The human foot and the human hand

by George Murray Humphry

THE HUMAN HAND.

THE great characteristic of the Hand, as distinguished from the Foot, is the mobility of the first digit, or thumb. Accordingly when this digit stands out apart from the others, and can be moved independently of them, so as to be more or less completely opposed to them, in the upper or Mammalian Class of animals, at least, we call the member a Hand. When this digit is absent, or is fixed in the same manner as the others, which is the case in each of the four limbs of Quadrupeds, we call the member a Foot. In Monkeys, or in most of them, the thumb is present and is separate and moveable in each of the four limbs; and these animals are, therefore, called “quadrumanous” or “four-handed.” Man, having the moveable thumb upon each of the two upper limbs only, is “bimanous” or “two-handed.” By this peculiarity, perhaps more definitely than by any other, he is distinguished in structure from all the rest of the animal series; and naturalists have, accordingly, given the epithet “Bimanous” to the class in which he is placed, and in which he stands alone.

The hand is the executive or essential part of the upper limb. Without it the limb would be almost useless. The whole limb is, therefore, so made as to give play and strength to the hand; and, in ever so brief a description of the hand, it is necessary, even more than in the case of the foot, to give some idea of the manner in which the other parts of the limb are constructed, and to dwell a little upon such points as have relation to its movements.

Fig. [53].

The general plan of construction of the upper limb will readily be understood by means of the drawings (figs. 53 and [58], p. 122). It resembles very much that of the lower limb (see fig. [4], page 15). The one bone of the upper arm—the humerus—resembles the one bone of the thigh, and is jointed, above, with the shoulder-blade, which, with the collar-bone, corresponds with the pelvis. Below, it is connected with the two bones of the fore-arm—the radius and ulna; and these correspond with the two bones of the leg. In the wrist there are eight bones, called carpal bones, arranged in two rows. These are connected with five metacarpal bones; and these, like the metatarsals of the foot, are jointed with the phalanges. Of the latter there are three in each finger; but in the thumb, as in the great toe (page [10]), there are only two.

Fig. [54].

The diagram shows how the bones of the hand are arranged in three divisions. Thus, the upper row of carpal bones (3, 4, 5) consists, practically, of three bones; the fourth (6), which is much smaller than the others, being rather an appendage to one of them than a distinct constituent of the wrist. (According to this view, the number of the wrist-bones corresponds exactly with that of the tarsal bones of the foot, viz. 7). The outer of these three carpal bones (3) bears the thumb‍[7] and the fore-finger (I. and II.), and constitutes, with them, the outer division of the hand; the inner one (5) bears the ring-finger and the little finger (IV. and V.), and constitutes the inner division of the hand; and the middle one (4) bears the middle finger (III.), and is the middle division of the hand. The diagram shows, too, that the two outer bones (3 and 4), with the two outer divisions of the hand, are connected with the radius; whereas the inner bone (5) only, with the inner division of the hand, is connected with the ulna. Strictly speaking, even this bone is not directly connected with the ulna, but is separated from it, as will be shown presently, by a thick ligament.

You frequently hear ignorant persons (and the greater number of persons are lamentably ignorant of the structure of their own body) speaking of the small bones of the shoulder, or the small bones of the elbow. You may think this a matter of no importance, and that it does not concern you and people generally to have any knowledge of human anatomy. But I will tell you what is very often happening, and will leave you to judge whether such complete ignorance on this subject is not attended with some practical disadvantage. A man meets with an injury, falls and hurts his shoulder. The immediate effects of the injury subside; but he does not quickly recover the use of the part; he still cannot raise his elbow, or put his hand upon his head, or put it behind him. Soon he begins to think that something more is wrong than has been suspected; and the notion creeps over his mind, and gradually takes possession of it, that some small bone is displaced. Not content with the assurances of his medical man, he resorts to a quack, called a “bone-setter.” The latter, taking advantage of the popular fallacy, gratifies the patient with the information that his fears are correct, affirms that “a small bone is out,” and proceeds forthwith to employ the requisite forcible measures for putting the said “small bone” in. I need not say with what result. Every year, in this civilized country, many persons are maimed for life by these attempts to put imaginary small bones in. I beg you, therefore, particularly to observe that there is no small bone either at the shoulder or at the elbow. The only small bones are at the wrist; and these are so well fitted to one another, and so firmly bound together, that nothing short of a crushing force suffices to displace them. This remark respecting the small bones of the wrist is true of nearly all the small bones in other parts of the body. So that, in fact, small bones are very rarely dislocated; and when you hear it asserted that a small bone is out, you may pretty confidently conclude that the speaker does not know what he is talking about.

I have said that the upper limbs resemble the lower in their general construction. There are, however, some important differences; and one of the chief of these is the greater variety and freedom of the movements in the upper limbs. Strength, for the purpose of carrying the body, is the object in the lower limbs. Mobility is the requisite in the upper limbs. Of this one example has already been given in the instance of the thumb as compared with the great toe.

