correct or natural, inasmuch as we can move the pen more freely
upwards and _out_wards than upwards and _in_wards. Hence the light
_up_ or advancing stroke--that which connects a letter with the one
which follows it--is most easily made _out_wards or to the right;
and the letters are, consequently, made to follow one another in
that direction. To understand this more clearly make a down-stroke
upon paper in the usual manner; you will then find that you can make
up-strokes from any part of it more easily to the right than to the
left; and if you make a series of continuous up-and-down-strokes at
a little distance from one another, the up-stroke is, not merely
habitually, but naturally, made fine and inclined to the right, whereas
the down-stroke is made heavier or thicker and is sloped to the left.
Moreover, you will perceive that the hand slides along the paper more
easily from left to right than from right to left.
It is worthy of remark that the writing of all that great class of
languages called Indo-European, which includes Sanscrit, Greek, Latin,
and many others, with our own, is from left to right; whereas nearly
all the writing of another great class called the Semitic, which
includes the Hebrew and Arabic, is in the opposite direction, viz.
from right to left. Some nations write in perpendicular columns, the
letters being placed under one another, of which the Chinese affords an
example. But either of the two latter methods must be inferior to the
Indo-European style in ease of execution and expedition.
_Reason for the Ring being usually placed upon the Fourth finger._
The RING-FINGER has less independent movement than either of the
others. It cannot be bent or straightened much without being
accompanied by one or both of those next it. This is, partly, because
its extensor tendon is connected, by means of a band of fibres, with
the tendon on either side of it. You may discern these connecting bands
working up and down under the skin of the back of your hand when you
move the fingers to and fro (they are represented in fig. 67).
The ring-finger is, therefore, always, more or less, protected by the
other fingers; and it owes to this circumstance a comparative immunity
from injury, as well, probably, as the privilege of being especially
selected to bear the ring in matrimony. The left hand is chosen for a
similar reason; a ring placed upon it being less likely to be damaged
than it would be upon the right hand.
Other reasons have been given for this preference. It has been
attributed to a notion among the ancients that the ring-finger is
connected with the heart by means of some particular nerve or vessel,
which renders it a more favourable medium than the other fingers for
the reception and transmission of sympathetic impressions; the left
hand being selected, in preference to the right, because it lies rather
nearer to the heart.
[Illustration: Fig. 69. Nerves of hand.]
Some slight foundation for such a notion might be imagined to exist
in the fact (supposing the ancients to have been acquainted with it)
that the distribution of the nerves to the ring-finger is rather
peculiar. The peculiarity will be readily understood by reference
to the accompanying drawing (fig. 69). Two chief nerves are
seen descending, in their course from the brain, along the arm and
forearm, to supply sensation to the palmar surface of the hand. One
(A), the larger of the two, passes in front of the middle of the
wrist, and divides into branches which are distributed to the skin of
the thumb, of the fore and middle fingers, and of the _out_er side
of the ring-finger. The other nerve (B) lies on the _in_ner side of
the forearm and wrist, and its branches go to the skin of the little
finger, and of the inner side of the ring-finger. You see, therefore,
that there is, in this finger, a meeting of the branches of the two
nerves; the two sides of the finger being supplied by different
nerves. It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that it gains
any superiority in sensitiveness or sympathetic relations by this
arrangement; and this distribution of the nerves certainly does not
offer so probable an explanation of the selection of that finger for
the honourable office of ring-bearer as the one I have suggested.
I must remark, here, that the nerve (B), in passing from the arm to
the forearm, lies on the inner side of the back of the elbow, and is
popularly known by the misnomer of the “funny-bone[8].” It lies, pretty
much out of harm’s way, in a well-protected channel between two bones.
Nevertheless, it is now and then hurt; and you know that when the
“funny-bone” is struck, a peculiar pain, or tingling, is experienced
along the little finger and the adjacent side of the ring-finger.
[8] It has been suggested, probably by _Punch_, that it is called the
“_funny-bone_” because it lies near the “_humerus_.”
The practice of wearing rings upon the hand is a very ancient one. In
some instances they were badges of slavery. More generally they were
marks of high esteem or authority; as when “Pharaoh took off his ring
from his hand and put it upon Joseph’s hand,” and when “Ahasuerus took
off his ring, which he had taken from Haman, and gave it to Mordecai.”
The Roman knights also wore rings of gold. Sometimes rings were worn
as charms against diseases; a practice which has been revived in our
own day. They were placed upon any of the fingers, and upon the right
hand as well as the left. Thus we read in Jeremiah, “though Coniah the
son of Jehoiakim king of Judah were the signet upon my right hand.”
The preference of the left hand and of the ring-finger seems to be
comparatively modern, originating, probably, when the ring was made
lighter and more fragile, and was, at the same time, adorned with
precious stones, and when it became, therefore, desirable to place it
upon the part of the hand where it is least exposed to injury.
