sness. This point, that we are not conscious of the formation of
groups, but only of a formed group, may throw light on the existence of
unconscious judgments, unconscious reasonings, and unconscious
registrations of experience."

Many writers have related the process by which the unconscious mentation
emerges gradually into the field of consciousness, and the discomfort
attending the process. A few examples may prove interesting and
instructive.

Maudsley says: "It is surprising how uncomfortable a person may be made
by the obscure idea of something which he ought to have said or done, and
which he cannot for the life of him remember. There is an effort of the
lost idea to get into consciousness, which is relieved directly the idea
bursts into consciousness."

Oliver Wendell Holmes said: "There are thoughts that never emerge into
consciousness, and which yet make their influence felt among the
perceptive mental currents, just as the unseen planets sway the movements
of the known ones." The same writer also remarks: "I was told of a
business man in Boston who had given up thinking of an important question
as too much for him. But he continued so uneasy in his brain that he
feared he was threatened with palsy. After some hours the natural
solution of the question came to him, worked out, as he believed, in that
troubled interval."

Dr. Schofield mentions several instances of this phase of the workings of
the unconscious planes of the mind. We mention a couple that seem
interesting and to the point:

"Last year," says Dr. Schofield, "I was driving to Phillmore Gardens to
give some letters to a friend. On the way, a vague uneasiness sprang up,
and a voice seemed to say, 'I doubt if you have those letters.' Conscious
reason rebuked it, and said, 'Of course you have; you took them out of
the drawer specially.' The vague feeling was not satisfied, but could not
reply. On arrival I found the letters were in none of my pockets. On
returning I found them on the hall table, where they had been placed a
moment putting on my gloves."

"The other day I had to go to see a patient in Folkestone, in Shakespeare
Terrace. I got there very late, and did not stay but drove down to the
Pavilion for the night, it being dark and rainy. Next morning at eleven I
walked up to find the house, knowing the general direction, though never
having walked there before. I went up the main road, and, after passing
a certain turning, began to feel