A very strong and remarkable clairvoyant is Mr. Towns, of Portobello Road. As a business adviser or foreteller of the Future, I don't think he is excelled. The inquirer after prophecy will not find a grand mansion to receive him in Portobello Road. On the contrary, this soothsayer keeps a small shop in the oil trade, and is himself only an honest, and occasionally rather rough spoken, tradesman. He will see clients privately on any day when he is at home, though it is better to make an appointment, but he holds a circle on his premises each Tuesday evening, to which everybody is admitted, and where the contribution is anything you may be disposed to give, from coppers to gold. These meetings, which are very well attended, are always opened by Mr. Towns with prayer, after which a hymn is sung, and the sÉance commences. There is full gas on all the time, and Mr. Towns sits in the midst of the circle. He does not go under trance, but rubs his forehead for a few minutes and then turns round suddenly and addresses members of his audience, as it may seem, promiscuously, but it is just as he is impressed. He talks, as a rule, in metaphor, or allegorically, but his meaning is perfectly plain to the person he addresses. It is not only silly women, or curious inquirers, who attend Mr. Towns' circles. You may see plenty of grave, and often anxious, business men around him, waiting to hear if they shall sell out their shares, or hold on till the market rises; where they are to search for lost certificates or papers of value; or on whom they are to fix the blame of money or articles of value that have disappeared. Once in my presence a serious-looking man had kept his eye fixed on him for some time, evidently anxious to speak. Mr. Towns turned suddenly to him. "You want to know, sir," he commenced, without any preface, "where that baptismal certificate is to be found." "I do, indeed," replied the man; "it is a case of a loss of thousands if it is not forthcoming." "Let me see," said Mr. Towns, with his finger to his forehead. "Have you tried a church with a square tower without any steeple, an ugly, clumsy building, white-washed inside, standing in a village. Stop! I can see the registrar books—the village's name is ----. The entry is at page 200. The name is ——. The mother's name is ----. Is that the certificate you want?" "It is, indeed," said the man; "and it is in the church at ——?" "Didn't I say it was in the church at ----?" replied Mr. Towns, who does not like to be doubted or contradicted. "Go and you will find it there." And the man did go and did find it there. To listen to the conversations that go on between him and his clients at these meetings, Mr. Towns is apparently not less successful with love affairs than with business affairs, and it is an interesting experience to attend them, if only for the sake of curiosity. But naturally, to visit him privately is to command much more of his attention. He will not, however, sit for everybody, and it is of no use attempting to deceive him. He is exceedingly keen-sighted into character, and if he takes a dislike to a man he will tell him so without the slightest hesitation. No society lies are manufactured in the little oil shop. A relative of mine, who was not the most faithful husband in the world, and who, in consequence, judged of his wife's probity by his own, went, during her temporary absence, to Mr. Towns to ask him a delicate question. The lady was well known to the medium, but the husband he had never seen before, and had no notion who his sitter was, until he pulled out a letter from his pocket, thrust it across the table, and said, "There! look at that letter and tell me if the writer is faithful to me." Mr. Towns told me that as he took the envelope in his hand, he saw the lady's face photographed upon it, and at the same moment, all the blackness of the husband's own life. He rose up like an avenging deity and pointed to the door. "This letter," he said, "was written by Mrs. ——. Go! man, and wash your own hands clean, and then come and ask me questions about your wife." And so the "heavy swell" had to slink downstairs again. I have often gone myself to Mr. Towns before engaging in any new business, and always received the best advice, and been told exactly what would occur during its progress. When I was about to start on the "Golden Goblin" tour in management with my son—I went to him to ask if it would be successful. He not only told me what money it would bring in, but where the weak points would occur. The drama was then completed, and in course of rehearsal, and had been highly commended by all who had heard and seen it. Mr. Towns, however, who had neither seen nor heard it, insisted it would have to be altered before it was a complete success. This annoyed me, and I knew it would annoy my son, the author; besides, I believed it was a mistake, so I said nothing about it. Before it had run a month, however, the alterations were admitted on all sides to be necessary, and were consequently made. Everything that Mr. Towns prognosticated on that occasion came to pass, even to the strangers I should encounter on tour, and how their acquaintance would affect my future life; also how long the tour would last, and in which towns it would achieve the greatest success. I can assure some of my professional friends, that if they would take the trouble to consult a trustworthy clairvoyant about their engagements before booking them, they would not find themselves so often in the hands of the bogus manager as they do now. A short time ago I received a summons to the county court, and although I knew I was in the right, yet law has so many loopholes that I felt nervous. The case was called for eleven o'clock on a certain Wednesday, and the evening before I joined Mr. Towns' circle. When it came to my turn to question him, I said, "Do you see where I shall be to-morrow morning?" He replied, "I can see you are called to appear in a court-house, but the case will be put off." "Put off," I repeated, "but it is fixed for eleven. It can't be put off." "Cases are sometimes relegated to another court," said Mr. Towns. Then I thought he had quite got out of his depth, and replied, "You are making a mistake. This is quite an ordinary business. It can't go to a higher court. But shall I gain it?" "In the afternoon," said the medium. His answers so disappointed me that I placed no confidence in them, and went to the county court on the following morning in a nervous condition. But he was perfectly correct. The case was called for eleven, but as the defendant was not forthcoming, it was passed over, and the succeeding hearings occupied so much time, that the magistrate thought mine would never come off, so he relegated it at two o'clock to another court to be heard before the registrar, who decided it at once in my favor, so that I gained it in the afternoon.

