THE SKIN.
Father. It is pleasant and profitable, my children, to learn the uses of various parts of the human body; for when we understand the uses of any member of the body, and the manner in which it is composed, we shall be better able to avoid all things which would interfere with those uses. It seems to me that it would be useful for you to give your attention to these subjects, and I will give you all the assistance that I am able.
Albert. I wish to learn the use of a great many parts of my body that I do not now fully understand; for I have been told that the human form is the most perfect of all material things; and it seems to me that we ought to give much more attention to it than we have yet given.
Charles. It seems to me that it would be a good plan, if you are willing, father, to spend a part of each evening in teaching us these things. Albert and I can ask some questions, and you can answer them, and give us any other information that you think may be useful to us.
Father. I think that this is a good plan; and as we are now together, we will begin this evening. We will begin with the skin,—for though the skin covers the whole body, and is so exposed to view, there are many things concerning it with which you are not familiar.—The skin is that thin covering which is spread over the whole surface of the body. It serves to bind together and to protect from injury the more delicate parts which are beneath it. Come, Albert, tell me some of the things which you have observed respecting the skin.
Albert. The skin differs in its appearance in different animals, and in different parts of the body. With young people and females it is soft, smooth, and delicate; it is firmer and more resisting in middle age, and with males; it appears loose and wrinkled in old age, and after some diseases; it is puckered or disposed in folds in places where it would otherwise interfere with the proper movements of the limbs, as over the finger-joints, and in the palm of the hand.
Father. Very well, my son. Should you suppose, Charles, that the skin is one sheet, or that it is composed of layers?
Charles. I have observed that a very thin coat of the skin has sometimes risen in blisters, from being rubbed when I have been working, or from a burn, or slight scald; and sometimes I have peeled it off, as I can the outside bark of a birch tree; and from these things I suppose the skin is composed of thin layers.
Father. It is so. The skin is composed of three membranes, or layers. The outside layer is called the “cuticle,” or “scarf-skin.” There are some other names for the three layers of the skin besides those that I shall use; but if you remember those which I give, it will be sufficient until you are old enough to understand more fully the good books which have been written concerning the different parts of the body. The cuticle has no blood-vessels. It is very thin. There is still some doubt whether the scarf-skin has any nerves or not. Perhaps it has nerves which are so unsusceptible to external impressions, that we do not notice their effects.
Albert. If there were nerves in the scarf-skin as sensitive as those in some parts of the body, we should be in constant pain; we could not take a single step without extreme pain; for the scarf-skin is, I suppose, a protection to the parts which are tender; and unless its nerves were blunt, it would not answer this purpose. I never thought of this before; but this, as well as the structure of every part of the body, shows us the kindness and wisdom of our Creator.
Charles. And if there were blood-vessels in the scarf-skin, we should continually be in danger of being covered with blood, since a slight blow is sufficient to break this skin. I have also observed, father, that those parts of the body which are the most exposed to pressure and friction, such as the palms of the hands and soles of the feet, are provided with a scarf-skin much thicker than that on other parts of the body.
Father. Yes, my son. The difference in the thickness of the cuticle in different parts of the body is apparent even at birth. But the farmer and blacksmith, who are constantly engaged in manual labour, need a thicker scarf-skin to protect their hands, than would be convenient for a student or a merchant; and it has, for this reason, been so provided, that the scarf-skin increases in thickness when it is much used, and decreases when it is but little needed.
Charles. If we have got through with talking about the scarf-skin, I should like to ask about the next layer, for you told us there are three coats.
Father. Yes, there are three coats. Immediately beneath the scarf-skin, is what is called the mucous coat. The mucous coat is chiefly remarkable as the seat of the colouring matter of the skin.
Albert. Then I should think that persons of dark complexion must have much thicker mucous coats than those of light complexion.
