“It is,” replies Dr. Humphry, in his clever volume, The Human Foot and the Human Hand, “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.”
Dr. Humphry is no friend to Palmistry; for, he observes: “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, come 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.”
Various Modes of Salutation.
Of all the different modes of salutation in various countries, there is none so graceful as that which prevails in Syria. At New Guinea the fashion is certainly picturesque; for they place upon their hands the leaves of trees as symbols of peace and friendship. An Ethiopian takes the robe of another and ties it about his own waist, leaving his friend partially naked. In a cold climate this would not be very agreeable. Sometimes it is usual for persons to place themselves naked before those whom they salute as a sign of humility. This custom was put in practice before Sir Joseph Banks when he received the visit of two Otaheitan females. The inhabitants of the Philippine Islands take the hand or foot of him they salute, and gently rub their face with it, which is at all events more agreeable than the salute of the Laplanders, who have a habit of rubbing noses, applying their own proboscis with some degree of force to that of the person they desire to salute. The salute with which you are greeted in Syria is at once most graceful and flattering; the hand is raised with a quick but gentle motion, to the heart, to the lips, and to the head, to intimate that the person saluting is willing to serve you, to think for you, to speak for you, and to act for you.—Farley’s Syria.
What is Comfort?
Could any one really be satisfied with the attainment and diffusion of any conceivable amount of Comfort? Or do the whole series of influences which the popular sentiment almost deifies really affect very deeply the standing calamities and the standing complaints of life? It is not difficult to bring the question to a fair test. If all the causes which we see at work around us were to continue to operate for an indefinite length of time in the utmost vigour, they would probably not raise the average standard of comfort for the whole population above the point at which the average of the better-paid professional classes stands at present. The wildest dreams of the most sanguine believer in progress on Christian principles would be more than realized if he ever saw ordinary day-labourers as well off and as intelligent as ordinary lawyers, doctors, and merchants are at present. Take, then, one reasonably prosperous person of this kind, and see whether he is in such an entirely satisfactory condition. It is clear that he is not. He neither knows whence he comes nor whither he is going, nor for what purpose he lives; or at least his knowledge upon these subjects is so indefinite, so much involved in metaphors and mysteries, that it is little more than enough to make visible the darkness in which he stands. He passes through life in a round of occupations which often fatigue and hardly ever satisfy large portions of his mind; and the very comforts which have been provided for him by so infinite a multiplicity of social devices, as often as not operate to choke and strangle his energies. We need not detail the features of a familiar picture. Every one knows the gloomy side of life, and though it is not the whole truth, it is right that its existence should be recognised. It is an insulting affectation to keep it out of sight, and to persist in crying up progress and improvement as if there was no undying worm and unquenchable fire.—Saturday Review.
What is Luxury?
Luxury is the indefinite and comprehensive term of reproach with which the vulgar, in all ages, brand whatever is beyond their own tastes and habits. What is luxury to one is but refinement and civilization to others. The higher orders mingle up with their disgust at the boorish and noisy pastimes of the lower, a kind of latent feeling of their immorality: the lower revenge themselves by considering as things absolutely sinful the more splendid entertainments and elegant festivities of their superiors in wealth and refinement.—Quarterly Review.
What do we know of Life?
The condition of our life is that we stand on a narrow strip of the shore, waiting till the tide, which has washed away hundreds of millions of our fellows, shall wash away us also into a country of which there are no charts, and from which there is no return. What little we know about that unseen world comes to this—that it contains extremes of good and evil, awful and mysterious beyond all human expression or conception, and that those tremendous possibilities are connected with our conduct here. It is surely wiser and more manly to walk silently by the shore of that silent sea, than to boast with puerile exultation over the little sand-castles which we have employed our short leisure in building up. Life can never be matter of exultation, nor can the progress of arts and sciences ever really fill the heart of a man who has a heart to be filled. In its relation to what is to be hereafter, there is, no doubt, no human occupation which is not awful and sacred, for such occupations are the work which is here given us to do—our portion in the days of our vanity. But their intrinsic value is like that of schoolboys’ lessons. They are worth just nothing at all, except as a discipline and a task. It is right that man should rejoice in his own works, but it is very wrong to allow them for one instant to obscure that eternity from which alone they derive their importance. Steam-engines and cotton-mills have their greatness, but life and death are greater and older. Men lived, and died, and sorrowed, and rejoiced before these things were known, and they could do so again. Why mankind was created at all, why we still continue to exist, what has become of that vast multitude which has passed, with more or less sin and misery, through this mysterious earth, and what will become of those vaster multitudes which are treading and will tread the same wonderful path?—these are the great insoluble problems which ought to be seldom mentioned, but never for an instant forgotten. Strange as it may appear to popular lecturers, they really do make it seem rather unimportant whether, on an average, there is or is not a little more or less good nature, a little more or less comfort, and a little more or less knowledge in the world. Men live and die in India, and China, and Africa, as well as in England and France; and where there is life and death there are the great essentials of existence, and the eternal problems which they involve. This page of beautiful philosophy is from the Saturday Review.