One afternoon in my "green sallet" days of Spiritualism, when every fresh experience almost made my breath stop, I turned into the Progressive Library in Southampton Row, to ask if there were any new media come to town. Mr. Burns did not know of any, but asked me if I had ever attended one of Mrs. Olive's sÉances, a series of which were being held weekly in the Library Rooms. I had not, and I bought a half-crown ticket for admission, and returned there the same evening. When I entered the sÉance room, the medium had not arrived, and I had time to take stock of the audience. It seemed a very sad and serious one. There was no whispering nor giggling going on, and it struck me they looked more like patients waiting the advent of the doctor, than people bound on an evening's amusement. And that, to my surprise, was what I afterwards found they actually were. Mrs. Olive did not keep us long waiting, and when she came in, dressed in a lilac muslin dress, with her golden hair parted plainly on her forehead, her very blue eyes, and a sweet, womanly smile for her circle, she looked as unlike the popular idea of a professional medium as anyone could possibly do. She sat down on a chair in the middle of the circle, and, having closed her eyes, went off to sleep. Presently she sat up, and, still with her eyes closed, said in a very pleasant, but decidedly manly, voice: "And now, my friends, what can I do for you?"

A lady in the circle began to ask advice about her daughter. The medium held up her hand. "Stop!" she exclaimed, "you are doing my work. Friend, your daughter is ill, you say. Then it is my business to see what is the matter with her. Will you come here, young lady, and let me feel your pulse." Having done which, the medium proceeded to detail exactly the contents of the girl's stomach, and to advise her what to eat and drink for the future. Another lady then advanced with a written prescription. The medium examined her, made an alteration or two in the prescription, and told her to go on with it till further orders. My curiosity was aroused, and I whispered to my next neighbor to tell me who the control was. "Sir John Forbes, a celebrated physician," she replied. "He has almost as large a connection now as he had when alive." I was not exactly ill at the time, but I was not strong, and nothing that my family doctor prescribed for me seemed to do me any good. So wishing to test the abilities of "Sir John Forbes," I went up to the medium and knelt down by her side. "What is the matter with me, Sir John?" I began. "Don't call me by that name, little friend," he answered; "we have no titles on this side the world." "What shall I call you, then?" I said. "Doctor, plain Doctor," was the reply, but in such a kind voice. "Then tell me what is the matter with me, Doctor." "Come nearer, and I'll whisper it in your ear." He then gave me a detailed account of the manner in which I suffered, and asked what I had been taking. When I told him, "All wrong, all wrong," he said, shaking his head. "Here! give me a pencil and paper." I had a notebook in my pocket, with a metallic pencil, which I handed over to him, and he wrote a prescription in it. "Take that, and you'll be all the better, little friend," he said, as he gave it to me back again. When I had time to examine what he had written, I found to my surprise that the prescription was in abbreviated Latin, with the amount of each ingredient given in the regular medical shorthand. Mrs. Olive, a simple though intelligent looking woman, seemed a very unlikely person to me to be educated up to this degree. However, I determined to obtain a better opinion than my own, so the next time my family doctor called to see me, I said: "I have had a prescription given me, Doctor, which I am anxious, with your permission, to try. I wish you would glance your eye over it and see if you approve of my taking it." At the same time I handed him the note-book, and I saw him grow very red as he looked at the prescription. "Anything wrong?" I inquired. "O! dear no!" he replied in an offended tone; "you can try your remedy, and welcome, for aught I care—only, next time you wish to consult a new doctor, I advise you to dismiss the old one first." "But this prescription was not written by a doctor," I argued. At this he looked still more offended. "It's no use trying to deceive me, Mrs. Ross-Church! That prescription was written by no one but a medical man." It was a long time before I could make him really believe who had transcribed it, and under what circumstances. When he was convinced of the truth of my statement, he was very much astonished, and laid all his professional pique aside. He did more. He not only urged me to have the prescription made up, but he confessed that his first chagrin was due to the fact that he felt he should have thought of it himself. "That," he said, pointing to one ingredient, "is the very thing to suit your case, and it makes me feel such a fool to think that a woman should think of what I passed over."

