The next morning the New York papers gave a full account of the burning of the Henry Clay off the village of Yonkers--an occurrence which, doubtless, some of my readers may still remember--corresponding in every important particular with that given by the clairvoyant. Mr. John Fitzgerald of Brunswick, Me., once a somewhat noted temperance lecturer, but at the time now referred to a bedridden invalid, saw, clairvoyantly, and fully described the great fire in Fall River, Mass., in 1874, by which a large factory was destroyed. He described the commencement and progress of the fire, the means employed to rescue the operatives, criticised the work of the firemen, shouted directions, as if he were present, and at last as the roof fell in, he fell back upon the pillow and said: "It is all over--the roof has fallen, and those poor people are burned." It was not until three days later that Mrs. Fitzgerald obtained a paper containing an account of the fire. This she read to her husband, who frequently interrupted her to tell her what would come next as "he had seen it all." The account corresponded almost exactly with the description given by Mr. Fitzgerald while the fire was in progress. I have, myself, recently found a very excellent subject whom I will call A. B., whom I first hypnotized on account of illness, but who afterward proved to have psychic perception and clairvoyant powers of a remarkable character. Once, while in the hypnotic condition, I asked her if she could go away and see what was transpiring in other places, as for instance, at her own home. She replied that she would try. I then told her to go to her home, in a small town three hundred miles away and quite unknown to me, and see who was in the house and what they were doing. After a minute of perfect silence she said: "I am there." "Go in," I said, "and tell me what you find." She said: "There is no one at home but my mother. She is sitting in the dining-room by a window; there is a screen in the window which was not there when I left home. My mother is sewing." "What sort of sewing is it?" I asked. "It is a waist for D." (her little brother). I wrote down every detail of her description, and then awoke her. She had no recollection of anything which had transpired, but said she had had a restful sleep. I then desired her to write at once to her mother and ask who was in the house at four o'clock this same afternoon, where she was, and what she was doing. The answer came, describing everything exactly as set down in my notes.