Movements at the Shoulder.

An equally striking example is afforded by the shoulder. In the first place, the “Shoulder-blade” itself can be moved in several directions—upwards, downwards, backwards and forwards;—whereas the “Pelvis,” i. e. the part which bears to the lower limb the same relation that the shoulder-blade does to the upper-limb, is immoveably fixed.

Secondly, the “Shoulder-joint” is so made as to permit a great variety and extensive range of movements to take place. We can move the arm forwards or backwards, as in throwing a ball, or, in sword exercise; we can raise it so that the limb points straight upwards; and we can swing it round in any direction. It is owing to the free movement in this joint that we are able to apply the hand to every part of the body, so as to remove sources of irritation. It is interesting to observe how other animals get on without hands, though they are much exposed to what we should consider great annoyance, as from flies, &c. The Cow, for instance, lashes its hide with its tail. The Cat licks itself with its tongue. The Sparrow dusts itself by the road-side. The Pig and the Donkey roll in the mud. And many of them, as the Horse and the Ox, have a thin muscle, called “panniculus carnosus,” spread out under the skin, which effects those sudden twitchings of the skin whereby they are enabled to jerk off anything that troubles them. In Man the hand answers better than all these methods combined; and it is necessary that it should do so, because his skin is more sensitive and less protected by natural covering than that of any other animal.

Fig. [55].
Chest and shoulders of man.

For this freedom of movement of the arms, so important to the usefulness of the hand, we are much indebted to the “Collar-bones.” These bones, so called because they are placed at the lower part of the collum or neck, extend, horizontally, from the upper edge of the breast-bone, to the processes of the blade-bones which overhang the shoulder-joint. Thus they hold the shoulders apart, and give width to the upper part of the chest. They also steady the shoulder-blades, and afford a point d’appui to the muscles which effect the lateral movements of the arms,—for instance, to the muscles which tend to draw the arms together, as when we hold anything, between the hands, in front of us; and to those which separate the arms from one another, as when we stretch them out at right angles with the body.

Fig. [56].
Chest and shoulders of bird.

Many animals—the Elephant, the Rhinoceros, the Horse and the Ox—have no collar-bones; and they are only able to swing their fore limbs to and fro. They cannot execute any lateral movements. They cannot throw the limbs out sideways, nor press their fore feet together, so as to hold anything between them. If the horse wants to seize or hold any substance he must do it with his mouth. The Elephant has a special provision for the purpose of prehension in his trunk, which enables him to provide himself with food by pulling down the branches of trees. The Lion and the Tiger can press their fore paws together sufficiently to enable them to hold their prey, and fix it upon the ground, while they put the head down to it and pull at it and tear it with their teeth; and they are furnished with rudimentary, or half, collar-bones suspended in the flesh of the upper part of the chest; while the little Squirrel, which sits upon its hind legs, and holds up the nuts between its fore paws to be nibbled, has complete collar-bones. So has the flying Bat, the climbing Sloth and the digging Mole. In Birds the collar-bones (fig. 56, AA) are very large; and, for the purpose of giving them greater strength, they are united together in the middle line just above the breast-bone, forming what is commonly called the “merry-thought;” and, as this is not sufficiently strong to resist the force of the powerful muscles which flap the wings and sustain the animal in the air, there are, in addition, stout “side-bones,” called by anatomists “coracoid bones.” These (B) run, from the breast-bone (D), in the same direction as the collar-bones, one, on either side, to the shoulder-blades (C); and they afford even more efficient support to the shoulders than do the collar-bones. The coracoid bones are peculiar to oviparous animals, or nearly so. In some reptiles, as the Crocodile, they quite supersede the collar-bones.

These few examples are enough to show that freedom of movement of the arms, especially of lateral movement, is closely associated with, and, indeed, is dependent upon the shoulder-blades being supported and steadied by bones, which extend from the breast-bone to the shoulder-blades, and fasten the one to the other.

But, even the powers and advantages conferred by nature have often some drawbacks; and this free play of the arm at the shoulder in man, of which we are speaking, and the provision for it afforded by the collar-bone, are no exceptions to the remark. It is necessary for so great a range of movement that the socket in the shoulder-blade should be shallow, and that the ligaments which connect the arm-bone with the blade-bone should be loose. Hence the shoulder-joint is weak as regards its ability to resist injury. The collar-bone also causes the shoulder to project so much that it is greatly exposed to injury and often bears the brunt of a fall. A man is thrown from a horse or is knocked down upon the ground, and, if anything prevents the hand being stretched out, the chances are that he falls upon the shoulder. True, the head is saved thereby; but the shoulder suffers. Hence the shoulder-joint is more often dislocated than any other; and no bone is more frequently broken than the collar-bone. Even in little children, in whom, notwithstanding their many tumbles, the other bones usually contrive to escape, the collar-bones are often broken; and in grown-up persons the shoulder is sometimes dislocated by the mere action of the muscles, as in swimming, or throwing, or lifting a weight above the head.

