such cases chronic inflammation of
the parts is not unfrequently the result of the injudicious practice of
attempting its removal by introducing the heads of pins into the ear.

This wax, it should be known, is designed to subserve an important end;
for the tube leading from the external ear, being, like the nose,
constantly open, is liable to the entrance of foreign bodies, such as
dust, insects, and the like. But, fortunately, it is not left without
the means of defense; for on its inside there are numerous fine
bristles, which, interlacing each other, interpose a barrier to the
entrance of every thing but sound. Moreover, between the roots of these
hairs there are numerous little glands, that secrete a nauseous, bitter
wax, which, by its offensiveness, either deters insects from entering,
or entangles them and prevents their advance in case they do enter. This
wax, then, is very serviceable. But its usefulness does not stop here.
When the ear becomes dry from a deficiency of it, the hearing becomes
imperfect, as also when it is thin and purulent. This wax not
unfrequently becomes hard and obstructs the tube, causing less or more
deafness. But this form of deafness may be easily cured, even though it
has existed for years; for, having softened the accumulations of viscid
wax by dropping animal oil into the ear, they may be removed by the
injection of warm soap-suds, which is an effectual and safe remedy.

The sense of hearing is perhaps as susceptible of cultivation as any of
the senses. The Indian in the forest, who is accustomed to listen to the
approach of his enemies or of his prey, acquires such acuteness of
hearing as to be able to detect sounds that would be inaudible to
persons living amid the din of civilized life. The blind, also, who of
necessity are led to rely more upon this sense than seeing persons,
excel in the acuteness of their hearing. They recognize their
acquaintances by the exercise of this sense as readily as persons
usually do by that of sight, an attainment which very few seeing persons
make, and yet one that is perhaps within the reach of ninety-nine
persons in every hundred. The blind judge with great accuracy the
distance of persons in conversation, of carriages in motion, and of all
sonorous bodies whose vibrations reach their ears. They even estimate
with remarkable correctness the distance and height of buildings by the
reflection or interception of sound. It is in consequence of the
ac