she believed she had seen no one. The forgetfulness extended to everything which happened during her second state, and not to any ideas or information acquired before her illness." Thus her early life was held in remembrance during both her conditions, her consciousness in these two conditions being in this respect single; in her second or less usual condition she remembered also all the events of her life, including what had passed since these seizures began; and it was only in her more usual condition that a portion of her life was lost to her-that, namely, which had passed during her second condition. In 1858 a new phenomenon was occasionally noticed as occasionally occurring-she would sometimes wake from her second condition in a fit of terror, recognising no one but her husband. The terror did not last long, however; and during sixteen years of her married life her husband only noticed this terror on thirty occasions.

A painful circumstance preceding her marriage somewhat forcibly exhibited the distinction between her two states of consciousness. Rigid in morality during her usual condition, she was shocked by the insults of a brutal neighbour, who told her of a confession made to M. Azam during her second condition, and accused her of shamming innocence. The attack-unfortunately but too well founded as far as facts were concerned-brought on violent convulsions, which required medical attendance during two or three hours. It is important to notice the difference thus indicated between the character of the personalities corresponding to her two conditions. "Her moral faculties," says M. Azam, 66 were incontestably sound in ber second life, though different,"-by which, be it understood, he means simply that her sense of right and wrong was just during her second condition, not of course that her conduct was irreproachable. She was in this condition, as in the other, altogether responsible for her actions. But her power of self-control, or rather perhaps the relative power of her will as compared with tendencies to wrong-doing, was manifestly weaker during her second condition. In fact, in one condition she was oppressed and saddened by pain and anxiety, whereas in the other she was almost free from pain, gay, light-hearted, and hopeful. Now we cannot altogether agree with Mr. Slack's remark, that if, during her second state, "she had committed a robbery or an assassination, no moral responsibility could have been assumed to rest upon her with any certainty, by any one acquainted with her history," for her moral faculties in her second condition being incontestably sound, she was clearly responsible for her actions while in that condition. But certainly the question of punishment for such an offence would be not a little complicated by her twofold personality. To the woman in her ordinary condition, remembering nothing of the crime committed (on the supposition we are dealing with), in her abnormal condition, punishment for that crime would certainly seem unjust, seeing that her liability to enter into that condition had not in any degree depended on her own will. The drunkard who, waking in the morning with no recollection of the events of the past night, finds himself in gaol for some crime committed during that time,

although he may think the punishment he has to endure severe measure for a crime of which in his ordinary condition he is incapable, knows at least that he is responsible for placing himself under that influence which made the crime possible. Supposing even he had not had sufficient experience of his own character when under the influence of liquor to have reason to fear he might be guilty of the offence, he yet perceives that to make intoxication under any circumstances an excuse for crime would be most dangerous to the community, and that he suffers punishment justly. But the case of dual consciousness is altogether different, and certainly where responsibility exists under both conditions, while yet impulse and the restraining power of will are differently related in one and the other condition, the problem of satisfying justice is a most perplexing one. Here are in effect two different persons residing in one body, and it is impossible to punish one without punishing the other also. Supposing justice waited until the abnormal condition was resumed, then the offender would probably recognise the justice of punishment; but if the effects of the punishment continued until the usual condition returned, a person would suffer who was conscious of no crime. If the offence were murder, and if capital punishment were inflicted, the ordinary individuality, innocent entirely of murder, would be extinguished along with the first, a manifest injustice. As Huxley says of a similar case, "the problem of responsibility is here as complicated as that of the prince-bishop, who swore as a prince and not as a bishop. But, your highness, if the prince is damned, what will become of the bishop?' said the peasant."

It does not appear to us that there is in the case of Felida X. any valid reason for regarding the theory of two brains as the only available explanation. It is a noteworthy circumstance that the pains preceding each change of condition affected both sides of the head. Some modification of the circulation seems suggested as the true explanation of the changes in condition, though the precise nature of such modification, or how it may have been brought about, would probably be very difficult to determine. The state of health, however, on which the attacks depended seems to have affected the whole body of the patient, and the case presents no features suggesting any lateral localisation of the cerebral changes.

