“Oh, we are badly in want of a sixth sense, such as some of your old Highland seers claimed, Clementina,” said Miss Latimer. “Aye, but they did not claim it, they had it,” said Clementina confidently; “yet it wrought them little good. They could not use it when they wished, they had to wait for it, and it came only when it listed; often it would not come, and it would never bide.” “Yet some people claim that these mysterious faculties are being slowly brought into light and order,” observed Mr. Somerset, turning to Miss Latimer. “I do not know anything of the subject myself, and I find it hard to believe. There are people who profess so much of this modern magic that if you gave them Charlie’s last letter, they would pretend to tell you where he is, and what he is doing.” “The Brahan Seer did that, nigh two hundred years ago,” said Clementina eagerly. “He told the proud Lady Seaforth what was keeping her husband in France, and he got himself burned for his pains.” “I should think it was bordering on sin to make any such inquiry,” said Miss Latimer. “If there are any mysterious faculties only half developed in human nature, we should not hasten to mix them up with the solemn and sacred things of our lives. We know enough to be sure that many spiritual dangers lie that way. To venture our peace of mind among such risks, is like going into a laboratory and tasting everything, not knowing which is poisonous.” “Yet, to use your simile, there must be laboratories, and tests, and fit occasions for working among such things,” said Mr. Somerset. “Still I agree with you absolutely in the necessity of keeping the treasures of our hearts and lives out of so tainted and be-fogged an atmosphere.” “Well, I’m sure these silly letters are not sacred treasures,” said Tom. “Suppose we give one of them to a detective to-morrow, and take him with us to put it into the hand of a psychometric or clairvoyant, or whatever they call the modern wizard or witch, and allow them to clairvoyantly perceive—isn’t that the cant?—the person who sent it. It would be a good test if this did give us a clue, and if it didn’t, or if it misled us, why there would be no harm done—it wouldn’t matter a bit—we should be just where we are.” Clementina had removed the supper-tray while he was speaking. Mr. Somerset rose up to go. He did not reply to Tom’s suggestion, not taking it seriously, but said “good night,” promising to come back very soon, possibly next day. In the morning Tom woke rather lazily, but he jumped up in a great fright, seeing that his watch already pointed to half-past eight! “I must have slept very heavily,” he thought, “to have heard no knock nor bell, nor anything!” And he dressed in great haste. (_To be continued._) GIRLS AS I HAVE KNOWN THEM. BY ELSA D’ESTERRE-KEELING, Author of “Old Maids and Young.” PART VII. THE OLD-FASHIONED GIRL. “Modest as morn, as midday bright, Gentle as evening.” (A girl described by the poet Andrew Marvell.)