The human hand is not only the symbol of the intelligent artificer, “the hand of the master,” the sign and epitome of the lord and ruler; it is the instrument of the will alike for good and evil deeds. The idea of it as the active participator in every act embodies itself in all vocabularies. The imperial mandate, the lordly manumission, the skilled manufacturer, the handy tool, the unhandy workman, the left-handed stroke, the handless drudge, with other equally familiar terms, all refer to the same ever-ready exponent of the will; so that we scarcely recognise the term as metaphorical when we speak of the “willing hand.” The Divine appeal to the wrathful prophet of Nineveh is based on the claim for mercy on behalf of those who had not yet attained to the first stage of dexterity which pertains to childhood. “Should not I spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than sixscore thousand that cannot discern between their right hand and their left?” To this same test of discernment poor Cassio appeals when, betrayed by the malignant craft of Iago, he would fain persuade himself he is not enslaved by the intoxicating draught: “Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk. This is my right hand, and this is my left!” Only the infant or the drunkard, it is thus assumed, can fail to mark the distinction; and to select the true hand for all honourable service. It is the sceptred hand; the hand to be offered in pledge of amity; the one true wedding hand; the hand of benediction, ordination, consecration; the organ through which human will acts, whether by choice or by organic law. The attempt, therefore, to claim any independent rights or honourable status for the sinister hand seems an act of disloyalty, if not of sacrilege. But hand and will have co-operated from the beginning in good and in evil; even as in that first erring deed, when Eve-- Her rash hand, in evil hour Forth reaching to the fruit, she pluck’d, she ate; Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat Sighing through all her works gave signs of woe. The symbolic and responsible hand accordingly figures everywhere. The drama of history and of fiction are alike full of it. Pilate vainly washes his hands as he asserts his innocence of the blood of the Just One. “All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand!” is the agonised cry of Lady Macbeth. “This unworthy hand!” exclaims the martyr, Cranmer, as he makes it expiate the unfaithful act of signature, as though it were an independent actor, alone responsible for the deed. In touching tenderness the venerable poet Longfellow thus symbolised the entrance on life’s experiences-- Oh, little hands that, weak or strong, Have still to rule or serve so long; Have still so much to give or ask; I, who so long with tongue and pen Have toiled among my fellow-men, Am weary thinking of your task.