all; and those of the beard of men being
next in length, and longer than those of the
male, head. The hair of the female scalp is
not only longer than that of the male, but, in
proportion to its length, is larger in diameter.
The thickest of all human hair, however, is
that of the beard of men; and the investigations
of this subject tend to justify the assertion
of the barbers, that frequently cutting and
shaving the hair, has a tendency to make it
thicker. Every hair has a stem and a root,
just as a tree has; the root being bedded in
the skin just as the tree is in the earth. But
the comparison does not end here. The tree
has bark, medulla, and intervening substance;
the hair has the same. The bark (or cortex)
of the hair displays a series of scales placed,
one overlapping another, just as we see tiles
overlap on a house-top. Immediately below this
scaly bark we have a fibrous portion, forming
two-thirds of the bulk of the hair. These
fibres are seen to separate when the hair
splits from being left too long uncut. The
centre of the hair has a little canal, full
of an oily, marrow-like substance, containing
the greater part of the colouring matter;
black in black hair, brown in brown hair,
and almost absent when the hair has become
grey. The marrow of the hair, and its two
outer coatings, are well seen in a section of a
hair from a well-shaved chin. The razor,
day by day, cuts it across; it cannot grow
longer, so it grows thicker and stronger; and
each slice taken away by the matutinal
shave, looks, under the microscope, like a
section of a bone; just as a bone is cut across
when a ham is cut up into slices for broiling;
whilst the stump remaining on the chin has
just the same look as the bone on the section
of grilled ham ready for the breakfast-table.
The primly shaved mouth is thickly dotted
round by myriads of hideous hair-stumps, with
inner layer and marrow all exposed. Fashion,
ever since the days of Louis Quatorze, has
demanded the daily sacrifice, and men continue
to pay it. Happily they do not see the
stumps of their beards through a microscope,
or razor-makers would starve.

Fat appears to be a series of little globules,
each enclosed in a vesicle. A collection of fat,
therefore, is like a series of receptacles each
full of oily matter. The hold of a Dutch or
Irish trader full of well-filled bladders of
lard, resembles the material which makes up
the rolls of fat that traditionally hang, like
robes of office, about an alderman. The consistence
of fat varies in different animals, and
varies also in hot and cold weather. The fat
of an ox or a sheep is harder than that of a
pig; that of the human subject being intermediate
between the two extremes. The
quantity of fat secreted, varies (as is well
known) in different animals, and in different
constitutions; the tendency to its increase
varies also at different times of life. In man,
the unwieldly accumulation of fat usually
indicates that he has passed the meridian of
life. A moderate proportion of these bladders
of oil, however, adds both to health and to
beauty. Their uses are many. They give
softness to the skin, symmetry to the human
outline; they are a garment to keep out cold;
often (as on the soles of the feet) act as guards
against injurious pressure on bones, and nerves,
and muscles; and, in certain cases, form a
reserve of nourishment on which the system
can draw for sustaining life, when food cannot
be taken, or is not to be had. So, if the fat
of the frame, when magnified, does look like
a portion of the contents of a provision shop,
the similitude is as great in fact as in
appearance.

Marrow only differs from fat in this respect:
—the cells are rounder, and it is less encumbered
with cellular tissues. Inside a bone,
the fat requires, in fact, less tying together
than is needed in other situations on the body.

From this partial substitute for food to the
masticators of it, is no very violent digression.
The teeth, under the microscope, are seen to
be made up of three different portions: the
enamel on the surface above the gum; the
ivory, making up the bulk of the tooth beneath
the enamel; and the coating of the fang. The
ivory of the tooth is full of small tubes,
running from the cavity in the centre towards
the outer surface of the tooth. These tubes
get finer and finer as they approach the surface,
and many of them branch out like little
tubular trees. The microscope gives strength
to the supposition, that decay of the teeth,
with the horrible aches which accompany it,
arises from a parasitical growth promoted by
a vitiated condition of the secretions of the
mouth. The tartar that accumulates on
neglected teeth consists of lime mixed with
mucus, and the refuse from the lining substances
of the mouth. This substance contains,
in the case of negligent and dirty people,
animalcules and vegetable growths. Imagine
a human being with a small zoological and
botanical collection between, and round about,
the teeth.

We have spoken of the skin, the hair,
the fat, and the teeth; all contributing to
the appearance of the surface of the body.
One other of the materials of which the
frame is made up must be mentioned; for,
from it all the rest are built up; upon its
presence their vitality depends; and, to its
brightness and visibility is due that great
charm of the beauties of England—a blooming
complexion. We speak of the blood. It
seems simply a crimson fluid till scrutinised
under the magic glass of the microscopist.
Instead of appearing one evenly bright red
stream, we see that it is made up of globules,
some of which are white, and others red. The
white ones, indeed, are largest, and roundest;
but the red ones are by far the more numerous.
On they flow, whilst life lasts; the red dots
being too many in a plethoric alderman, or
fox-hunting squire; and too few in a pale, love-lorn
maiden, But in both alike, on, on they