Part 9

Thus the hand becomes an organ of expression and an index of character. What would the nervous young gentleman in a morning call give to be quit of these tale-telling members; or what would he do without a hat or a stick to employ and amuse them? How effective an auxiliary to the orator is the wave of the hand, or, even, the movement of a finger. Some men, indeed, seem to owe the efficiency of their declamations as much to the hand as to the tongue. I have seen a practised orator (he was a man of the most complete self-possession) quell an excited audience by one determined movement of his hand. It happened to me to hear two of the most celebrated preachers of the day within a short period. In each of them the movements of the hand were remarkable, though very different. In one, the free, impassioned, but natural, and, therefore, easy action of the hand showed a deep and genuine interest in the subject, and helped to waft the fervid sentiments straight from his own heart to the hearts of his audience. In the other, who was a no less accomplished speaker, the constrained and carefully regulated movements of the hands were evidently the result of forethought and study; they were intended to be impressive, but were too obviously done for effect; and, therefore, were far less effective as well as less pleasing.

Our great and venerable orator, as well as high authority on the art of speaking (Lord Brougham), tells us that the subject of a speech should be carefully studied, and the sequences well adjusted. He says that, in the most effective passages, even of practised speakers, the exact words are usually selected beforehand; but he is silent respecting the actions by which they should be accompanied. These, at least, should be unpremeditated; and they will best assist to convey to others the real feelings and emotions when they are the simple result of the natural working of the mind upon the body.

The kind of expression that lies in the hand, being much dependent on the effect of the muscles upon it, is very hard for the artist to catch, though very important to the excellence of the picture. Painters, usually, make the hand a subject of careful study, but rarely succeed in throwing the proper amount, either of animation or of listlessness, into it. In portraits, especially, the hands are a difficult part to treat satisfactorily; yet the artist feels that they are too important not to have a prominent place, and he, commonly, imposes upon himself the task of representing them both in full. I have seen them drawn held up in front, like the paws of a kangaroo, in an otherwise good picture. The stereotyped position in portraits is that one hand lies upon a table, though it, probably, evinces an uneasiness there, while the other rests, perhaps equally uneasily, upon the arm of a chair. Vandyck, in whose paintings the hand usually forms a prominent feature, is considered to have peculiarly excelled in imparting to it a sentimental air imbued with deep pathos.

_Shaking Hands._

How much do we learn of a man by his “SHAKE-OF-HAND.” Who would expect to get a handsome donation, or a donation at all, from one who puts out two fingers to be shaken and keeps the others bent as upon an “itching palm”? How different is the impression conveyed by the hand which is coldly held out to be shaken and slips away again as soon as decently may be, and the hand which comes boldly and warmly forward and unwillingly relinquishes its hearty grasp? Sometimes one’s hand finds itself comfortably enclosed, nursed, as it were, between both hands of a friend, an elderly friend probably; or it is shaken from side to side in a peculiar short brisk manner. In either case we are instinctively convinced that we have to do with a warm and kindly heart. In a momentary squeeze of the hand how much of the heart often oozes through the fingers; and who that ever experienced it has forgotten the feeling conveyed by the eloquent pressure of the hand of a dying friend, when the tongue has ceased to speak?

Why do we shake hands? It is a very old-fashioned way of indicating friendship. Jehu said to Jehonadab, “Is thine heart right as my heart is with thine heart? If it be, give me thine hand.” It is not merely an old-fashioned custom; it is a strictly _natural_ one, and, as usual in such cases, we may find a physiological reason, if we will only take the pains to search for it. The Animals cultivate friendship by the sense of touch, as well as by the senses of smell, hearing, and sight; and for this purpose they employ the most sensitive parts of their bodies. They rub their noses together, or they lick one another with their tongues. Now, the hand is a part of the human body in which the sense of touch is highly developed; and, after the manner of the animals, we not only like to see and hear our friend (we do not usually smell him, though Isaac, when his eyes were dim, resorted to this sense as a means of recognition), we, also, touch him, and promote the kindly feelings by the contact and reciprocal pressure of the sensitive hands.

Observe, too, how this principle is illustrated by another of our modes of greeting. When we wish to determine whether a substance be perfectly smooth and are not quite satisfied with the information conveyed by the fingers, we apply it to the LIPS and rub it gently upon them. We do so, because we know by experience that the sense of touch is more acutely developed in the lips than in the hands. Accordingly, when we wish to reciprocate the warmer feelings we are not content with the contact of the hands, and we bring the lips into the service. A SHAKE-OF-HANDS suffices for friendship, in undemonstrative England at least; but a KISS is the token of a more tender affection.

