242 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



May 



THE SKIN THE SEAT OF PAITJ". 



The same Infinite Wisdom which has contrived 

 pain for our protection has also distributed it in a 

 manner which causes it to fulfil its defensive pur- 

 poses with the least suff'ering to its subjects. The 

 chapters which Sir Charles Bell devoted to this 

 question in his work on the "Hand" are alone, 

 from their originality, and the striking evidence 

 they afford of design, worth all the rest of the 

 Bridgewater Treatises. The skin is the advanced 

 guard through which everj* injury to the other 

 parts must make its way. 1 he skin, therefore, 

 required to be the seat of a peculiar sensibility 

 both for its own security and to impel us to flinch 

 from the violence which would hurt the tiesh be- 

 neath. Forming our notions of pain from what 

 we feel at the surface, we imbibe the idea that 

 the deeper the wound the more severe would be 

 the sufl'ering, but this, says Sir Charles Bell, is 

 delusive, and contrary to the fact. The surgeon, 

 he adds, who makes use of the knife, informs the 

 patient that the worst is over when the skin is 

 passed, and if, in the progress of the opera' ion, 

 it is found necessary to extend the outer incision, 

 the return to the skin proves far more trying than 

 the original cut, from the contrast which it pre- 

 sents to the comparative insensibility of the in- 

 terior. The muscle is protected not by its own 

 tendei'ness, which is by no means acute, but by 

 the tenderness of its superficial covering, "which 

 affords," says Sir Charles, "a more effectual de- 

 fence than if our bodies were clothed with tlie 

 hide of a rhinoceros." To have endowed the deli- 

 cate internal textures with an exquisite suscepti- 

 bility to the gash from a knife, or a blow from a 

 stick, would have been superfluous torture. The 

 end is efi'ectually attained by spreading over them 

 a thin layer of highly sensitive skin, which is too 

 intolerant of cuts or bruises to allow any harm to 

 approach it, which it is in our power to avert. In 

 addition to the protection which is thus provided 

 against occasional dangers, the skin, by its sensi- 

 bility, is essential to our existence under the 

 hourly conditions of life. It is the skin which 

 acts as a thermometer to tell us whether the tem- 

 perature is suited to our organization, and warns 

 u,s alike to shun pernicious extremes of heat and 

 cold. It is the skin again Mhich prompts the in- 

 stinctive restlessness that preserves the entire 

 frame from decay. A ])aralytic patient must be 

 supported upon soft pillows, and his position fre- 

 quently changed by the nurse, or the uninterrupted 

 pressure upon the same surface stops the flow of 

 the blood, of which the consequence is the speedy 

 destruction of the part, mortification, and death". 

 AVhen Sir Charles Bell cdled the attention of his 

 audience to this fact, in a lecture delivered before 

 the College of Surgeons, he bid them observe 

 how often, as they listened to him, they had moved 

 upon their seats that they might shift the weight 

 of their bodies, and relieve the portions which 

 were beginning to be cramped. "Were >ou con- 

 strained," he said, "to retain one position during 

 the whole hour, you would rise stiff and lame." 

 Even in the unconsciousness of slumber the con- 

 trivance continues to act, and, were it otherwise, 

 sleep instead of being "nature's sweet restorer," 

 would derange the circulation anc'c cripple our 

 frames. 



Not only have different parts of the system sen- 



sibilities which differ in degree, but sensibilities 

 which differ altogether in kind, so that Avhile both 

 shall be acutely alive to their appropriate stimu- 

 lus, one or either may be dead to the application 

 which rouses and tortures the other. "A man 

 who had his finger torn off," writes Sir Charles 

 Bell, in his "Animal Mechanics," "so as to hang 

 by the tendon only, came to a pupil of Dr. Hunt- 

 er. I shall now see, said the sur*geon, whether 

 this man has any sensibility in his tendon. He 

 laid a cord along the finger, and, blindfolding the 

 patient, cut across the tendon. Tell me, he asked, 

 what I have cut across ? Why, the cord, to be 

 sure, was the answer." The tendon was as 

 insensible as the string itself. Further experi- 

 ments have shown that the tendons of the muscles, 

 the ligament which hold together the joints, the 

 cartilages which act as a pad to the extremities of 

 the bones where they work upon one another, feel 

 neither cuts nor burns. But there is a very dif- 

 ferent result if they are submitted to stretching, 

 laceration, and concussion. Then they raise the 

 warning voice of pain, and obtuse to what might 

 seem a more agonizing species of injury, they are 

 intolerant of the less. The reason is obvious. 

 The skin is the fence to the inner membranes 

 from the first class of evils, but if the skin is to 

 have the play and power of adaptation Avhich is 

 essential to its functions, its suppleness would 

 be too great to be a check upon the movements, 

 which affect the cartilages, the ligaments and the 

 tendons. These consequently are made impatient 

 of concussion, of tearing, and of stretching, that 

 we might not leap from heights, run with vio- 

 lence, or twist our joints with a force inconsistent 

 with the strength of the human fabric. The pain 

 of a sprained ancle shows how sufficient is the 

 punishment to put a check upon any excesses of 

 the kind. Exchange the sensibilities, confer upon 

 the membranes which are interposed between the 

 joints, or which tie them together, the same feel- 

 ings both in kind and degree which belong to the 

 skin, and the commoii movements of the body, or 

 even the weight of one foot upon another, would 

 have been attended, says Sir Charles Bell, with 

 as much suffering as we experience when we walk 

 upon an inflamed limb. — London Quarterly Re- 

 view. 



THE SEASOM". 



The winter just passed all along the Atlantic 

 sea-board, and extending into Vermont, has been 

 remarkable for its temperate character and the 

 absence of snow and rain. 



On the second of February, there were copi- 

 ous rains which filled the streams, and partially 

 soaked the ground. These were succeeded by 

 warm suns and mild winds, so that on the Jiftli 

 we saw grass growing on the sovith side of build- 

 ings which had attained a length of more than 

 six inches, and had all the freshness of grass in 

 June. 



The next rain which fell in this region was on 

 the list of March, there being slight showers 

 only, through a portion of the day, and no other 

 rain fell during the entire month. March was 

 remarkable, too, for the absence of the usual high 



