, the idiotic area in
the brain or thinking-marrow, and my studies of the second member in the
partnership of I-My-Self & Co. I add the Co. with especial reference to
a very interesting article in a late Scribner, by my friend Mr. William
James. In this article the reader will find a full exposition of the
doctrine of plural personality illustrated by striking cases. I have
long ago noticed and referred to the fact of the stratification of the
currents of thought in three layers, one over the other. I have
recognized that where there are two individuals talking together there
are really six personalities engaged in the conversation. But the
distinct, separable, independent individualities, taking up conscious
life one after the other, are brought out by Mr. James and the
authorities to which he refers as I have not elsewhere seen them
developed.

Whether we shall ever find the exact position of the idiotic centre or
area in the brain (if such a spot exists) is uncertain. We know exactly
where the blind spot of the eye is situated, and can demonstrate it
anatomically and physiologically. But we have only analogy to lead us to
infer the possible or even probable existence of an insensible spot in
the thinking-centre. If there is a focal point where consciousness is at
its highest development, it would not be strange if near by there should
prove to be an anaesthetic district or limited space where no report from
the senses was intelligently interpreted. But all this is mere
hypothesis.

Notwithstanding the fact that I am nominally the head personage of the
circle of Teacups, I do not pretend or wish to deny that we all look to
Number Five as our chief adviser in all the literary questions that come
before us. She reads more and better than any of us. She is always
ready to welcome the first sign of genius, or of talent which approaches
genius. She makes short work with all the pretenders whose only excuse
for appealing to the public is that they "want to be famous." She is one
of the very few persons to whom I am willing to read any one of my own
productions while it is yet in manuscript, unpublished. I know she is
disposed to make more of it than it deserves; but, on the other hand,
there are degrees in her scale of judgment, and I can distinguish very
easily what delights her from what pleases only, or is, except for her
kindly feeling to the writer, indifferent, or open to severe comment.
What is curious is that she