Possibly it occurs to you that the TONGUE is more sensitive than either the hands or the lips. You have observed that it will detect an inequality of surface that escapes them both, and that minute, indeed, is the flaw in a tooth which eludes its searching touch. You are right. The sense of touch is more exquisite in the tongue than in any other part of the body; and to carry out my theory, it may be suggested that the tongue should be used for the purposes of which we are speaking. It is so by some of the lower animals. But, in man, this organ has work enough to do in the cultivation and expression of friendship in its own peculiar way; and there are obvious objections to the employment of it in a more direct manner for this purpose.

_The Skin of the Hand._

By the aid of the accompanying drawings you will be able to form some idea of the structure of the SKIN of the hand.

One of them (fig. 70) represents a section of the skin, made perpendicular to the surface, as seen under the microscope. It is from the end of the thumb, and includes three of those delicate lines, or ridges that are found there.

The superficial, or uppermost strata (_a_ and _b_), are the “Cuticle” or “false skin.” The outer layer (_a_) is hard, horny, and dry. It is composed of numerous fine scales laid upon one another, like the tiles upon the roof of a house, but adhering more closely together, so as to form one continuous sheet extending all over the body. The outermost of these scales are continually being shed, peeling off as scurf, or being rubbed off; and fresh ones are supplied by the next layer (_b_), which is a softer material and lies immediately upon the surface of the “cutis” or “true skin.”

This softer layer (_b_) is often called the “_Rete Mucosum_.” It is made up of minute bags or bladders, named “cells” by anatomists, which grow and propagate upon the exterior of the true skin, being nourished by the blood in the skin. Those which lie nearest the cutis are the youngest and the softest. Gradually they are pushed outwards by their successors or offspring; and, as they approach the surface, they become flatter and drier and more adherent to one another, and are finally converted into the thin scales of the cuticle. Thus, there is no real line of division between the cuticle and the rete mucosum; but the cells of the latter are gradually transformed into the scales of the former.

The rete mucosum is thicker in the Negro than in the white man, and contributes somewhat to the softness of his skin. It contains also the colouring matter in the form of minute black particles diffused among its cells (fig. 72). These particles disappear, more or less, as the cells become changed into scales; hence the outer part of the cuticle of the Negro is not so dark as the rete mucosum, but, as it is transparent, or nearly so, it allows the dark colour of the rete to show through it.

Persons commonly speak of the cuticle as if it were the whole thickness of the skin. Thus, when a blister has drawn, they say the _skin_ is raised; whereas it is only the _cuticle_. This is forced off from the skin by the fluid effused into its softer layer--i. e. into the rete--in consequence of the irritating influence of the blister.

The cuticle has no nerves, and, therefore, no feeling. It may be cut or torn without pain. The snipping of a blister with the scissors is not felt, because the cuticle only is touched. It forms a covering to the whole surface of the body, and is invaluable as a means of preventing too great evaporation. Without it we should be dried up, almost mummified, by the end of a summer’s day. It also protects the delicate sensitive skin underneath. How sore is the knuckle when the cuticle has been rubbed off! The cuticle has, moreover, the accommodating property of becoming thickest where it is most wanted, as on the sole of the foot, and on the palms of the hands of blacksmiths, and artizans, and persons who handle the oar. And if any other part of the body be subjected to much friction, for instance, the knees of housemaids, or the shoulders of men who carry packs, the cuticle soon becomes thickened there.

Beneath the cuticle lies the “Cutis” or “True Skin” (_c_, fig. 70, and _c_ and _d_, fig. 71). It is a tough structure consisting of interlacing fibrous and fine muscular tissue, and contains the blood-vessels and nerves. The cuticle may be pared off without any bleeding; but directly the skin is wounded the blood flows. The cutis does not present an even surface next the cuticle, but shoots out into a number of little finger-like processes, called “Papillæ,” which project into the contiguous soft stratum of the cuticle, and are embedded in it. Thus the superficies of the skin is increased; and as the blood-vessels and nerves of the cutis are continued into the papillæ, they contribute very greatly to the sensitiveness of the skin. They are most numerous in parts where the sensitiveness of the skin is greatest; for instance, they are more numerous on the palmar, than on the dorsal, surface of the hand. Near the ends of the fingers and thumb they are arranged in a linear manner, forming the delicate ridges that encircle the cones of the pulps. Sections of these ridges are represented in fig. 70.

The superficial or papillary part of the cutis is of finer and more delicate structure than the deeper or fibrous layer, and is, therefore, sometimes described as a separate layer. It is so represented in the accompanying figure (71, _c_).