That you may understand the movements of the shoulder a little more fully, I will ask you to contrast the drawing (fig. [58]), which shows the position of the blade-bone upon the chest in Man, with the drawing (fig. 57) of the corresponding parts of the Rhinoceros; and you will at once recognise several important differences, besides the presence of the collar-bone in the one and its absence in the other.

Fig. [57]. Rhinoceros.

In the Rhinoceros the chest is deep, from the back-bone to the breast-bone, and is flattened at the sides; and the depth of this part of the trunk is increased, slightly, by the breast-bone projecting, keel-like, underne1ath, and, much more, by the spines of the back-bone running up into a high ridge, above. The blade-bone and the arm-bone are applied against the flat side of the chest, and lie, lengthways, between the spine and the breast-bone, nearly parallel with the broad flat ribs. The blade-bone has no process overhanging the shoulder-joint, and, as before said, there is no collar-bone. The short thick arm-bone descends nearly in a line with the blade-bone, and has huge processes at its upper end for the attachment of muscles. The parts are designed to bear the great weight of the animal, and to carry its ponderous head and horn; but the only movement of which they admit is a sliding of the blade-bone and arm-bone, backwards and forwards, upon the side of the chest.

In animals of similar construction to the Rhinoceros, but of lighter frame, and of greater fleetness, the blade-bone is placed more obliquely, which gives freer and easier movement both to it and to the arm-bone. This, for instance, is the case with the well-bred horse, and if we want a quick-going horse, one that can lift his fore feet well, we should observe whether the shoulder-blade is oblique, and whether the spines of the back rise well above it. Such a horse is said to have “a good shoulder” and to be “well up.” He will carry a saddle well, and is not likely to trip.

Fig. [58].

In Man the chest has proportionately less depth and length, and greater breadth, than in any other animal; the breast-bone is quite flat; and the spines of the back are sloped downwards, so that they do not project beyond the level of the ribs and the blade-bones. Hence he can lie easily either upon the stomach or the back—a privilege which is shared with him by very few of the lower animals. Scarcely any of them can lie upon the back, or even upon the stomach without the help of the fore limbs. The donkey enjoys rolling over and over upon a dusty road, but he cannot poise himself for a minute upon his back.

The sides of Man’s chest, moreover, are not flat, as in the Rhinoceros and Horse, but rounded, so that the blade-bones can revolve upon them to and fro, as well as slide upwards and downwards; and the long arms—comparatively long, that is, from the shoulder to the elbow—hang quite free of the chest and form sharp angles with the blade-bones.

The blade-bones are accommodated to the shape of the chest; for, instead of being elongated in a direction parallel with the ribs, they are prolonged downwards, along the sides of the chest, at right angles with the ribs. This prolongation of the lower part of the blade-bone is very important, inasmuch as it enables the muscles to hold the bone steady upon the wall of the chest, and so gives greater power to those muscles which pass from the blade-bone to the arm and act upon the shoulder-joint. Were it not for this provision the contraction of the muscles intended to raise the arm would quite fail to produce the desired effect, and instead of it would simply cause the shoulder-blade to revolve upon a transverse axis. That is to say, when we endeavoured to raise the arm our effort would merely have the effect of raising the hinder part of the shoulder-blade.

In each of these particulars—in the form of the chest, and in the shape and direction of the shoulder-blade—the Monkey is intermediate between Man and the inferior animals. The Monkey’s chest is broad and round, in proportion to its length, if we compare it with other animals; but this is less marked than in the human chest. And you perceive that the Monkey’s back-bones project, as they do in other animals, beyond the level of the ribs. The blade-bones are also like those of Man in being prolonged downwards, and in being carried, to a certain extent, across the ribs; but their lower angles do not run so far in this direction as they do in the human skeleton.

Fig. [59]. Monkey.

The movement of raising the arm, as in carrying the hand outwards, or pointing upwards, or putting the hand upon the head, is rather a difficult one, and requires the combined action of many muscles. It is, therefore, to be avoided by persons to whom muscular straining is likely to be injurious; and the power of effecting this movement is easily impaired by accident or disease. A long time often elapses even after a slight bruise of the shoulder, before the person recovers the power of putting the hand upon the head.

