Part 10

There are also in the skin a number of little GLANDS. One set of these are called “oil-glands;” for their office is to furnish an oily, or waxy, substance, which serves to keep the skin soft and pliable, and defends it against too much moisture, or too great dryness of the atmosphere. They are usually, as shown in the accompanying sketch, (fig. 83, _g_, _g_) connected with the hairs, lying beside them; and their ducts--the little tubes that carry off the oily matter formed in them--open either into the hair follicles, or penetrate the cuticle at some other part. They are not found on the palms of the hand or the soles of the feet, because those parts are, in great measure, sheltered from atmospheric influences, and are well moistened with perspiration. When the dry easterly winds prevail one is disposed to wish that these glands were more numerous on the back of the hands; for a more liberal supply of their secretion would, probably, prevent the disagreeable chapping to which we are subject at those times. As a substitute we resort to some unctuous matter, such as glycerine, which if frequently applied in small quantities performs, to some extent, the part of the natural secretion in keeping the cuticle soft and supple, and so preventing its cracking.

The secretion of these glands has an odour, the purpose of which, in man, is not very obvious. It is faintest in the highest and most civilized nations. In none is it very agreeable; and persons are fain to conceal it by substituting some other odour, as that of lavender or eau-de-cologne. Unfortunately the choice is not always so refined; and one is, sometimes, disposed to think that the natural odour must be very bad, if the substitute be preferable. The odour varies at different parts of the body; it varies also in different persons, sufficiently to enable the acute nose of the dog to track one particular man among a thousand.

_Sweat-glands._

To revert to the figure (70) at page 165, the little masses at _g_, _g_, are grains of fat lying in the meshes of the deeper strata of the skin, or in the structure just below it. And the little balls of twisted tube (_f_, _f_) are GLANDS that secrete the PERSPIRATION; for, the perspiration does not ooze up from the whole surface of the skin, but has a regular system of factories for its formation. A fine tube (_h_) is seen passing from each of these “sweat-glands,” as they are called. It curls in a spiral manner, like a cork-screw, where it traverses the cuticle to open at the surface. On the palmar aspect of the hand most of these tubes or ducts open along the tops of the fine ridges which are there seen; and with a magnifying glass of moderate power you can distinguish their orifices on the flattened tops of the ridges on your own fingers. These are the “pores of the skin,” respecting which we hear so much, and through which the Roman Bath brings such streams from the subjacent glands.

The sweat-glands are scattered all over the body, but are especially numerous in the palm and in the sole; and the moisture issuing from them tends to keep the skin of these parts soft and moist, and so fitted for the reception of tactile impressions. The quantity of fluid furnished by them varies a good deal in different persons, and under different circumstances. In some persons it is habitually slight; and the hands feel dry and harsh. Or, what is equally disagreeable, it is superabundant; and the hands are habitually damp, perhaps, cold and clammy, staining the gloves and soiling everything they touch. In fever the perspiration is defective; and the dryness and heat of the palm are often the first symptoms of an accession of fever that attract the patient’s notice.

We all know that perspiration is usually increased by exercise, or by the application of warmth to the surface, as by the hot air in the sudatorium of the Roman Bath; and then, by its evaporation, it cools and relieves the body, and contributes to our comfort. We know, too, that it is liable to be increased by any thing that produces a depressing effect, and that it then induces an uncomfortable sensation, chilling the surface too much, and making it cold and clammy. Most of you have experienced the discomfort of the cold sweat caused by fright; and some of you may have felt the cold, clammy hand of one who was suffering under the shock of a severe accident or the prostration caused by the sudden onset of a dangerous malady. Why perspiration should occur under these very different conditions, producing, at one time, so much relief, and, at another, so much additional discomfort, it is not easy to say.

_The sense of Feeling and of Touch in the Hand._

I have mentioned three parts of the body as remarkable for the acuteness of the sense of touch, namely, the TONGUE, the LIPS, and the HANDS. Now in each of these the skin is richly supplied with nerves and blood-vessels; and it is also thick and lies upon a soft cushiony substance, so as to be yielding and to admit of being applied accurately over any surface with which it is placed in contact, and of again resuming its shape when the pressure is removed. For instance, the tongue is so soft and yielding that, when it is applied to a tooth, it dips down between the inequalities and coves accurate information of the condition of the whole surface. The same is the case with the edges of the lips, though not in so marked a degree as in the tongue; and each of these parts is indebted for its great sensitiveness very much to the delicate soft supple nature of its structure. The palmar surface of the hand too, though, like the skin of the sole, it is strong and tough, so as to offer considerable resistance to injury and to prove no dainty morsel even to dogs, as we surmise from the narrative of the death of Jezebel, is yet very soft and yielding. It is also underlaid by a stratum of fat interwoven with strong fibres of tissue, just in the same manner as the skin of the sole of the foot (fig. 46, p. 99).

