The nose is given us for two purposes—to enable us to respire and to smell. As odours arise from the surface of the earth, the cup or funnel of the nose is turned down to meet them. In the nostrils hair again serves a useful purpose. It not only warms the air which enters the nostrils, but it springs out from all sides, and forms an intersecting net, closing the nostrils against dust, and the intrusion of small insects. If by any means, as when taking a sharp sniff, foreign matters enter the nostrils, the nose is armed with a set of nerves which communicate the fact to certain muscles, and the organs of respiration unite with those muscles to expel the intruding substances. In this action, the diaphragm, or the muscle which divides the abdomen from the chest, is pressed down, the lungs are filled with air, the passage by which that air would otherwise escape through the mouth, is closed up, and then, all at once, with considerable force, the air is pressed through the nostrils, to free them from the annoying substance. So great is the force with which this action takes place, that the passage into the mouth is generally pushed open occasioning the person in whom the action takes place, to cry "'tsha!" and thus is formed what is termed a sneeze. As with the eye, so with the nose—innumerable nerves are distributed over the lining membrane, and these nerves are connected with larger nerves passing to the brain, through which everything relating to the sense of smell is communicated.
The nose acts like a custom-house officer to the system. It is highly sensitive to the odour of most poisonous substances. It readily detects hemlock, henbane, monk's hood, and the plants containing prussic acid. It recognises the fœted smell of drains, and warns us not to breathe the polluted air. The nose is so sensitive, that air containing a 200,000th part of bromine vapour will instantly be detected by it. It will recognise the 1,300,000th part of a grain of otto of roses, or the 13,000,000th part of a grain of musk! It tells us in the mornings that our bed-rooms are impure; it catches the first fragrance of the morning air, and conveys to us the invitation of the flowers to go forth into the fields, and inhale their sweet breath. To be "led by the nose," has hitherto been used as a phrase of reproach. But to have a good nose, and to follow its guidance, is one of the safest and shortest ways to the enjoyment of health.
The mouth answers the fourfold purpose of the organ of taste, of sound, of mastication, and of breathing. In all of these operations, except in breathing, the various parts of the mouth are engaged. In eating we use the lips, the tongue, and the teeth. The teeth serve the purpose of grinding the food, the tongue turns it during the process of grinding, and delivers it up to the throat for the purposes of the stomach, when sufficiently masticated. The lips serve to confine the food in the mouth, and assist in swallowing it, and there are glands underneath the tongue, and in the sides of the mouth, which pour in a fluid to moisten the food. And so watchful are those glands of their duty, that the mere imagination frequently causes them to act. Their fluid is required to modify the intensity of different flavours and condiments in which man, with his love of eating, will indulge. Thus, when we eat anything very acid, as a lemon, or anything very irritating, as Cayenne pepper, the effect thereof upon the sensitive nerves of the tongue is greatly modified by a free flow of saliva into the mouth. And if we merely fancy the taste of any such things, those glands are so watchful, that they will immediately pour out their fluid to mitigate the supposed effect.
"I say unto you, Swear not at all; neither by heaven, for it is God's throne; Nor by the earth; for it is his footstool."—Matthew v.
In speaking, we use the lips, the teeth, the tongue; and the chest supplies air, which, being controlled in its emission, by a delicate apparatus at the mouth of the wind-pipe, causes the various sounds which we have arranged into speech, and by which, under certain laws, we are enabled to understand each other's wants, participate in each other's emotions, express our loves, our hopes, our fears, and glean those facts, the accumulation of which constitutes knowledge, enhances the happiness of man, and elevates him, in its ultimate results above the lower creatures to which the blessing of speech is denied.
The curious structure of the tongue, and the organs of speech, would fill a very interesting volume. The tongue is unfortunately much abused, not only by those who utter foul words, and convert the blessing of speech, which should improve and refine, into a source of wicked and profane language; but it constantly remonstrates against the abuse of food, and the use of things which are not only unnecessary for the good of our bodies, but prejudicial to their health. When the body is sufficiently fed, the tongue ceases its relish, and derives no more satisfaction from eating: but man contrives a variety of inventions to whip the tongue up to an unnatural performance of its duty, and thus we not only over-eat, but eat things that have no more business in our stomachs, than have the stones that we walk upon. Can we wonder, then, that disease is so prevalent, and that death calls for many of us so soon.
That wonderful essence, the Soul of man, rises above all finite knowledge. Its wonders and powers will never, probably, be understood until when, in a future state of existence, the grandest of all mysteries shall be explained. When we talk of the brain, we speak of that which it is easy to comprehend as the organ, or the seat of the mind; when we speak of the mind, we have greater difficulty in comprehending the meaning of the term we employ; but when we speak of the Soul, we have reached a point which defies our understanding, because our knowledge is limited. The brain may be injured by a blow; the mind may be pained by a disagreeable sight, or offended by a harsh word; but the Soul can only be influenced secondarily through the mind, which is primarily affected by the organs of the material senses. Thus the happiness or the misery of the Soul depends to a very great extent upon the proper fulfilment of the duties of the senses, which are the servants of the Soul, over which the mind presides, as the steward who mediates between the employer and the employed.
The Ear, which is taught to delight in sweet sounds, and in pure language, is a better servant of the master Soul, than one which delights not in music, and which listens, with approbation or indifference, to the oaths of the profane. The Eye which rejoices in the beauties of nature, and in scenes of domestic happiness and love, is a more faithful servant than one that delights in witnessing scenes of revelry, dissipation, and strife. The Nose which esteems the sweet odour of flowers, or the life-giving freshness of the pure air, is more dutiful to his master than one that rejects not the polluted atmosphere of neglected dwellings. The Mouth which thirsts for morbid gratification of taste, is more worthless than one which is contented with wholesome viands, and ruled by the proper instincts of its duty. Who that can understand the wonderful structure of the tongue, and the complicated mechanism of the organs of speech and of hearing, could be found to take pleasure in the utterance of oaths, and of words of vulgar meaning? Were those beautiful cords that like threads of silk are woven into the muscular texture of the mouth, and along which the essence of life travels with the quickness of thought, to do the bidding of the will—were they given for no higher use than to sin against the God who gave them, and upon whose mercy their existence every moment depends?