They were interrupted by the arrival of Professor Russell, who came bustling in with Auntie Dearborn, a sprightly, handsome old lady, who was carrying a huge basket upon her arm, which appeared filled with manuscripts. She was most becomingly dressed in black silk, with fine white lace at wrist and throat, and her pink-tinted face, white hair, mild blue eye beaming with kindliness, and lips wreathed in smiles, made a beautiful picture. She had arrived at a sweet old age. Every one liked her, despite her eccentricities, which some pronounced a mild form of insanity. Alas, the borderland between sanity and insanity is scarcely defined, and if good Auntie Dearborn was insane she has many companions who would scorn such accusations. Who among us does not like to believe we have an inspired pen? Auntie was thoroughly imbued with the idea that the spirits of the departed poets used her hand as the medium for presenting their verses to the public, and she kept a constant and ever-accumulating supply of her “poetry” on hand to read whenever she could find audience. After shaking hands with Lissa and kissing her most affectionately, the old lady said in a stage whisper: “You see, my dear, I have brought along some o’ my poetry, for I know’d you would want to hear it, because I’ve really been inspired by the great Byron himself this week. It is most remarkable.” Lissa smiled kindly. “Thank you, Auntie. I shall be glad to hear it, I am sure, and so, perhaps, will others here. You will stay with me to-night of course?” “Well, now really, dearie—it would be very pleasant and you’re drefful kind to ask me, but you see there’s Natty, poor dog, shut up in his kennel, who’ll howl all night if I don’t come back, and the chickens will have to be fed in the morning—” Here she was interrupted by the announcement of the Professor that if they were ready the company would form themselves into a circle about the room, as he saw several spirit forms impatient to communicate with their friends. In compliance with his request they were soon seated, except Esther, who, unobserved by all except Donald, slipped quietly out of the room. Joining hands, the members of the circle sat expectant, their eyes closed. We are describing an old-time seance, reader, and may be forgiven the minuteness of detail, for even with later experiment with psychic forces it is found there is magic in the mystic circle. The silence was broken by Russell, who declared there was a disturbing element in the circle. Some sceptical person repelled the gentle spirits who desired to communicate. All eyes were turned upon Mark Cramer, who smiled as he arose and left them. Then Esther McCleary was missed. “Where is Esther?” asked Mrs. McCleary plaintively. “Oi declare that girrl has left the room ag’in. Oi desire her to sit with us.” And Mark was sent after the run away.