The exercise of raising the arms above the head is a good one for those in health, and is much, and wisely, recommended by the directors of gymnastics. It brings many muscles into play, not only those of the shoulder, but the muscles all round about the chest, viz. those which pass from the spine and ribs, as well as from the breast-bone, head, and pelvis, to the shoulder-blade and arm; and, thus, it tends to strengthen the spine and the chest, as well as the shoulders and arms. There is, perhaps, no exercise so good as this; and it is much to be regretted that the dress of young ladies, with its paraphernalia of stays and shoulder-straps, interferes so greatly with it. The frequency among them of “pigeon-breast” and “crooked spine” must, partly, be attributed to the confinement of the arms, caused by the mode of dress and the customs of life. One of the few opportunities afforded to the arms of availing themselves of this exercise is in the dressing-room during the process of brushing the hair. I would by all means, therefore, recommend young ladies to give sufficient time and attention to this part of the toilette, and not to delegate it to the lady’s maid. If, in addition, I suggest that it be commonly done with open window, I feel sure that I shall have a deservedly great authority among them—Miss Nightingale—on my side.

Fig. [60].
Elbow-joint.

The movement at the Elbow is, merely, that of bending and straightening, in a hinge-like manner; yet there is a slight obliquity in the direction in which it takes place, an obliquity resembling that in the movement at the knee (page [39]).

Pronation and Supination of the Hand.

In the Forearm and Hand there is a movement with which we have nothing exactly corresponding in the leg. It is called “Pronation and Supination.” In pronation we turn the palm downwards, as in picking up any substance from a table; in supination we turn the palm upwards, as a boy does when he holds out his hand for a caning, or for the more agreeable purpose of having a shilling put into it.

Pronation and Supination take place in the following manner. Each of the two bones of the forearm extends from the elbow to the wrist (fig. [53]); but one of them—the “ulna”—is chiefly connected with the elbow; and the other—the “radius”—is chiefly connected with the wrist, and, by means of the wrist, with the hand. The two bones are separate from one another, except at their ends. There they touch, and are jointed together in such a manner that the large lower end of the radius can play round, or partly round, the small, button-like, lower end of the ulna; and, in so doing, it carries the hand with it. In this movement the upper end of the radius (A, fig. [60]) does not leave its place, but simply revolves, upon its own axis, on the surface of the arm-bone; and its edge turns in a notch cut for it in the upper end of the ulna (B), which remains still.

Fig. [61].
Hand supine.

Fig. [62].
Hand prone.

In the drawings (figs. 61 and 62) the relation of the parts in the supine and in the prone state is shown by the aid of a plumb-line falling from the part of the arm-bone upon which the upper end of the radius revolves. The line traverses the upper end of the radius, then passes along the interval between the two bones, then traverses the lower end of the ulna, and, finally, takes the course of the ring finger. And, provided the limb be held vertically, the line traverses the same parts whatever be the position of the forearm and hand. It does so in complete supination, as shown in fig. 61; it does so in complete pronation, as shown in fig. 62; and it does so in every intermediate position. We may call it, therefore, the axis upon which the radius and the hand turn in pronation and supination; and, according to this representation, the ring finger remains stationary during the movement, while the other fingers and the thumb perform their partial revolutions around it.

I have said there is no movement in the lower limb exactly like the pronation and supination of the forearm and hand. We have, it is true, a power of moving the leg upon the thigh in a somewhat similar manner; but this can only be done when the knee is bent. For instance, when sitting in a chair with the foot upon a fender, or with the toes upon the ground, we can make the foot revolve so as to turn the heel in or out. A little careful observation, however, will prove that this movement takes place, altogether, at the knee, and that both bones of the leg participate equally in it, the whole leg revolving with the foot. Whereas, in the case of the forearm, the movement takes place, partly, at the wrist, and, partly, at the elbow; and one bone (the ulna) remains still while the lower end of the other bone (the radius) revolves around it. Moreover, the pronation and supination of the hand and forearm are much more free than these movements of the foot and leg; and they take place with equal facility and freedom in any position of the limb. We can turn the palm up or down as easily when the elbow is straight as when it is bent.

The movement of which I am speaking is so important to the usefulness of the hand, that I will call your attention to three of the muscles by which it is effected.

And, let me remark, by the way, that all the movements in the solid parts of the body—probably all without exception, even the slight wrinklings of the skin that take place when it is exposed to cold—are the result of muscular action. Muscles are bundles of fibres which have usually a red colour and constitute what is commonly called the “flesh” or “lean meat” of animals. They are endued with the power of contracting or shortening themselves; and it is this property which gives rise to the various movements of animal bodies. At their ends muscles often dwindle into “tendons” or “sinews” which, though occupying much less space, and having no contractile power, are very strong, and serve to connect the muscles with the bones.

One of the three muscles just mentioned (A, fig. [61]) passes from a projecting process on the inner side of the arm-bone, at its lower end, to the outer edge of the middle of the radius. Its contraction causes the radius to roll over, or in front of, the ulna. It thus pronates the hand, and is called a “Pronator” muscle. Another muscle (B, fig. [62]) passes, from a projecting process on the outer side of the arm-bone, to the inner edge of the radius near its upper part. It runs, therefore, in an opposite direction to the former muscle and produces an opposite effect, rolling the radius and the hand back into the position of supination. Hence it is called a “Supinator” muscle.

