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An architect of high professional standing who had made America his home a few years before and was approaching the end of his analysis, with his transference almost fully worked through, his symptoms mostly gone and his heterosexuality satisfactorily adjusted, took a week-end trip to Halifax and back on the steamship Aquitania. Before leaving the boat at Halifax for a brief inspection of the city, he sent out cards to friends and relatives, but being dissatisfied with what he had written to Lewis and Lafite, two of his friends, he tore up their cards, making a mental note to write out two other cards. He forgot about them, however, until the boat was about to leave for the return trip, when he hurriedly bought two postal cards and filled them out. Dropping them into the post-office box, he noticed, to his surprise, that he had written the words "S.S. Leviathan" instead of "S.S. Aquitania" on the card addressed to Lafite. His surprise was intensified by the fact that he had never been on the Leviathan and had never thought of taking passage on it or otherwise concerned himself with the boat. Fascinated by the problem of this slip of the pen he proceeded to collect the associations to his parapraxia which he subsequently brought to the analytic session.
In the card to Lafite he had referred jestingly to the fog that had endangered the boat's passage to Halifax. Lafite and he were planning a partnership, the plan having originated with the patient. In the card he congratulated Lafite, his prospective partner, on the fact that the partnership had been saved by the timely appearance of the sun which had dissipated the ugly fog.
The patient had, as a matter of fact, felt very uneasy throughout the trip. The fog depressed him and also filled