Nothing would make this doctor believe in Spiritualism, though he continued to aver that only a medical man could have prescribed the medicine; but as I saw dozens of other cases treated at the time by Mrs. Olive, and have seen dozens since, I know that she does it by a power not her own. For several years after that "Sir John Forbes" used to give me advice about my health, and when his medium married Colonel Greck and went to live in Russia, he was so sorry to leave his numerous patients, and they to lose him, that he wanted to control me in order that I might carry on his practice, but after several attempts he gave it up as hopeless. He said my brain was too active for any spirit to magnetize; and he is not the first, nor last, who has made the same attempt, and failed. "Sir John Forbes" was not Mrs. Olive's only control. She had a charming spirit called "Sunshine," who used to come for clairvoyance and prophecy; and a very comical negro named "Hambo," who was as humorous and full of native wit and repartee, as negroes generally are, and as Mrs. Olive, who is a very gentle, quiet woman, decidedly was not. "Hambo" was the business adviser and director, and sometimes materialized, which the others did not. These three influences were just as opposite from one another, and from Mrs. Olive, as any creatures could possibly be. "Sir John Forbes," so dignified, courteous, and truly benevolent—such a thorough old gentleman; "Sunshine," a sweet, sympathetic Indian girl, full of gentle reproof for wrong and exhortations to lead a higher life; and "Hambo," humorous and witty, calling a spade a spade, and occasionally descending to coarseness, but never unkind or wicked. I knew them all over a space of years until I regarded them as old friends. Mrs. Greck is now a widow, and residing in England, and, I hear, sitting again for her friends. If so, a great benefit in the person of "Sir John Forbes" has returned for a portion of mankind.

I have kept a well-known physical medium to the last, not because I do not consider his powers to be completely genuine, but because they are of a nature that will not appeal to such as have not witnessed them. I allude to Mr. Charles Williams, with whom I have sat many times alone, and also with Mrs. Guppy Volckman. The manifestations that take place at his sÉances are always material. The much written of "John King" is his principal control, and invariably appears under his mediumship; and "Ernest" is the name of another. I have seen Charles Williams leave the cabinet under trance and wander in an aimless manner about the room, whilst both "John King" and "Ernest" were with the circle, and have heard them reprove him for rashness. I have also seen him under the same circumstances, during an afternoon sÉance, mistake the window curtains for the curtains of the cabinet, and draw them suddenly aside, letting the full light of day in upon the scene, and showing vacancy where a moment before two figures had been standing and talking.

Once when "John King" asked Colonel Lean what he should bring him, he was told mentally to fetch the half-hoop diamond ring from my finger and place it on that of my husband.

This half-hoop ring was worn between my wedding ring and a heavy gold snake ring, and I was holding the hand of my neighbor all the time, and yet the ring was abstracted from between the other two and transferred to Colonel Lean's finger without my being aware of the circumstance. These and various other marvels, I have seen under Mr. Williams' mediumship; but as I can adduce no proof that they were genuine, except my own conviction, it would be useless to write them down here. Only I could not close the list of the media with whom I have familiarly sat in London, and from whom I have received both kindness and courtesy, without including his name. It is the same with several others—with Mr. Frank Herne (now deceased) and his wife Mrs. Herne, whom I first knew as Mrs. Bassett, a famous medium for the direct spirit voice; with Mrs. Wilkinson, a clairvoyant who has a large clientÈle of wealthy and aristocratic patrons; with Mrs. Wilkins and Mr. Vango, both reliable, though, as yet, less well known to the spiritualistic public; and with Dr. Wilson, the astrologer, who will tell you all you have ever done, and all you are ever going to do, if you will only give him the opportunity of casting your horoscope. To all and each I tender my thanks for having afforded me increased opportunities of searching into the truth of a science that possesses the utmost interest for me, and that has given me the greatest pleasure.