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HERBERT SPENCER He is formal and precise in manner and speech, but he has a pleasant though not familiar smile. I asked him if he thought the size of the head had anything to do with ability or success in life, and he replied, "No," that I had fallen into a common error of supposing that the brain was the seat of the intellect, whereas it was the seat of the emotions. I was staggered, and asked him what he considered the organ of intelligence, and wondered whether he would name the liver, the lungs, or the heart, but he reassured me by answering that the intelligence resided, of course, in the brain, but that it occupied a very insignificant part as compared with the emotions; and then he stopped me, saying that he could not discuss anything of a serious nature because of his ill-health, that our conversation must be entirely gossipy. After an interval of silence, during which he asked whether he might be permitted to close his eyes, he reverted to the question by saying, "You, of course, do not mean that a large head is always a sign of intellectual capacity, and that a small one is not," and on my replying in the negative, he added, "No doubt size has something to do with the quantity or quality of the intellect, but achievement depends upon the emotions!" "Then I was right," said I, "when I once said to my doctor that I believed that the affections and all the moral faculties had their origin in the sense of touch." Looking at me quickly and sharply, he said, "What a heterogeneous idea!" and then, impatiently, "But I must not discuss. You have no idea how sensitive my mind is to all outside influence. I have ear-stoppers which I sometimes use to prevent the noise of conversation. I cannot see even my most intimate friends because of my illness." I painted on until half-past twelve, when he asked to be relieved,