“I think so,” the lady answered in a faint voice.

“I will spare you a description of his person,” Hamar went on, “but I should like to remind you that he met with a rather peculiar accident.  He was looking over some engineering works in Leeds, when some one pushed him, and he was instantly whipped off the ground by a piece of revolving mechanism and dashed to pieces against the ceiling.  Am I right?”

There was no reply—­but the sigh, we think, was more significant than words.

Mr. Hamar then turned to a lady in the next row.  “I can see behind you,” he said, “an old dowager with yellow hair.  She wears large emerald drop earrings, black satin skirt, and a heliotrope bodice of which she appears to be somewhat vain.  She is coughing terribly.  She died of pneumonia, brought about by the excessive zeal of—­Ahem!—­of her relatives—­for the open-air treatment.  Contrary to expectations, however, all her money went to a Society in Hanover Square—­a Society for the Anti-propagation of Children.  I think you know the lady to whom I refer.”

Mr. Hamar had again hit the mark.

“Only too well!” came the indignant and spontaneous reply.

Mr. Hamar then turned to a man in the fifth row.  “Hulloa!” he exclaimed.  “What have we here—­an Irish terrier answering to the name of ‘Peg.’  It is standing upright with its two front paws resting on your knees.  It is looking up into your face, and its mouth is open as if anticipating a lump of sugar.  From the marks on its body I should say it has been killed by being run over?”

Again Mr. Hamar was correct.  “What you say is absolutely true,” the gentleman replied; “I had a dog named Peg.  I was greatly attached to it, and it was run over in Piccadilly by a motor cyclist.  I hate the very sight of a motor bicycle.”

After a brief interval of awestruck silence a voice from the gallery called out—­

“You are in league with him!”

Then the man in the stalls stood up, and essayed to speak; but his voice was drowned in a perfect tornado of applause.  He had no need—­he was instantly recognized—­he was J——­ B——.  With a few more examples of clairvoyance Mr. Hamar continued to entertain his audience for half an hour or so, by the end of which time, we have no hesitation in saying that every one was convinced that he actually saw what, he said, he saw.

The second part of the programme was entirely in the hands of Mr. Curtis, who now came forward with a bow.  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said; “you all know that man is complex—­that he is composed of mind and matter, the material and immaterial.  I now propose to give you a physical demonstration of this fact.  Will twelve of the audience kindly come up on the stage and sit around me, so that you may feel quite certain that I have here no mechanical devices to assist me?”—­And amongst other well-known people who responded to Mr. Curtis’s request, were Lord Bayle, Sir Charles Tenningham and