Fig. [63]. The Biceps Muscle.

The third is a very powerful muscle. It is called the “Biceps” muscle (fig. 63), because it has two points of attachment to the shoulder-blade. It descends along the front of the arm, and, bulging there, forms a conspicuous feature, to which athletic persons are proud to point in evidence of their muscular development. Its tendon crosses over the front of the elbow, and is inserted into the hinder edge of a stout tubercle which is seen on the inner side of the radius near its upper end. The chief effect of this muscle is to bend the elbow; but it also rotates the radius so as to supinate the hand; and it gives great power to that movement. When we turn a screw, or drive a gimlet, or draw a cork, we always employ the supinating movement of the hand for the purpose; and all screws, gimlets, and implements of the like kind, are made to turn in a manner suited to that movement of the right hand, because mechanicians have observed that we have more power to supinate the hand than to pronate it, though they are, probably, not aware that the preponderating influence of the biceps muscle is the cause of the difference.

The movement of which I am speaking is performed to its full extent only by Man. Monkeys cannot completely supinate the hand; and in most of the lower animals the part corresponding with the hand remains nearly, or quite, fixed in a state of pronation. Even in Man, complete supination is rather a constrained and awkward position. It is not a position which is habitual or natural to us. When we see any one sitting or walking with the palms turned forward it strikes us as strange, and the idea is suggested to us that the individual must be strange too, that, possibly, his head may be a little turned as well as his hands. In a state of ease the hand is naturally more or less prone; so that when it is desired to place the forearm or hand at rest, as in case of disease or injury, the prone position is usually selected. If the forearm be broken, for instance, the surgeon sets the fracture and fixes the limb with the hand prone or semiprone. This is, also, the position of greatest strength, as well as of most ease. Hence, in striking a blow, or carrying a weight, or making any strong muscular effort, the palm is always kept more or less inturned.

The Wrist.

Fig. [64]. Wrist-joints.

This drawing (fig. 64) represents what is seen when a section has been made, from side to side, through the wrist and lower part of the forearm. It gives an idea of the mode in which the several bones of the wrist are adapted to one another and held together by ligaments. The upper three wrist-bones (C, E, D) are joined together, so as to present a convex surface, which is received into a wide cup, or socket, formed by the end of the radius (A) and a ligament passing from the radius to the ulna (B); and, in pronation and supination, the end of the radius, together with this ligament and the wrist-bones, revolves upon the end of the ulna.

All the bones here represented are so well fitted to one another, and so strongly bound together, that, as I have before said, displacement very rarely occurs among them. We sometimes hear of a dislocation of the wrist, but very seldom see one. The wrist is often bruised, or its ligaments strained, by falls upon the hand; or, what very often happens, especially after the middle period of life, the bones of the forearm are broken a little above the wrist.

You might think that, in such an accident, the radius only would suffer, inasmuch as it is especially connected with the wrist-bones, and so receives the force directly from the hand. But, if you observe the line of contact of the radius and ulna (running from F), you will see that it is oblique, and that its direction is such as to cause the ulna to support the radius, and to receive some of the force from it; and this disposition, which makes the ulna share the duties of the radius, makes it, also, share the dangers; hence, it is very frequently involved with the radius in fracture of the forearm.

By the joints of the wrist we are enabled to move the hand backwards and forwards, and also slightly sideways.

The Movements of the Hand.

I come now to speak more particularly of the movements that take place in the Hand. I have already said that the mobility of the thumb is the chief characteristic of the hand as distinguished from the foot. Another important distinction between the hand and the foot is the greater length and mobility of the fingers as compared with the toes. The toes are short; and our power of moving them is, under any circumstances, slight. They constitute a small, and, comparatively, unimportant, part of the foot. The fingers, on the contrary, are long; they form a half, and, including the thumb, the more important half, of the hand. Without them the rest of the hand, indeed the rest of the limb, would be comparatively useless. Their movements are varied and free, and take place with singular facility and rapidity. We can bend them quite down upon the palm, and can extend them beyond the straight line; we can separate them from one another to a considerable extent; and we can bring them together with some force, as a waiter does when he carries a number of wine-glasses between his fingers; and persons who have lost the thumb contrive to hold a pen, a knife or fork, or other things, between the fingers.

Fig. [65].
Muscles of forearm and hand.

Let me endeavour to give you an idea of some of the muscles which are concerned in executing these movements.

The wrist and hand are bent forwards upon the forearm by means of three muscles (A, B, C, fig. 65). These all pass downwards from the inner side of the lower end of the armbone. The outer and inner ones (A and C) are connected, by tendons, with the wrist-bones; and the tendon of the middle one (B) runs over the wrist and becomes spread out in the palm like a fan, so as to support the skin of the palm and to protect the nerves and blood-vessels, which lie beneath it, from injurious pressure, when we grasp any substance firmly in the hand. The fan-like expansion of this tendon in the palm is called the “palmar fascia.” It is very strong, and is connected, below, with the ends of the metacarpal bones, and with the sheaths of the fingers. The bundle of muscles near D forms what is called the “ball of the thumb,” and serves to move the thumb in various directions.