As we are upon the subject of the cuticle and the papillæ, I will take the opportunity to say a word respecting two diseases of these structures, in which most of you, probably, have a personal interest. I mean “Warts” and “Corns.”

A WART (fig. 74) depends chiefly on a diseased state of the papillary stratum of the skin. The papillæ become coarse and grow up beyond the level of the surrounding skin, so as to present an uneven or “warty” surface. They carry a layer of cuticle before them. This layer is usually thin, so that the wart bleeds easily when it is rubbed. Sometimes, however, it is very thick and hard like a piece of horn. We, now and then, hear of a horn growing upon some part of the body, perhaps on the forehead. Such a horn is, usually, nothing more than a conical mass of cuticle formed upon the surface of a large wart. Warts are generally caused by something irritating the skin, as dirt or soot rubbed into the cuticle. For this reason they are more frequent upon the hands than upon other parts of the body.

In a CORN (fig. 73), also, the papillæ are somewhat enlarged; and this accounts in part for the great tenderness of corns. But the primary and essential feature of a corn is a thickened state of the cuticle. This is caused by too great rapidity in its formation, and is, usually, dependent upon pressure, especially if the pressure be combined with some friction. Hence corns are most commonly found upon the foot, and upon the parts of the foot, where the skin is subject to pressure and rubbing against the shoe. The drawing shows the appearance presented by a vertical section through a corn and through a small portion of the skin on either side. The accumulated layers of cuticle are seen, and the enlarged papillæ shooting up into them. I need scarcely add that it is owing to ignorance, or something worse, when corn-cutters talk of curing the malady by taking out the _roots_; for, corns, evidently, have no roots.

One word of advice about corn-cutting. Most persons have some experience in this art, and some opportunity of practising it on themselves; and many pride themselves on their skill in it. The usual plan is to shave off layer after layer from the whole surface of the corn; and this, by lessening the projection of the corn, may give relief for a few days, though it does not always do that. Soon, however, the distress returns; and the area of the corn increases after each operation. Now, I would have you observe that it is at the _middle_ of the corn that the papillæ are most enlarged; and it is here that the formation of cuticle goes on most quickly, giving rise to the little white cone or cones often seen in a corn and sometimes wrongly called the roots. The proper mode is to confine the cutting to this part, and to remove as much of the thickened cuticle as you can from this spot, digging, as it were, a hole in the middle and leaving the circumference intact. The circumference, which is not usually tender, thus forms a wall round the excavated centre and defends it from pressure; and great relief is experienced. Further benefit will be found from covering the corn with some soft adhesive plaster; and you may sometimes, with advantage, lightly apply common caustic before putting on the plaster. If you follow these directions carefully you may be your own chiropodists, and almost defy your bootmakers.

If, in cutting a corn, you go too deeply, you will wound the tops of the papillæ and cause some bleeding; this is not however usually followed by any ill consequences.

_Nails._

Almost all vegetable as well as animal surfaces are covered with some kind of cuticle. It forms the smooth exterior of a leaf and the rind of an apple; and the soft down of a moth or a butterfly, the scales of fish, the feathers and claws of birds, the quills of the porcupine, the horns of oxen and the hoofs of the horse are examples of modifications of cuticle. NAILS and HAIR are also of this nature. They are both continuous with the cuticle, and peel off with it when it is, by any process, separated from the skin. Both are formed, like the cuticle, of compressed plates or scales matted together; and these are continually being shed or rubbed off on the one side, and supplied from the rete mucosum on the other.

The rete mucosum, it should be stated, extends over the whole surface of the body. In most situations, as already mentioned, it is the medium from which the ordinary cuticle is produced; but on the upper part of the ends of the fingers and toes it is converted into nail, and in the hair follicles, as I will presently describe, it is transformed into hair.

The drawings will help you to understand the relation of the nails to the cuticle and the cutis. In the upper of the three (fig. 75) the nail with the cuticle has been detached from the cutis, so that the continuity of the two, at either end, is shown. In the middle one (fig. 76) it is represented lying in its bed in the cutis; its thin hinder edge being received into a furrow made for it in the cutis. The layer of rete mucosum (_b_) extends behind and beneath it, between it (_d_) and the cutis (_c_), and continually adds fresh material to the nail, just as, in other parts, it adds to the substance of the cuticle. The cuticle, or white line (_a_) is continuous with the nail at the sides as well as at either end. The lower figure (77) shows the bed of the cutis in which the nail reposes, the nail as well as the adjacent cuticle and the rete having been cleared away.