An accumulation of this fat and fibrous tissue under the skin forms the “Pulps” at the ends of the fingers. The slightly conical form and exquisite softness of the Pulps adapts them well for the examination of the surfaces of bodies; and the sense of touch is more acute in them than in other parts of the hand.

In connection with them it is interesting to observe that the last bone of each finger and of the thumb swells out, at the end, into a nodulated lump, which serves the purpose both of supporting the pulp and of giving breadth to the nail. It also, like the corresponding part of the toe (page 99), affords a basis of attachment for the fibres that run, from the bone, through the pad of fat, to the skin, and give firmness and consistence to the part. The bulbous enlargement at the ends of the phalanges of the fingers and toes is peculiar, or almost peculiar, to man. In most Animals these bones taper to a point; in many they are also curved. Hence the nails are, in them, comparatively unsupported, and they become bent in at the sides and curved in their length, that is to say, they are formed into claws. This is the case, to a considerable extent, in the Monkey. The terminal phalanges of the monkey’s digits are more tapering than in man; the nails are more claw-like; and the pulps are less well-formed. This constitutes a not unimportant feature of difference between the hand of that animal and the human hand, in addition to those I have already mentioned.

You have experienced the sensitiveness to cold of the pulps of the fingers and toes; and have, probably, remarked that it is more difficult to keep them warm than any part of the body. I may add that, notwithstanding the liberal allowance of the means of supporting life (that is, blood and nervous influence) which they enjoy, they are very liable to mortify from frost-bite and other causes. I have repeatedly known that to happen when all the rest of the hand has escaped. This must be attributed, perhaps entirely, to their exposed position as terminal parts; and they share their susceptibility to cold with other parts similarly circumstanced, such as the nose, the elbows, the knees and the buttocks.

It is necessary to make a distinction between the SENSE OF TOUCH and common FEELING or sensitiveness to pain; for they are not quite the same. They are, it is true, very nearly alike, so nearly that we may consider them to be modifications of one another; and it is probable that the same nerves minister to both. Still there is a difference. The sense of touch is the sense of contact with _ex_ternal bodies, and enables us to take cognisance of their presence and inform ourselves of their shape, consistence, smoothness or roughness, &c.; whereas common sensation, or the sense of feeling, has an _in_ternal relation. It imparts to us information respecting the condition of our own bodies or any part of them. By the sense of touch in the tongue, for instance, we judge of the size and hardness of the morsel in the mouth; and by common sensation we learn that the organ is being bruised or scratched by it. Sensation of pain commonly destroys the sense of touch. Put your finger into a vice, and you may feel both sides of it. Screw it up, and you have nothing but the sensation of pain. If you were to awake in this state you would not, from the mere sensation, know that you were _touching_ anything.

As a general rule there is a relation between the degree in which sensation and the sense of touch are manifested in different parts of the body. For instance, I have just been remarking on the acuteness of the sense of touch in the Tongue; and we know that this part is very sensitive to pain. The pain caused by a bite of the tongue is horrible; and so effectually does it serve the good end of warning the tongue to keep within its proper bounds, that that organ very rarely suffers from the pressure of the teeth.

But, forasmuch as sensitiveness to pain serves a different purpose from the sense of touch, namely, as in the instance of the tongue just mentioned, it renders parts alive to injurious impressions, and gives them warning to escape or protect themselves; so it is, as we might expect, most manifested in those surfaces where a slight amount of injury would prove most detrimental.

Thus, the membrane (the conjunctiva) which lines the eyelids and covers the front of the eyeball is exquisitely sensitive to pain. We are reminded of this when anything touches the eye, or when a fly has lodged itself under the eyelid. And, when an operator wishes to ascertain whether his patient is sufficiently under the influence of chloroform he separates the eyelids and puts his finger gently upon the eye, knowing that if no indication be given, by flinching, that the impression made here is felt, it is probable that the patient will not be conscious of the more severe impression to be made by the knife elsewhere. Yet, this membrane is by no means pre-eminently endued with the sense of touch. Indeed, the very acuteness of its sensitiveness to pain quite unfits it for distinguishing the quality of the impressions made upon it. We know very quickly that something is in contact with the eye, but can form no idea what kind of substance it is, whether it be hard or soft, rough or smooth.

In the hand, on the contrary, the sensitiveness to pain, though considerable, is not proportionate to the acuteness of the sense of touch. The sting of the rod on the palm, if my recollection serves me right, is not so sharply felt as it is upon that other region which shares with the hand the privilege of receiving the wrathful attentions of the master; and, yet, that other region is by no means distinguished for acuteness in the sense of touch.