Father. They have. It can scarcely be seen with those who are of a very light complexion, but in the negro it is thick. If the mucous coat were the same in all persons, all would be of one colour. The mucous coat is very bright in those fishes and other animals whose skins have beautiful, variegated colours, and is the cause of their brilliant appearance. The mucous coat, like the cuticle, is destitute of blood-vessels, and of very active nerves.
Albert. As it is not yet late, let us talk about the third layer, and then we shall have some idea of the composition of the skin.
Father. The third, or inmost layer, called the true skin, is much thicker than either of the other layers of the skin. The true skin seems to be a complete network of extremely small blood-vessels and nerves.
Charles. I can see that this is so; for I cannot prick entirely through the skin, even with the point of the finest needle, without giving some pain, and drawing some blood; and I suppose that the pain is caused by piercing a nerve, and the bleeding by opening a blood-vessel.
Father. You are right, my son. There are so many nerves in the true skin, that in amputating a limb, the principal pain is always in the skin.
Albert. I suppose we should not be able to distinguish different things by the touch, unless the true skin were furnished with nerves.
Father. One of the great uses of the skin is to remove from the body the impure matter which is constantly collecting. You both have, when warm, perceived drops of sweat, or perspiration, on your faces and other parts of your bodies. Much impure matter is removed in that way, which, if not removed, would be very injurious to the health.
Charles. It seems to me that but very little impure matter can be conveyed away in the perspiration which falls from us.
Father. Even when we cannot perceive the perspiration, there is what is called insensible perspiration, by which, in a state of health, about twenty ounces of waste matter are daily removed. When a person takes a sudden cold, this perspiration is checked, and the waste matter accumulates, and causes sickness. Perspiration takes place with much more regularity when the body is kept perfectly clean, than when it is allowed to remain dirty; and from this we can see how necessary it is to bathe the body thoroughly and frequently, and also that we ought to avoid exposing ourselves to take cold.
Albert. I thank you, father, for explaining these things, and will try to remember them.
Charles. And so do I: and I hope that another evening we shall learn much more.
VOICES FROM NATURE.
CHILD.
“River, river, stay and tell me,
Whither going with such speed?”
RIVER.
“No, I cannot stop, for onward
I must go, the sea to feed.
I am one of many others,—
To the same great deep we go,
Pouring into it for ever,
Yet it doth not overflow.”
CHILD.
“Little brook, stay still a moment,
Dancing neath the summer sun,
With such sweet and pleasant music,
Tell me, whither do you run?”
BROOK.
“I am hastening to the river,
And I cannot longer stay,
I am one of many others,
Who must feed it day by day.”
CHILD.
“Little rill, which down the mountain,
Like a silver thread dost flow,
Tell me now before you leave me,
Why you are in haste to go?”
RILL.
“Downward, downward, little maiden,
Is a voice that bids me speed,
Where a little brook is waiting,
Which my limpid drops must feed.
I am one of many others,
And when Spring’s first hours awake,
Into life and motion springing,
To the plains our course we take.”
CHILD.
“Rain-drops, which so fast are falling,
Patter, patter, on the ground,
Much I love to stand and watch you,
Much I love your merry sound;
But I pray you stop and tell me,
On what mission you are bound?”
RAIN.
“Humble as our mission seemeth,
Maiden, to your thoughtful eye,
Yet for good, by God’s appointment,
Drop by drop, I fall from high;
And, without me, mightiest rivers
Soon would leave their channels dry.”
Musing, then, the little maiden,
Inward for a moral turned,
Where, to light the spirit temple,
Truth upon her altar burned.
“Rain,” she said, “from heaven descending,
Feeds the little fountain rill:
Onward, onward, all are hastening,
Never for a moment still.
Rill, and brook, and mighty river,
All to the deep ocean go;
All the thirsty river swallows,—
Yet it doth not overflow.”
Child, thou seekest from this a moral,
Ask of Truth, and thou shalt know.
KING ALFRED.
Alfred was one of the early kings of England, distinguished for his wisdom and virtue. In his childhood he was very much indulged by his parents, and his education was neglected, but he engaged in study of his own accord, and became an eminent scholar in his youth; although in those days there were no printed books, and few means of instruction of any kind.
