It may be remembered in the "Story of John Powles" that when, as a perfect stranger to Mr. Fletcher, I walked one evening into the Steinway Hall, I heard him describe the circumstances of my old friend's death in a very startling manner. It made such an impression on me that I became anxious to hear what more Mr. Fletcher might have to say to me in private, and for that purpose I wrote and made an appointment with him at his private residence in Gordon Square. I did not conceal my name, and I knew my name must be familiar to him; for although he had only just arrived from America, I am better known as an author in that country perhaps than in this. But I had no intention of gauging his powers by what he told me of my exterior life; and by what followed, his guide "Winona" evidently guessed my ideas upon the subject. After the _séance_ I wrote thus concerning it to the _Banner of Light_, a New York Spiritualistic paper:-- "I had seen many clairvoyants before, both in public and private, and had witnessed wonderful feats of skill on their part in naming and describing concealed objects, and reading print or writing when held far beyond their reach of sight; but I knew the trick of all that. If Mr. Fletcher is going to treat me to any mental legerdemain, I thought, as I took my way to Gordon Square, I shall have wasted both my time and trouble upon him; and, I confess, as I approached the house, that I felt doubtful whether I might not be deceived against my senses by the clever lecturer, whose eloquence had charmed me into desiring a more intimate acquaintance with him. Even the private life of a professional person soon becomes public property in London; and had Mr. Fletcher wished to find out my faults and failings, he had but to apply to ----, say, my dearest friend, or the one upon whom I had bestowed most benefits, to learn the worst aspect of the worst side of my character. But the neat little page-boy answered my summons so promptly that I had no time to think of turning back again; and I was ushered through a carpeted hall, and up a staircase into a double drawing-room, strewn with evidence that my clairvoyant friend possessed not only artistic taste, but the means to indulge it. The back room into which I was shown was hung with paintings and fitted with a luxurious _causeuse_, covered with art needlework, and drawn against the open window, through which might be seen some fine old trees in the garden below, and Mr. Fletcher's dogs enjoying themselves beneath their shade. Nothing could be further removed from one's ideas of a haunt of mystery or magic, or the abode of a man who was forced to descend to trickery for a livelihood. In a few minutes Mr. Fletcher entered the room and saluted me with the air of a gentleman. We did not proceed to business, however, until he had taken me round his rooms, and shown me his favorite pictures, including a portrait of Sara Bernhardt, etched by herself, in the character of Mrs.