The mode in which sensitiveness to touch and to pain are adjusted in the hand and in the eye in relation to the functions of these two organs is one of the admirable features of their construction. Suppose the disposition to have been reversed--suppose the hand to have been as tender as the eye--of what use would it have been? The contact of a particle of dust would have caused agony; or, had the eye been no more sentient than the hand, it would soon have been destroyed by the chafing of foreign bodies upon its delicate surface.

How important is the sense of Feeling! more important than any of the other senses; more so than all the others taken together. It is almost universal in the animal kingdom. Indeed, we can scarcely conceive animal existence without it, and are slow to admit that to be an animal which shows no sign of it. Several of the lower animals seem to be destitute of any of the other senses. The POLYPS, for instance, have no sight, hearing, taste, or smell, and are dependent, therefore, entirely, upon feeling for their communication with the external world; and the range of this sense is extended in them by means of their “tentacles” or “feelers” which wave about in the water, and, when they come in contact with foreign bodies, close upon them and draw them towards the oral opening. Thus, the tentacle of the polyp is a sort of rudimentary hand, and, by the aid of feeling, fulfils one important function of the hand, viz. that of the supplying the mouth with food. The sprawling movements of an infant’s hands and the tendency which they have to close upon anything--dress, blanket, or whatever it be--and draw it to the mouth remind one forcibly of the feelers of a polyp.

In most of the lower animals, however, the sense of feeling, though present, serving for protection and giving notice of injury, is not very acute. It is not much employed by them for the purpose of obtaining information respecting external objects; and they can scarcely be said to enjoy that modification of it which we call the sense of touch in any high degree. Indeed, the skins of animals have, commonly, such a covering of thick, horny cuticle, scales, feathers, or hair, as is incompatible with a fine discriminating sense of touch.

In many of them, however, some other sense is highly developed. The VULTURE is guided by the smell of carrion for miles and miles; and the dog will, by the same sense, track game where man cannot detect the trace of an odour. Some birds can distinguish objects which are quite out of the range of our sight. The EAGLE, for instance, soars aloft, till it dwindles to a mere speck or is lost to our view, and, then, from that great height, will pounce, with unerring certainty, on an unhappy grouse upon the ground. The sense of hearing is a great means of protection to animals, and necessitates extreme stillness and caution on the part of their pursuers. The DEER, when feeding, directs his eyes upon the ground, and depends for safety, chiefly, upon his hearing, which is so acute that the huntsman is obliged to approach with all possible wariness.

In each of these instances, it may be observed, the acuteness of the particular sense is manifested chiefly in the power it gives to the animal of distinguishing objects _at a distance_. Whereas, in the ability to use the several senses for the nice discernment of the _qualities_ of substances and to derive enjoyment from them, man stands quite unrivalled. He alone appreciates the perfume of a bouquet, or takes cognisance of the various shades of colour and of the notes of music; and the sense of touch, which is of especial service in aiding us to an accurate knowledge of bodies, is much more highly developed in man than in other animals.

Fine as the sense of touch usually is in the human hand, it becomes far more so when an unusual demand is made upon it in consequence of a deficiency, or absence, of other senses. The rapidity with which blind persons can read with their fingers is truly astonishing. Some are said to be able to distinguish colours by the feel. (It should rather be said that they are capable of recognising the nice differences in certain substances by which colours are caused; for one can scarcely conceive it possible to distinguish by feeling the colours in a ray of light separated by a prism.) I am acquainted with a lady who has been, not only blind, but deaf and dumb from infancy. The sense of touch is, therefore, almost her only avenue for impressions from without; and it is surprising how much information is conveyed through it, and how quickly. It enables her to hold converse with her relatives, by the language of the fingers, almost as freely and as briskly as others do with the tongue. A few touches are sufficient to transmit a series of thoughts. After one shake of the hand her friends told me that she would recognise me again; and, true enough, although several days elapsed before I again saw her, she made the sign for my name as soon as she touched my hand. At our next meeting I presented my left hand, but was, again, immediately recognised.

Persons who have had much experience in the instruction of the deaf and dumb find that the hand, by means of writing and “dactylogy”, or the language of finger-signs, is abundantly sufficient for all the intercourse to which a deaf-mute is equal; and they are, therefore, disposed to discourage the teaching of articulation. Dr Kitto, in his little book “On the Lost Senses,” which acquires so much interest from the fact of his being himself deaf and dumb in consequence of an accident, relates that, after he had, with great difficulty, reacquired considerable facility of speech, he found it stood him in little stead. So efficient a means of intercourse had the hand become that, he tells us, he had not occasion for the use of his tongue ten times in a year.