Fig. [66].
Muscles and tendons of hand.

Beneath these three muscles which bend the wrist and strengthen the palm lies another set of muscles (A, B, fig. 66) which bend the thumb and fingers. They pass from the bones of the forearm, and end in long tendons or “leaders” which run over the wrist and palm and along the fingers and are firmly connected with the last phalanges of the fingers. They lie close to the bones in their whole course, and are held in their places by sinewy cross bands and sheaths which are seen, both at the wrist and in the fingers, in fig. 65.

Fig. [67].
Muscles and tendons on back of forearm and hand.

Fig. 67 represents the muscles on the back of the forearm. The tendons pass from them, and run, some to the wrist and extend, or bend backwards, the wrist upon the forearm, some to the thumb and extend the several joints of the thumb; and others run to the back of the fingers. These leaders lie nearer to the skin than do those on the palmar aspect; and most of those which go to the thumb and fingers may be distinguished through the skin. The short muscles (A, A) situated upon and between the metacarpal bones pass from them to the sides of the fingers; some of these serve to spread the fingers out from one another, while others have the effect of drawing them together. There are several such small muscles on both surfaces of the hand, but I must not detain you by a description of them; and there are other little muscles passing from the flexor tendons to the phalanges, which have been called fidicinales, from their assisting in performing the short quick motions of the fingers, and from their being, accordingly, called into action in playing upon the violin and other musical instruments.

Movements of the Thumb.

In its adaptation to the purposes of bearing the weight and ministering to the locomotion of the body the human foot excels that of any other animal; and, unquestionably, the human hand is not less preeminently distinguished by the nicety, the variety, and the freedom of its movements. This is shown by the manner in which it can be twisted about, by the exquisite play of the fingers; and it is shown, above all, by the mode in which the thumb can be moved to and fro, can be opposed to the other fingers, and to any part of them individually and collectively, and can be folded beneath them or clasped upon them as occasion may require.

The power which the thumb possesses, and gives to the hand, is signified by its name—“pollex,”—derived from the Latin word pollere, which means to have power. Some have supposed that the word “poltroon” is derived from pollice truncato, and signifies one so cowardly that he has submitted to have his thumb cut off in order that he may be incapacitated for fighting.

The faculty which we possess of moving the thumb in the way I have mentioned, athwart the other fingers, and of touching any part of the palmar surface of either of them depends, partly, upon its being set, not quite in the same plane with them, but, obliquely, so that when it is moved towards the palm it faces or opposes the other fingers; and, partly, upon the nature of the joint between its metacarpal bone and the bone of the wrist with which it is connected.

This joint is so constructed as to admit of three different movements. First, the thumb can be moved forwards or backwards, that is, towards, or, away from, the palm. Secondly, it can be “adducted” or “abducted,” that is, approximated to the forefinger or inclined away from it. Thirdly, it can be “circumducted,” that is, its extremity can be made to describe a circle, as in “twiddling the thumbs.” These several movements are effected with great power and rapidity by means of the bundle of muscles which forms the “ball of the thumb” (fig. [65]. D), as well as by the long muscles and tendons which descend, from the forearm, to the thumb.

Movements of the metacarpal bones of the Fingers upon the Wrist.

The movements of the thumb, through the medium of its metacarpal bone, upon the wrist are much more free than those of any of the other fingers. The middle finger, indeed, has its metacarpal bone set upon the wrist so fixedly as to admit of scarcely any such movement. The forefinger can be thus moved a little; the ring finger more and the little finger still more.

You may easily prove this by taking the knuckles or heads of the respective metacarpal bones of one hand between the fingers and thumb of the other hand, when you will find that you can press the knuckle of the little finger backwards and forwards in a very perceptible manner. Then try the knuckle of the ring finger; the movement is distinct, though not so free as in the case of the little finger. The knuckle of the forefinger you will find to be almost fixed; and in that of the middle finger you will be unable to perceive any movement at all.

In fact the joints of the metacarpal bones of the fingers with the wrist resemble those of the outer four toes with the tarsus; and the drawings of these joints of the foot (figs. [22] to 25) will serve sufficiently well to illustrate those of the hand.

These movements of the metacarpal, or knuckle, bones upon the wrist enable us to increase or diminish the hollow of the palm by bringing its edges more or less forward. Thus, when we make a cup of the hand we bring forward the metacarpal bones of the thumb and the little finger, wrinkling the skin of the palm; and when we spread the hand open we carry those bones backwards, rendering the skin of the palm tense.

These movements, moreover, enable us to bring the little fingers and the thumb more easily into contact.