When he became king, after the death of his father, his country was suffering from the invasion of the Danes; and Alfred spent a considerable part of his life in wars with them. These Danes came over in swarms from the continent of Europe, under different leaders; and they succeeded in defeating the armies sent out against them, one after another, and in extending their ravages over so many parts of the kingdom, that the people of the island were reduced to despair. The army was dispersed, and Alfred had to fly and conceal himself, to save his life. He finally went to service in the family of a herdsman,—a sort of farmer, who had care of the cattle,—where he was once well scolded by the herdsman’s wife for letting some cakes burn. Hume, the historian, relates the story in the following language:—
“The wife of the neat-herd was ignorant of the condition of our royal guest, and observing him one day busy by the fireside, in trimming his bow and arrows, she desired him to take care of some cakes which were toasting, while she was employed elsewhere, in other domestic affairs. But Alfred, whose thoughts were otherwise engaged, neglected his injunction; and the good woman, on her return, finding her cakes all burnt, rated the king very severely, and upbraided him, that he always seemed very well pleased to eat her warm cakes, though he was thus negligent in toasting them.”
After this, Alfred contrived to collect some of his followers, and to conceal himself with them in the centre of a vast tract of swampy land. The piece of firm ground on which he established his company, contained only about two acres. Here he remained a year, though he often went on excursions against the enemy. Finally, his strength increased, so that he was prepared to adopt still more decisive measures. He accordingly formed a plan for a general mustering of the forces of the kingdom, in order to make a combined and effectual attack upon the Danes. At this time, another incident occurred, which has helped to make Alfred famous. He concluded, before summoning the army together, that he would go into the camp of the Danes, in disguise, in order to see what their strength and condition were. So he procured a harp, and dressed himself in the disguise of a harper. In those days, harpers were accustomed to wander about towns and armies, playing for the amusement of those who would pay them. Alfred seems to have acted his part very successfully. He not only entertained the soldiers and officers with his harp, but he amused them with tales and jokes, and finally he made his way into the tent of Guthrum, the general. There, Alfred learned all he wished to know, and then returned to his own camp. This was a very dangerous experiment, for if anything had occurred even to arouse the suspicions of the Danes, he would have been hung at once.
Immediately after this, Alfred sent messengers through the kingdom and called his army together, and, after several battles, expelled the Danes from the country. He then evinced great wisdom in the arrangements which he made for reducing the kingdom to regular order. He founded the most useful institutions, and restored the dominion of law and public tranquillity. He has been always regarded as a great benefactor of the English nation.
GRACE MIDDLETON.
Grace was returning from a distant part of the country to her own loved home; she had been living with a relation, and a long time had passed since she had heard from, or listened to the gentle voice of her parents; (there was no mail in that part of the country;) and as she drew near to each loved haunt of her early childhood, her heart beat quick with sweet anticipations of delight. She fancied her brother and sister very much grown, but still as loving and happy as when she last sported with them on the grass-plat by the cottage door. It was evening when Grace descended the long, sloping hill, at the foot of which was an extensive avenue of tall oak trees, leading directly to the cottage, and the declining sun cast a melancholy shadow over the face of this well-remembered spot, once resounding with the shouts of happy infancy.
The heart of Grace grew sad as she drew near the cottage, and she wondered very much that no one was in sight. At length she hears the well-known bark of old Carlo;—“but where are my parents, my brother and sister! I thought to find them all here; where are they?”
Alas! alas! she soon ascertained they were all gone; all, save her aged grandfather, who comes with feeble step to embrace and welcome her. “The Lord bless you, my child, and blessed be his name for restoring you to me in my old age; come with me, and let us give thanks to our heavenly Father, for all his blessings. It is true he has seen best to remove those we love most from us; but it is all right, my child, all right;” and he led her into the cottage, where the evening meal was spread for them by the kind old housekeeper; but it was a sad meal for Grace, and she soon hastened to her chamber to weep and meditate on the change which had taken place in her absence, and to think of what she ought to do.