_The Monkey’s Hand._
Most of you have spent some time in watching the inmates of that
interesting part of a zoological collection, the MONKEYS’ cage, and
have observed how nearly the hand of that animal resembles the human
hand, in the presence of a thumb, in the variety and celerity of its
movements, in the facility with which it can catch and pick up objects
and hold them up to the mouth, and in some other points. A little
closer observation, however, will show that there are some differences
between the two. The several parts do not bear the same relation to one
another in the Monkey’s hand which they do in the human hand; neither
have they quite so great variety or range of movement. The hand is
altogether narrower, and straighter. The thumb is shorter and less
strong, scarcely reaching beyond the knuckle of the fore-finger. The
fingers, on the contrary, are longer and of more uniform length; they
do not admit of being separated so widely from each other in a fan-like
manner; and the metacarpal bones at the edges of the hand, i. e. the
metacarpal bones of the thumb and of the ring and little fingers, have
not the same amount of play upon the wrist. Hence the thumb and the
fingers of the Monkey cannot be opposed to one another so easily as
in man; neither can they be so advanced in front of the middle finger
as to form a hollow or cup, in the way I described when speaking of
the hollow of the palm and the different lengths of the fingers in the
Human hand. When you throw a Monkey a nut he usually picks it up and
holds it between the thumb and the _side_ of the bent fore-finger, not
between the tips of the thumb and fingers. The length of the fingers
adapts the Monkey’s hand well for clasping firmly the branches of
trees, and assisting the animal to climb about in its native forests,
or to hold on to the bars of its cage; and so the part answers the
requirements of the creature better than if these qualities had been
sacrificed to a greater regard for variety and range of movement.
_The Hand the Organ of the Will._
The human hand is peculiarly an organ devoted to the will, being more
directly and completely under its influence than is any other part of
the body. The WILL, remember, is that self-directing faculty which can
be said to exist, definitely and decidedly, in Man alone, which is
associated in him with the responsibility attaching to the selection
between good and evil, and which is given to him to fit him to be
the reasonable servant of his Maker, and upon which, therefore, his
dignity, and his capability for occupying a position between the low
animal and the high spiritual world, so much depend. How appropriate
is it, then, that the will should have a special organ assigned as its
more peculiar minister. It is to the complete subjection of the hand
to the will, no less than to the combination of strength with variety
and delicacy in its movements, that Man is indebted for his dominion
over the rest of the animal world, and for the ability to execute the
wonderful works which his genius designs.
When we reflect how essential is the hand to Man’s well-being, power,
and progress, and upon the infinite variety of purposes which it serves
in obedience to the will, we are not surprised that the construction
of the foot, indeed of every part of the frame, should have reference
to the object of liberating the hand from the subordinate work of
locomotion to a degree which we find in no other animal, and of leaving
it free to execute its higher offices in a ready and efficient manner.
But, after all, notwithstanding the excellence of its mechanism and
its intimate relation to the will, what would the hand be without
the reflecting and designing MIND--the mind that can build upon the
past and prepare for the future, and so carry on the ever-advancing
work of human civilization and progress. Without it Man would remain
stationary, like the other animals; and, as age succeeded age, the
hand would only suffice to provide the necessary requirements of the
body. Nay, even this is saying too much; for without the mind, without,
at least, some higher instinctive or reflective faculty than the
other animals possess, Man would, in reality, be inferior to them. He
would be absolutely unable to maintain his existence, and would be a
miserable victim to the fineness of his organisation. His hand would
fail to supply him with food, or to defend him against his numerous
enemies, or to provide for the protection of his delicate and sensitive
frame from the inclemency of the elements.
The real excellence of the human hand--and the remark applies equally
to the whole human body--consists, not in the admirable construction of
its several parts, nor in their well-adjusted relation to one another,
so much as in the adaptation of the whole to the mind that presides
over it. This it is that renders Man the lord of the creation, that
enables him to subdue all his foes, and gives him, in some measure,
power over the elements, so that land and water, fire and air, are made
to serve his purpose. By this harmonious co-aptation of mind and body
Man is rendered cosmopolitan, being able to thrive in every clime,
from the regions of continual snow to those burning equatorial plains
where even reptiles perish from the heat and drought, and being able to
convert the barren plain into a fertile field, and to draw water out of
the stony rock.
At the late meeting of the British Association at Oxford, a gentleman
related that he had a monkey which was very partial to oysters, and was
very fond of playing with a hammer; but he never could be taught to use
the hammer for the purpose of breaking the oyster-shells to gratify
his appetite. How wide a gulf does the absence of intelligence in this
simple matter indicate between ourselves and the animal that approaches
nearest to us!
_The Hand an Organ of Expression._
Further, we cannot fail to recognise and admire the adaptation of
the hand to the mind at all ages, and under various circumstances;
in its weakness and suppleness, and in its purposeless and playful
movements in infancy and childhood; in its gradually increasing
strength and steadiness as the intellect ripens; in the stiffness and
shakiness of declining years; in the iron grasp of the artizan; in
the light delicate touch of the lady; in the twirlings, fumblings,
and contortions of the idiot; in the stealthy movements of the thief;
in the tremulousness of the drunkard; in the open-handedness of the
liberal man; and in the close-fistedness of the niggard.
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.
[Illustration: Fig. 70. Skin.]
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.
[Illustration: Fig. 72.]
[Illustration: Fig. 71. Skin.]
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.”
[Illustration: Fig. 73. Corn.]
[Illustration: Fig. 74. Wart.]
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.