of himself. "You look flustered, Alice. What's up ?" asked Peter Monks, as he handed her a chair.

'' You have seen Pegg ?" '' Yes ;he woke me up this morning. The whole affair was badly managed." "I know it," she said, as she sat down and flung back her veil with an angry gesture. "It is not like your work, Alice, said Monks, with a dry laugh. "You think not!" "I do. You are losing your skill." "No, I have all my skill ; my fort is to plan, but I want a person of force to execute." " And you didn't find such a person in Pegg ?" " No. Pegg is a stick." " You are witty, Alice." . . " Pegg is an idiot." " Ah, now, Alice, you are truthful. But Ido not think the case is so bad. Where have you been!" She told him all about her visit and her meeting with Harry Gray, adding thereto her opinion of that young gentleman. " You and I agree as to Gray; I hate the fellow ; but I say, Alice—" "Say on." '' We'll be f oola if wo despise him. I have a notion that he is on my trail." " What makes you think so? " " He is frequently seen with Weld—" " What ? " she exclaimed. "He is frequently seen with your first husband." "You are joking." " It is rather a grimsubjectto joke about, Alice. I tell you the truth to put you on your guard." " AndHoraoe Weld knows where I am ?" she asked, slowly. "I don't think there is any doubt about

'' Then lam in danger ?" " Well, if I vrere in your place I should say so," he laughed. " But you are in equal dauger " I have learned to look on danger with contempt. I dread the law ;so do you. But here's the difference, Alice: I have ceased to tempt fortune by continuing to play for big stakes, while you are playing the boldest game of your life. Is not that, true?"

" Perhaps so." Alice Seville pulled off her gloves, doubled them one inside of the other till they made a ball, which she passed quickly from hand to hand as an outlet to her nervousness. A silence followed, during which the ticking of the little clock on the tablo could bo heard with a distinctness out of all pro portion to its size. • " Monckton—"

"Call me Peter! Haven't I cautioned you ?" he said, starting up and dashing his extinguished cigar from him. "Pardon, I forgot." " Don't do it again.1' " I will be careful, Peter."

" Go on." "I have a plan to propose." " Let me hear it." " It is that you and I again join forces." " Nonsense. I don't care for ray share of Thornton's fortune ; take it and enjoy it if you can. So long as the bank is winning as it is now, I want neither your money or anyone elso's." "I am glad to hear that. But you will allow me to suppose a case ?" " A hundred, if you please; though it is oasyworkandcorrespondinglyunprontable," said Monks, lighting a fresh cigar and as suming an attentive attitude. " Supposing some good fairy were to Bay to you, M—m—l mean Mr Monks—' if you do as I say, and holp me in my work, I will bring such of the dead back to life as you most desire,' what would yoa 8ay?"

" Fudge, Alice; suppose somothing sup posablo. " I am doing that." "Then don't) talk about bringing the dead back to lifo. The days for that kind of thing are past." " If you will stop me at every step I can not go on. Will you let me ask you a few questions ?" " All you please." "You believe your brother George is dead ". "I do." " You would give a great deal to know that ho was now alive V •' I would give all I have in tho world." " You once had a baby daughter —" " Do not talk to me about her," he said, angrily. "It was you who parted us, who sout tho child to her grave, and so made mo a blacker villain than I was when I gave up all for you." "I am not denying that—l am not de fending myself," she said, quietly. "lam putting to you certain questions which you agreod to answer." ' . " Go on."

" What if you were told that your daughter is now alive, a most beautiful and accomplished lady—" " I would not believe it." "What would you give to have her alive 7" " My life, though my death lasted through all eternity, as it may do." " Peter Monks, the brother and daughter of Monckton Seville, are both alive, and I know where they are." "It is false." "I swear It." "Fudge ! Alice, I set no value on your oath." "You cannot madden me in that way. I want your help—the help of your brain and tho help of yeur arm. Give it to me, and extort as a pledge every dollar in the world, this to he forfeited to you if I do not prove to you that your brother George and your daughter are living." "Oh, you beautiful, seductive devil, the tempter must have come in such a guise to Edeni Do you not know that therels no act that man is capable of, good or bad, that I would not rush to do &t your bidding if you could but keep that pledge to me t"