Have you ever wondered what advantage is gained by the fingers and thumb all differing from one another in length; or don’t you take the trouble to reflect upon little matters of this sort? If you have, I would ask you now to remark that there is, in the several fingers, a relation between their shortness, their position near the edge of the hand, and the amount of mobility of their metacarpal bones upon the wrist. Thus the finger which is in the middle of the hand is the longest, and its metacarpal is the most fixed. The fore-finger is not quite so long; and its metacarpal is rather less immovable. The ring-finger comes next in shortness and in the mobility of its metacarpal. Then the little finger; and the thumb which is much shorter than any other has also its metacarpal much more moveable.

Fig. [68].

Observe, further, that, when the fingers and thumb are separated from one another, and then bent, the middle knuckle-bone remains stationary, but the others are advanced a little forwards, each to an extent proportionate to its mobility upon the wrist, and to the shortness of the finger. The fore-finger is, by this means, advanced a little, the ring and the little fingers more, and the thumb most of all. And the result is, that the tips of the fingers and the thumb come all to a level, and form, with the palm, a great hollow in which we can grasp any substance, a cricket-ball, for instance, and hold it very firmly. The length of the several fingers and the thumb is, therefore, just so regulated, in relation to their mobility upon the wrist, as to give us this power.

You may observe, also, that when the fingers and the thumb are spread out the space between the thumb and the fore-finger is considerably greater than either of the spaces between the other fingers. Then, by a slight movement, the thumb takes up a position in front of, or opposite to, the fingers; and in grasping any substance it has to antagonise the pressure exerted by all the fingers. Hence it needs to be much stronger than they are, and to be wielded by more numerous and more powerful muscles.

The Middle Finger is not only the longest and the largest finger; it is also, to a certain extent, the centre about which the others move. Thus, when the fingers are bent down into the palm, their tips all converge towards the middle finger; and when they are spread out, they all diverge from it. Its greater length and the greater prominence of its knuckle, expose this finger to injury more than any of the others; which may account for the fact that Surgeons are called upon to amputate the middle finger more frequently than either of the other fingers or the thumb.

The Fore-finger has the greatest range of independent movement. Hence it is used to point with, and is called the “Index” or “Indicator” finger.

Writing.

In Writing the pen should be held between the pulps of the fore and middle fingers and the thumb, in contact with all three, and firmly lodged between them. The down-stroke is made by bending the phalanges of the fingers and the thumb inwards and the metacarpal bone of the thumb outwards; and the up-stroke is made by straightening all the joints of the fingers and thumb. The hand rests lightly, not upon its whole edge, but, upon the hindermost and foremost parts of the edge, that is, upon the pisiform bone of the wrist and upon the little finger near the end, so that it can be moved easily along the paper, and can be inclined, or rolled, a little to either side. The obliquity of the stroke is not imposed by mere arbitrary rule, but is in accordance with the direction in which there is the freest movement of the fingers and thumb when thus holding the pen. Make the experiment for yourselves of moving the pen in different directions, and you will soon be satisfied that the writing-master has nature on his side in insisting on a particular movement as well as a particular mode of holding the pen. Some persons make the strokes vertical, or slope them the wrong way; but in either case the writing is stiff and awkward; it is not natural.

The custom of writing from left to right may also be regarded as correct or natural, inasmuch as we can move the pen more freely upwards and outwards than upwards and inwards. Hence the light up or advancing stroke—that which connects a letter with the one which follows it—is most easily made outwards 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.

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 outer side of the ring-finger. The other nerve (B) lies on the inner 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.

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.

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].

Fig. [72].

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.”

Fig. [73]. Corn.

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.

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.

Figs. 75, 76, 77.
Longitudinal sections of Nail.

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.

Fig. [78].
Transverse section of Nail Rete and Cutis.

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.

Fig. [79]. Hair.	Fig. [81].	Fig. [82].
	Fig. [80].

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.

Fig. [83].
Hair, and Oil-glands.

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.

Fig. [84].
Bones of Finger.

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 external 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 internal 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.

Whether any fancy of the like kind gave origin to the notion still prevalent that a wound or injury between the thumb and the fore-finger is peculiarly likely to be followed by Lock-jaw, or whether the notion was grounded on some notable instance in which that fearful malady did actually supervene upon a wound in the situation mentioned, I cannot tell. You may, however, rest assured, that it is quite a fallacy. Lock-jaw may result from a wound in any part of the body, or it may occur without a wound; it is very capricious in its attack; the surgeon does not know when to look for it; it often shows itself when he least expects it; but it is not more likely to follow a wound between the thumb and the fore-finger than a wound elsewhere. I think it well to mention this, because I have often known persons greatly alarmed when they have accidentally cut themselves in the dreaded spot.

Cause of the preferential use of the Right Hand.

Why is man usually RIGHT-HANDED? Many attempts have been made to answer this question; but it has never been done quite satisfactorily; and I do not think that a clear and distinct explanation of the fact can be given.

