I will only add, before dismissing the subject, that though it is so many years since I have ceased to practise the public exercise of my mediumship, I am not conscious that it has at all weakened or changed. On rare occasions I have given private sittings to confidential friends, and few days pass which do not bring me conscious evidence of the presence of Spirit friends. It was under their prompting, and indeed direction, that I have written this book, and often during its progress have they given me their counsel at moments of doubt on my part as to what to insert or to omit. Happy, in so many ways, as has been my domestic life, I should be ungrateful if I did not realize how largely the unseen friends and visitors of my home have contributed to that happiness. CHAPTER XXX. MISCELLANEOUS INCIDENTS. FELICIA HEMANS--SPIRIT DICTATIONS OF MUSIC. In compliance with the advice and wishes of the friend who has aided me in putting together the scattered parts of my volume, I now proceed to wind it up with what I might call a sample assortment of "Incidents" out of my Spiritualistic experience. This was not within my original scheme of the work, but in the course of several months of intimate intercourse with him, there naturally arose in conversation frequent allusions to such reminiscences, leading me to tell him, under his intelligent interrogation, the story of them. The result was that he came to insist that some collection of them would constitute a useful as well as interesting addition to my "Missing Link." He therefore embraced many opportunities of returning to them, and drawing from me repetitions of the narratives, and jotting down notes, from which he then insisted that I should write them out, with a little kind assistance from him. This collection might easily have been greatly enlarged. FELICIA HEMANS--SPIRIT DICTATION OF MUSIC. The following is a beautiful and curious experience which came one evening at Rochester, in the early days of our mediumship: Maggie and I were sitting alone in my cozy little parlor in Troup Street, enjoying ourselves by a warm fire while the pouring rain and howling winds outside assured us that we should not be interrupted by callers. I was reading "Memoirs of the Wesley Family," when the alphabet was called for by the usual signal. I repeated the letters as they came through the alphabet, and wrote them as designated successively by the Spirit, viz.: "GAGCBAGAGEFEFAGFEFGFEDAGGCEDGGCBAGCCDBC." These letters could not, of course, be construed into words, and I cast them aside saying, "This must be the Spirit of Johnny Story," a simple boy whom we had known when living, who could never be taught to read. The alphabet was again called for and the message given by the Spirit was, "Apply the letters to your piano."