"No, I will have no barrim vi **' I ma^youwanttonavefe^ : I I-: " I expected as much." " Can you have it done ?'• "I can." " And you will f" "I agree to that." " Next, I want you to give U ntv ' or lease it to some one eSefora^^Bo6- disappear from everyone but me "^B| "^ ■"' "I can do that." ' ■ .' '' That will be all at present" " When do you want me to b^ r "At once. I will come to you to L and transfer to you in cash all ita orr°'r own in the world, except the monevT* 1 for present expenses." J^vrant " "1 will take the money Ali~> V ' love it, though I throw it awL. b *i V : you, money is not the incentive." "I-understandthat. I wiHW V,, promise, if you keep yours." ' rwrI"v - "There," he said, rising and ««. v. out his hand for the first time, "I % slave, and you can command ni« 7^ otlt ! will." mt*m , She held his hand forsoma seeowk II pressed it to her red lips, and lefUrilS ; another word. ■ '"«<•<* She felt happier than she hadboen f some time. Her old slave had aeaia ' under the yoke, and she knew hi| B tren!!i? and gloried in it as if it were aUW nZP 1' ' Mrs Seville had not been go ne " minutes when Tom Pegg came in »S y turbed Peter Monks's revery, uTwffir saw himself again begging foreiveneMfr^ ! his brother, and looking on the child v& v ' had ever *een to him like a demon'Tdrlr 9 of an angel. o.uream '' The firm are mad as blazes j", eaUw '; Tom Pegg the moment he entettdttarnftSr " Why should I oarer askedUSsT* "But they say I should h» TO £■ charge. Davis is wild; neverssw«ZSi™ : like it." ■ ~,_ if^S ~.-•: "Then why did you make a ohatße!" * " Why, she insisted." 6 " Mrs Seville ?" ,' : ,: "Yes." ■'.' '■■;..,,:';-' 'im "That's all right; her head is lerel''sh. is a most remarkable woman. There i» not her equal in the world." " That's so; but there's another thine I forgot to tell you whea'l was here aY ■ ago." - "What's that?" "Why, I'm afraid you'U get in tronble I about the parcel you left m Brooklyn-^iia I all the things I gave you were not in it"^ ' " The girl pawned the rest; go on." "Well, Grace Wray said thatit was yon '' ; that left the box with her unde," Vl ' " How did she know ? " .< ; Through your folly. When you rentej vf the rooms you wrote your nans Pete Monks on a piece of paper, and gSTeitfo George Wray." "I believe I did." " Well," cried Pegg, " the girl givftthat paper, last night, to Ralph Thornton^: " To this information Peter Monks;replied with a fierce oath at his own folly.. ,' > (To be Continued.)

Adventures of an Illustrious Wig.

In an American newspaper there is a good 'h story respecting a wig of Lordßr6ngliSm'l. ~ The story serves to show "to wiatjfiaae I uses we may return." Even« Lord Chan cellor's wig is not exempt from the general rule. In 1837, Charles Sumner,'being'then 2G years old, and fresh from his law studies, went abroad for four years' travel. . While in England he wag presented to Lord Rrougham, who took a great fancy to' him. In February 1839, he wrote to a friend as follows: —" Lord Brougham has gften toe his full-bottom Lord Chancellor's wig, in which he made his great speech on the I(e- : form Bill. Such a wig costs twelve guineas,. . and then the associations of it! In America it will be like Rabelais' gown." In 1810, the wig was sent home by Sumner to' Judge Story, to whom he wrote: " I aaa glad you have Brougham's wig. I always wished it to go to the law school. Put it in a case : and preserve it." This request was complied with, and the wig became one of the penates of the school. Butthe biennial migration of students, the resignation of professors, and the repeated changes ml;'., librarians, soon removed those' who know the value of the relic, and the: tfig, in its pasteboard box, worked its way to the obscurity of the law-school garret. The • death of Brougham, in 18G8, revived the: ■ ; memories of his fame, and a biographer of Sumner stumbled on a clue to the existence; t. of tho wig and sought it at the Cambridge school. None of the then students had era.' '•; heard of it. The librarian dimly remem bered having found a wig in a dust-covered -, b.ox in the garret, but know nothing more about it. A younger member of th_e faculty confessed to having worn: it in former student days as presiding judge in a mock trial. Tho wig, however,! ws» eventually traced to the pOßsessiotij of one of the assistants, who said he had giteaan , old wig to his little children to play with, and that they had exhausted its attractivo ness and it had gone into the a»h-heap, Well may we say "Sic ti-ansit," && k l;:

A Free Thought Catechism.

Since the catechism of the Roman Catholic Church has been exoluded from French com munal schools by the legislators o! Fraaoe,; the "Standard" says several of what are called faigwecatechisras have been published by different persons, some of which it ia really instructive to peruse. If we rake one as an example—given to the world by an M. Andre" Berthet—we find in. th? dm chapter a series of 'questions and &BH||f this description:-" What' is-the:Draji. "1 do not know." "Who created^.; world?" "Idonotknow." "Whencooomes thehumanrace!" The same nep;ativeMiswer v , What becomes of us after our death! '»« ■ • same answer again ; and so on, But ttere :: are a great many other things with W"1 M. An&e" Berthet is thoroughly acquainted: Further on, for instance, a teacher is sup posed to ask a pupil, " Whether th6speciM= have always been what they are now! "Certainly not," rejoins the child; «c bird which flies over our heads has not always winged its way through '.the «fv "What wSs it before?" rnquirtstt^; catechist. "It was at the bottomof^e ladder, awaiting its turn." "KeW"™* ■ you know on the matter," says the ques tioner. " Inthebe g mning," > repliesthe^ «it was a reptile, living with its fetlofli« the slime of the earliest agos._ .toj* came when, impelled by an «>£<neU™ desire for superior destinies, it J&* - to loathe its wretched state. It long^ff change, began to aspire to travel t«°?§ spaced and Nature, obedient to ite per^t ing instinct, ultimately realised its «S*-■•, tions." It may be matter of op mo* ■»• . we should imagine that it mddjj » • cidedly better for chJldreu «» leMntt* Church catechism than to hare tiieir yoon^ minds burdened with such theori* « i these. .'; :. :,. ,:,:' ; . ',■ ■'-:.-A-iif 11*™''

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, OCTOBER 20, 1883

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