There is no anatomical reason for it with which we are acquainted. The only peculiarity that we can discern is a slight difference in the disposition, within the chest, between the blood-vessels which supply the right and the left arms. This, however, is quite insufficient to account for the disparity between the two limbs. Moreover, the same disposition is observed in left-handed persons, and in some of the lower animals; and in none of the latter is there that difference between the two limbs which is so general among men.

Is the superiority of the right hand real and natural, that is, congenital? or is it merely acquired? I incline much to the latter view; because all men are not right-handed; some are left-handed; some are ambidextrous; and in all persons, I believe, the left hand may be trained to as great expertness and strength as the right‍[9]. It is so in those who have been deprived of their right hand in early life; and most persons can do certain things with the left hand better than with the right.

Nevertheless, though I think the superiority of the right hand is acquired and is a result of its more frequent use, the tendency to use it, in preference to the left, is so universal that it would seem to be natural. I am driven, therefore, to the rather nice distinction, that, though the superiority is acquired, the tendency to acquire the superiority is natural.

It may be argued that the tendency must be based upon something physical, and that, therefore, a tendency to superiority implies an actual superiority. This may be so; but I do not think that we are quite in a position to assert that it is so. We perceive that there is a tendency to the preferential use of the right hand; but we do not know upon what that tendency depends, and have, therefore no right to assert that the cause of it lies in the construction of the limb or of the parts which supply the limb with blood and nervous influence, or, indeed, upon any strictly physical cause whatever.

It may be a tendency like that of certain animals to make their holes and nests in particular places and in particular ways, to watch for their prey at particular spots, to migrate in certain directions at particular periods, and to group themselves in a particular order during their travels. Such tendencies, or “Instincts” as they are often called, may possibly be the result of a peculiar conformation of the several animals; but it is, at present, by no means certain that they are so.

I have said that man is the only animal in whom a preference in the use of the limb or limbs of one side is shown. This is a consequence of the fact that he is the only animal who has occasion to use the limbs of the two sides separately, or who is in the habit of doing so. Even in the rudest state of society this habit is engendered in him from a very early period, as in carrying a stick, throwing a spear, and in a variety of ways. The habit increases as he becomes more civilized, owing to the greater number of offices which the hands are called upon to perform; and the necessity for using the hands separately would, of itself, lead each individual to the employment of one more frequently than the other; but that that one should so universally be the right hand, seems to be accounted for only by reference to some natural tendency. The imitative propensity in man and the convenience of uniformity of modes of action are scarcely sufficient to account for it.

I will not detain you by dwelling upon the effect which the superiority of the right hand has in giving a slight superiority to the right leg and the right eye, and will content myself with mentioning a single beneficial result of the preferential use of one hand, viz. that by it, we acquire a greater degree of skilfulness and dexterity than we should do if both hands were equally employed. The exclusive use, for instance, of the right hand in writing, cutting, &c. gives it a greater expertness than either hand would have had if both of them had been accustomed to perform these offices. Hence, we usually find that persons who are left-handed are rather clumsy-fingered, because, although, in them, the left hand is used for many purposes which are commonly assigned to the right, yet the conventionalities of life interfere a good deal. The pen and the knife, for instance, are still wielded by the right hand. Accordingly such persons are neither truly right-handed nor truly left-handed; and they do not commonly acquire so great skill in the use of either hand as do those whose natural tendency is more in harmony with custom.

The great martyr of our Church, when at the stake, is said to have held out his right hand into the flames and to have been heard exclaiming, till utterance was stifled, “This unworthy hand.” This unworthy hand! Of whom or of what was that hand unworthy? Was it unworthy of Him who made it? Was it unworthy of him who bore it? Was it unworthy of the purposes for which it was made? Was it not, on the contrary, a too worthy hand? a hand worthy of a better usage than to be made, first, to sign a recantation of faith and, then, to be burned for having done so? a hand worthy of a better man? No one would have admitted this more readily than Cranmer. We may be sure that he would never have thought of proclaiming a hand or any of his members to be really unworthy of him. Rather would he have willingly confessed that he had fallen far short of the standard of excellence which the body presents; and in that excellence, we doubt not, he recognised an evidence of Divine workmanship. His meaning, therefore, has not been misunderstood. Nevertheless disparaging remarks respecting the body, and the use of the word “carnal” in the sense in which it is usually employed, have some tendency to excuse a shrinking from moral responsibilities on the ground of the weakness of the flesh. Let us remember that much of that weakness is of our own engendering, that a moral obliquity is the source of many of those physical infirmities which, we flatter ourselves, may cover our delinquencies, and which a sympathising humanity is wont, perhaps too often, to throw as a shield over offenders against the laws. In man, and in man alone of created beings, the physical and the moral grow up together and react upon one another; and the charge of a body thus capable of influencing and being influenced demands all our energies to prove ourselves worthy of it.