Not only may the hand thus serve, to some extent, as a substitute for some of the other senses; it is also a most important auxiliary to them. Particularly is it so to the sense of sight, by proving, or correcting, the impressions which we receive through the eye. Without its aid we should often fail to distinguish between a real object and a picture or a reflection in a mirror, and should have difficulty in judging of size, shape, distance, &c.

_Relation of the Hand to the Eye and the Mouth._

You cannot have watched a game of cricket without being struck by the manner in which the hand acts in harmony with the eye. With what almost lightning-like rapidity it is in the exact place to catch the ball; and with what precision the practised cricketer can throw the ball to a great distance. In this, however, he is surpassed by the wonderful skill with which the Indian throws the lasso. Again, it is enough for the sportsman merely to get sight of the bird; he is scarcely conscious of the process by which the hand directs the gun and pulls the trigger at the exact moment. Still more remarkable is the successful aim when taken, as it occasionally is, without bringing the gun to the shoulder.

In estimating the importance of the hand, you must not forget that the mouth is quite dependent upon it for supplies. In most other animals the jaws are prolonged, forwards, from the cranium, and the head is placed in such a position that the mouth becomes an organ of prehension, and is enabled to provide for itself. But, in man, the head is carried so high above the ground, and the jaws are so shortened and compressed beneath the forehead, that the mouth is of little use in obtaining food. Its abilities and duties are restricted to receiving, masticating, and swallowing; and, if it had to rely upon its own efforts for supplies of food, it would, indeed, be in a poor case. When we look at one of the Sphinxes from Egypt, or at one of the stately Bulls from Nineveh, in which wisdom and power are represented by joining a human head to the trunk and limbs of an animal, the question suggests itself, “How is that mouth to be fed?” In the Centaur and Mermaid this difficulty is overcome by adding the hands, as well as the human head, to the trunk and locomotory organs of the horse in the one instance, and the fish in the other; so that monstrosity does not preclude the means of sustentation. Sufficient incongruities, however, still remain to justify the exclamation

“Spectatum admissi risum teneatis amici?”

In the ELEPHANT the mouth is circumstanced, somewhat, as in man; and the office of feeder is performed by the elongated snout or proboscis. This organ, with its finger-like extremity, is so sensitive and mobile as to be able to pick up small bodies--pins or needles--from the ground, and so strong as to pull down large branches of trees, and gather the fruit from them. It is interesting, in connection with the relation of the hand to the will and the intellectual endowments, to remark that this proboscidean substitute, which fulfils so many of the purposes of the hand, is furnished to the “half reasoning” elephant. The natural sagacity and teachableness of this creature, of which such interesting evidence is given in Sir Emerson Tennent’s book on Ceylon, seem to render it quite worthy of the privilege of having an especial organ provided to minister to its will.

_Cheiromancy._

The BEAUTY of the hand does not come in for quite so great a share of admiration as that of the foot. Perhaps, because we are less often gratified with the view of the latter. Perhaps, because we are conscious that the foot is even more decidedly characteristic of the human form than is the hand; inasmuch as the hand of the monkey approaches more nearly to the human hand than does the foot of any animal to the human foot. Still, we are by no means insensible to the charms of a pretty hand; and we prefer that the glove which envelopes it should be of a material as thin and pliable as kid, so that it may adapt itself accurately to the part, and not conceal its form. A small and delicate hand is thought to be one of the best signs of high-breeding. Thus, Byron, who was no bad judge of such matters, writes

“Even to the delicacy of her hand There was resemblance such as true blood bears,”

and again,

“Though on more thorough-bred or fairer fingers No lips ere left their transitory trace.”

The LINES upon the palm, or creases formed in closing the hand, differ a little in different persons. In former times, when men were addicted to the arts of divination, and thought more about the connection between the physical world and the world of spirits, and strove, by a close observation of the former, to penetrate the mysteries of the latter, much attention was paid to these lines. They were named with the names of the Planets and the signs of the Zodiac; and a science grew up akin to Astrology and Physiognomy. CHEIROMANCY was the name given to it; and numerous and voluminous treatises were written upon it. We are told that Homer was the author of a complete essay upon the lines of the hand. That something of the kind was practised among the Romans we learn from a passage in Juvenal, translated, somewhat freely, by Dryden, as follows:

“The middle sort, who have not much to spare, To cheiromancer’s cheaper art repair, Who claps the pretty palm to make the lines more fair.”

You will estimate the value of the science of CHEIROMANCY when you hear that equal furrows upon the lower joint of the thumb argue riches and possessions; but a line surrounding the middle joint portends hanging. The nails, also, came in for their share of attention: and we are informed that, when short, they imply goodness; when long and narrow, steadiness but dulness; when curved, rapacity. Black spots upon them are unlucky; white are fortunate. Even at the present day Gipsies practise the art when they can find sufficient credulity to encourage them.