up in despair before the sixty seconds had elapsed.  When my mind was most lucid there was a distinct duplex action in regard to the duration of time.  I would think to myself, “It has been so long since a certain event!”—­an hour, for example, since the doctor was summoned—­but Reason would say, “No, it has been only a few minutes:  your thoughts and feelings are caused by the hasheesh.”  Nevertheless, I was not able to shake off, even for a moment, this sense of the almost indefinite prolongation of time.  Gradually the periods of unconsciousness became longer and more frequent, and the oppressive feeling of impending death more intense.  It was like a horrible nightmare:  each successive paroxysm was felt to be the longest I had suffered.  As I came out of it a voice seemed constantly saying, “You are getting worse; your paroxysms are growing longer and deeper; they will overmaster you; you will die.”  A sense of personal antagonism between my will-power and myself, as affected by the drug, grew very strong.  I felt as though my only chance was to struggle against these paroxysms—­that I must constantly arouse myself by an effort of will; and that effort was made with infinite toil and pain.  It seemed to me as if some evil spirit had the control of the whole of me except the will, and was in determined conflict with that, the last citadel of my being.  Once or twice during a paroxysm I felt myself mounting upward, expanding, dilating, dissolving into the wide confines of space, overwhelmed by a horrible, unutterable despair.  Then by a tremendous effort I seemed to break loose and to start up with the shuddering thought, “Next time you will not be able to throw this off; and what then?” The sense of double consciousness which I had to some extent is often, under the action of hasheesh, much more distinct.  I have known patients to whom it seemed that they themselves sitting upon the chair were in continual conversation with a second self standing in front of them.  The explanation of this curious condition is a difficult one.  It is possible that the two sides of the brain, which are accustomed in health to work as one organ, are disjoined by the poison, so that one half of the brain thinks and acts in opposition to the other half.

From what has already been said it is plain that memory is entirely distinct from consciousness, and that it is in a certain sense automatic, or at least an attribute of all nerve-centres.  If this be so, it would seem probable, a priori, that other intellectual acts are also distinct from consciousness.  For present purposes the activities of the cerebrum may be divided into the emotional and the more strictly-speaking intellectual acts.  A little thought will, I think, convince any of my readers that emotions are as purely automatic as the movements of the frog’s hind leg.  The Irishman who said that he was really a brave man, although he had a cowardly pair of legs which always ran away with him, was far from speaking