"The Modern Sorcery Company Ltd., in their new premises in Cockspur Street, gave the most remarkable display of Phenomena it has ever yet fallen to our lot to report. Indeed, the performances were of such an extraordinary nature that the huge audience, en masse, was scared; not a few people fainted, whilst every now and again were heard screams of terror intermingled with long protracted 'Ohs!'"
A brief résumé of the entertainment ran as follows:—The first part of the Modern Sorcery Company's programme was carried out by Mr. Leon Hamar, solus, who, stepping to the front of the stage, announced that he was about to give a display of clairvoyance. Without further prelude he pointed to various members of the audience, and described spiritual presences he saw standing behind them. He did not say he could see a spirit, answering to the name of James or George—or some such equally familiar name—and then proceed to give a description of it, so elastic, that with very little stretching it would undoubtedly have fitted nine out of every ten people one meets with every day, but unlike any other clairvoyants we have known, he described the individual physical and moral traits of the people he professed to see. For example: To a lady sitting in the third row of the stalls, he said: "There is the phantasm of an elderly gentleman standing behind you. He has a vivid scar on his right cheek that looks as if it might have been caused by a sabre cut. He has a grey military moustache, a very marked chin; wears his hair parted in the middle, and has light-blue eyes that are fixed ferociously on the gentleman seated on your left. Do you recognize the person I am describing?"
"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."