On the other hand, the case of Sergeant F. (a few of the circumstances of which were mentioned in our essay entitled "Have we two Brains?"), seems to correspond with Dr. Holland's theory, though that theory is far from explaining all the circumstances. The man was wounded by a bullet which fractured his left parietal bone, and his right arm and leg were almost immediately paralysed. When he recovered consciousness

* Should any doubt whether these conditions of dual existence are a reality (a doubt, however, which the next case dealt with in the text should remove), we would remind them that a similar difficulty unmistakably existed in the case of Eng and Chang, the Siamese twins. It would have been almost impossible to inflict any punishment on one by which the other would not suffer, and capital punishment inflicted on one would have involved the death of the other.

three weeks later, the right side of the body was completely paralysed, and remained so for a year. These circumstances indicate that the cause of the mischief still existing is the shock which the left side of the brain received when the man was wounded. The right side may have learned (as it were) to exercise the functions formerly belonging to the left side, and thus may have passed away the paralysis affecting the right side until this had happened. These points are discussed in the essay above named, however, and need not here detain us. Others which were not then dealt with may now be noted with advantage. We would specially note some which render it doubtful whether in the abnormal condition the man's brain acts at all, whether in fact his condition, so far as consciousness was concerned, is not similar to that of a frog deprived of its brain in a certain well-known experiment. (This appears to be the opinion to which Professor Huxley inclines, though, with proper scientific caution, he seems disposed to suspend his judgment.) The facts are very singular, whatever the explanation may be.

In the normal condition, the man is what he was before he was wounded-an intelligent, kindly fellow, performing satisfactorily the duties of a hospital attendant. The abnormal state is ushered in by pains in the forehead, as if caused by the constriction of a band of iron. In this state the eyes are open and the pupils dilated. (The reader will remember Charles Reade's description of David Dodd's eyes, "like those of a seal.") The eyeballs work incessantly, and the jaws maintain a chewing motion. If the man is en pays de connaissance, he walks about as usual; but in a new place, or if obstacles are set in his way, he stumbles, feels about with his hands, and so finds his way. He offers no resistance to any forces which may act upon him, and shows no signs of pain if pins are thrust into his body by kindly experimenters. No noise affects him. He eats and drinks apparently without tasting or smelling his food, accepting assafoetida or vinegar as readily as the finest claret. He is sensible to light only under certain conditions. But the sense of touch is strangely exalted (in all respects apparently except as to sensations of pain or pleasure), taking in fact the place of all the other senses. We say the sense of touch, but it is not clear whether there is any real sensation at all. The man appears in the abnormal condition to be a mere machine. This is strikingly exemplified in the following case, which we translate directly from Dr. Mesnet's account :-" He was walking in the garden under a group of trees, and his stick, which he had dropped a few minutes before, was placed in his hands. He feels it, moves his hand several times along the bent handle of the stick, becomes watchful, seems to listen, suddenly he calls out, 'Henry!' then, 'There they are! there are at least a score of them! join us two, we shall manage it.' And then putting his hand behind his back as if to take a cartridge, he goes through the movement of loading his weapon, lays himself flat on the grass, his head concealed by a tree, in the posture of a sharpshooter, and with shouldered weapon follows all the movements of the enemy whom

he fancies he sees at a short distance." This, however, is an assumption, the man cannot in this state fancy he sees, unless he has at least a recollection of the sensation of sight, and this would imply cerebral activity. Huxley, more cautious, says justly that the question arises "whether the series of actions constituting this singular pantomime was accompanied by the ordinary states of consciousness, the appropriate train of ideas or not? Did the man dream that he was skirmishing? or was he in the condition of one of Vauconson's automata-a mechanism worked by molecular changes in his nervous system? The analogy of the frog shows that the latter assumption is perfectly justifiable."