It was the spring of the year—and when Grace arose from her bed the next morning, and looked forth from the window of her little room, and saw all Nature smiling with beauty, she felt refreshed; and as she gazed on the beautiful flowers that grew beneath her window, and listened to the songs of the birds, and the gentle murmurs of the little stream which watered the garden, she felt that she had much to be thankful for, and that good spirits were near to make her happy; and when she met her old grandfather in the library, where it was the custom to assemble the family for morning prayers, her eyes expressed the peace and devotion which she felt; and while they partook of the repast prepared for them, in the well-remembered breakfast-room, they talked over the trying events of the past with humble resignation. Grace was very thankful to find that she could, in various ways, make herself useful to her only relation; and in arranging the occupation of her time, the garden was to be under her care—to employ and amuse her as one of her principal things; and in a short time, she had made so many improvements, that her grandfather said it was quite a little paradise.
The rivulet, which flowed through the garden, had many flowers growing on its borders; and here Grace delighted to ramble, for it reminded her of other and happy days, when she had been used to gather the flowers, with her little sisters, to make nosegays for her parents.
One day, when she was walking beneath the trees of the garden, she saw a beautiful bird building its nest on one of the branches. This was a new source of delight to her; and when the nest was finished, and a little brood of beautiful birds were heard chirping in the trees, Grace thought there was but one thing more she desired, and that was a pleasant seat for her grandfather, where he might sit in the heat of the day, and enjoy his nap, or read his favourite book undisturbed; so she built him a bower, and planted the choicest flowers about it, and watered them morning and evening, that they might grow and flourish; and while she did so, she prayed that good affections might grow in her own heart, and expand like these flowers; and they did so, for, as she grew in years, she grew in wisdom and love.
Several years passed in this peaceful retirement and the care of her good grandfather,—who was now quite old, and whose white locks and feeble step reminded her that he would be called to join those who had gone before him. But for this she was prepared; for he had often spoken to her of death—he had made this subject familiar to her, and he had tried as much as possible to elevate her mind above the grave, that she might think of her departed friends as near to her, and still living in a more perfect state; and she knew it would be far better for him to go and live with his heavenly Father, than to remain in this world, even though they might continue to be very happy together; and when his last hour on earth did come, it was so full of peace and holy confidence in the Saviour of man, that she was assisted to feel and say, “Father, thy will be done;” and as she knelt by his bed-side to receive his blessing, she felt conscious that ministering angels were present, and gently removing his spirit from earth to heaven.
SHELLS.
“Well, Henry, where have you been? I have not seen you this morning.”
“I have been with papa, and he has given me this little box full of shells. Look, mamma, how very pretty they are. Papa says they are found in the sea, and that little fish live in them! Can fish live in these very small ones, mamma?”
“Yes, my dear, a fish has lived in each of these little shells. I have sometimes picked them up on the beach with the fish in them; but they are generally washed on shore when the sea is rough, and the fish dies and falls out of the shell before it is picked up; as fish, you know, cannot live out of the water. Some day I will show you a very beautiful shell, which I have in my cabinet; it is the shell of the paper nautilus, which is a very curious little fish. I have heard that it was this fish which first gave men the idea of building ships to sail on the sea. These fish have two arms, or horns, which they put out of their shells, and stretch a kind of skin across them, which makes a little sail, just like the sail of a ship. They then stretch two more arms out of the shell, which they use as oars or paddles; and when the sea is calm they amuse themselves by sailing about on the water, and look very pretty; but if a storm comes on, they draw in their horns and their little sails, and sink to the bottom.”
“Have you ever seen them sailing about, mamma?”
“No, Henry, I have not, because I have not been much on the sea; but they are often seen by sailors, who, you know, are almost always at sea. There are a great many curious fish in the sea, some very large indeed, and others very small; about many of which I shall be happy to tell you more at some future time.”