Thus the addition from the rete--in other words the growth of the nail--takes place at the hinder edge and at the under surface. In consequence of the addition from _behind_ the nail is increased in length and is pushed forward; and as it advances forwards it receives accessions from _beneath_, which increase its thickness and strength. Unless they be cut, or worn down, the nails grow to an indefinite length; and, when they extend beyond the tips of the fingers, their edges are bent in towards each other, and they become curved like claws. This tendency to a convex form is shown also if the nails be not properly supported by the pulps of the fingers. For instance, when persons become emaciated the pulps of the fingers usually participate in the general wasting and the nails become curved. Hence this shape of the nails has been regarded as an indication of consumption. You will understand, however, from what I have said that it is not really a symptom of any one particular disease. It simply indicates that, from some cause or other, the nutrition of the body is not properly maintained.

The Dervishes in some parts of Asia allow the thumb-nail to grow long, and then pare it to a point, so as to be able to write with it. Dr Wolff, the Eastern traveller, has told me that he has repeatedly seen this done, and that he has in his possession manuscripts written in this way.

Beneath the nail the cutis is disposed in a series of parallel ridges (fig. 78) with intervening furrows. These take the same direction as the nail, and, indeed, give rise to the fine lines that you see upon the surface of the nail. The rete mucosum, or deep soft layer of the nail, extends into the furrows between the ridges, just as the soft stratum of the cuticle extends between the papillæ of the cutis. It thus serves to keep the nail steady in its place, while it permits a certain amount of movement, and allows the nail to slide forwards upon the skin under the pressure caused by the growth at its hinder edge.

A little in front of the root of the nail the ridges of the cutis suddenly become larger and more vascular. This gives a pink hue to the nail in the greater part of its extent; while the hinder portion, separated from the front by a crescentic line, is white, in consequence of the subjacent cutis being there, more pale. You will, at once, recognise the distinction between these parts by looking at your own nails.

The ridges and furrows serve, like the papillæ in other parts of the skin, to increase the surface of the cutis; and, by affording more space for the distribution of the vessels and nerves, they contribute to the sensitiveness of the part, and account for the severe pain which is caused when any foreign body is thrust under the nail. The pulp in the interior of a tooth, and the frog of a horse’s foot, are also instances in which an exquisitely sensitive structure is placed beneath a hard or horny substance. The object, in each case, is the same, viz. to give the power of taking cognizance of impressions which are made upon the surface.

_Hairs._

HAIRS may also be regarded as modifications of the cuticle, because, like the nails, they are continuous with the cuticle, and are formed from the rete mucosum. Each hair (figs. 79 and 83) is received into a depression of the cutis, which is called a “follicle,” and which is lined, as far as the bottom, by cuticle (_a_), and rete mucosum (_b_). At the bottom of the follicle (_d_) the cuticle is absent, and the hair rests, directly, upon the rete; and, at this part, the rete, instead of being converted into cuticle, as it is at the sides of the follicle, becomes transformed into hair, in the following way.

The cells of which the rete is composed swell out as they ascend, and so form the soft “bulb” of the hair. The outermost cells are gradually flattened, and assume an imbricated arrangement, overlapping one another like the tiles upon a roof (fig. 79, _e_, and fig. 80); and those in the interior are elongated, so as to be converted into more or less distinct fibres. The cells nearest the middle, or axis, of the hair remain moister and softer than those nearer the exterior, and form what is sometimes called the “marrow” of the hair (figs. 81 and 82).

The colour of the hair is given by the presence of minute grains of colouring matter, like those in the cuticle of the Negro. They are formed in the cells at the root of the hair, and pass up with them into its structure. The quantity of colouring matter is usually slight in infancy and childhood, and increases during adolescence. Hence the hair becomes darker as we grow up. It is more or less deficient in the grey hair of old age; and in the instance of Marie Antoinette, and others whose hair is said to have turned grey in a few hours, the colouring matter is supposed to have been destroyed by some fluid, formed from the blood, and passing, through the pulp, into the hair.

The hairs serve to protect the skin; and, as a general rule, they are most abundant upon the parts which are most exposed, and which, therefore, stand most in need of such protection. They are scattered over the back of the hand. On the palmar surface they are not required, and they would have interfered with the sense of touch; and we do not, accordingly, find them there, nor upon the sole of the foot, nor upon the edges of the lips. In certain parts of some animals, however, they serve as valuable adjuncts to the tactile organs by extending the range within which the contact of surrounding substances is felt. Thus the whiskers of the cat are set upon papillæ so sensitive that the slightest touch upon any part of the hair is felt; and the animal is thereby assisted in threading its way in the dark. This provision, added to the mode in which their feet are muffled with soft hair and their claws are retracted, enables the members of the feline tribe to steal with almost absolute stillness upon their prey.

_Oil-glands._