The pantomimic actions just related corresponded to what probably happened a few moments before the man was wounded; but this human automaton (so to call him, without theorising as to his actual condition) goes through other performances. He has a good voice, and was at one time a singer in a café. "In one of his abnormal states he was observed

to begin humming a tune. He then went to his room, dressed himself carefully, and took up some parts of a periodical novel which lay on his bed, as if he were trying to find something. Dr. Mesnet, suspecting that he was seeking his music, made up one of these into a roll and put it into his hand. He appeared satisfied, took up his cane and went downstairs to the door. Here Dr. Mesnet turned him round, and he walked quite contentedly in the opposite direction, towards the room of the concierge. The light of the sun shining through a window now happened to fall upon him, and seemed to suggest the footlights of the stage on which he was accustomed to make his appearance. He stopped, opened his roll of imaginary music, put himself into the attitude of a singer, and sung, with perfect execution, three songs, one after the other. After which he wiped his face with his handkerchief and drank, without a grimace, a tumbler of strong vinegar and water which was put into his hand."

But the most remarkable part of the whole story is that which follows. "Sitting at a table in one of his abnormal states, Sergeant F. took up a pen, felt for paper and ink, and began to write a letter to his general, in which he recommended himself for a medal on account of his good conduct and courage." (Rather a strange thing, by the way, for a mere automaton to do.) "It occurred to Dr. Mesnet to ascertain experimentally how far vision was concerned in this act of writing. He therefore interposed a screen between the man's eyes and his hands; under these circumstances, F. went on writing for a short time, but the words became illegible, and he finally stopped, without manifesting any discontent. On the withdrawal of the screen, he began to write again where he had left off. The substitution of water for ink in the inkstand had a similar result. He stopped, looked at his pen, wiped it on his coat, dipped it in the water, and began again with a similar result. On another occasion, he began to write upon the topmost of ten superimposed sheets of paper. After he had written a line or two, this sheet was suddenly drawn away. There was a slight expression of surprise,

but he continued his letter on the second sheet exactly as if it had been the first. This operation was repeated five times, so that the fifth sheet contained nothing but the writer's signature at the bottom of the page. Nevertheless, when the signature was finished, his eyes turned to the top of the blank sheet, and he went through the form of reading what he had written a movement of the lips accompanying each word; moreover, with his pen, he put in such corrections as were needed, in that part of the blank page which corresponded with the position of the words which required correction in the sheets which had been taken away. If the five sheets had been transparent, therefore, they would, when superposed, have formed a properly written and corrected letter. Immediately after he had written his letter, F. got up, walked down to the garden, made himself a cigarette, lighted and smoked it. He was about to prepare another, but sought in vain for his tobacco-pouch, which had been purposely taken away. The pouch was now thrust before his eyes and put under his nose, but he neither saw nor smelt it; when, however, it was placed in his hand, he at once seized it, made a fresh cigarette, and ignited a match to light the latter. The match was blown out, and another lighted match placed close before his eyes, but he made no attempt to take it; and if his cigarette was lighted for him, he made no attempt to smoke. All this time his eyes were vacant, and neither winked nor exhibited any contraction of the pupil."

F.

These and other similar experiments are explained by Dr. Mesnet (and Professor Huxley appears to agree with him) by the theory that sees some things and not others; that the sense of sight is accessible to all things which are brought into relation with him by the sense of touch, and, on the contrary, insensible to all things which lie outside this relation." It seems to us that the evidence scarcely supports this conclusion. In every case where F. appears to see, it is quite possible that in reality he is guided entirely by the sense of touch. All the circumstances accord much better with this explanation than with the theory that the sense of sight was in any way affected. Thus the sunlight shining through the window must have affected the sense of touch, and in a manner similar to what F. had experienced when before the footlights of the stage, where he was accustomed to appear as a singer. In this respect there was a much closer resemblance between the effect of sunlight and that of the light from footlights, than in the circumstances under which both sources of light affect the sense of sight. For in one case the light came from above, in the other from below; the heat would in neither case be sensibly localised. Again, when a screen was interposed between his eyes and the paper on which he was writing, he probably became conscious of its presence in the same way that a blind man is conscious of the presence of objects near him, even in some cases of objects quite remote, by some subtle effects discernible by the sense of touch excited to abnormal relative activity in the absence of impressions derived from the sense of sight. It is true that one might