is in close sympathy with the lungs, begins to contract with less force, propelling the blood only a short distance through its arterial channels, thus causing the extremities to grow cold.
The blood sent to the brain is not only diminished in quantity, but is laden with carbonic-acid gas, which, acting on the nervous centers, produces a gradual benumbing of the cerebral ganglia, thereby destroying both consciousness and sensation. The patient gradually sinks into a deep stupor, the lips become purple, the face cold and livid, cold perspiration (death-damp) collects on the forehead, a film creeps over the cornea, and, with or without convulsions, the dying man sinks into his last sleep. As the power of receiving conscious impressions is gone, the death-struggle must be automatic. Even in those cases where the senses are retained to the last, the mind is usually calm and collected, and the body free from pain.
"If I had strength to hold a pen, I would write how easy and delightful it is to die!" were the last words of the celebrated surgeon, William Hunter; and Louis XIV is recorded as saying with his last breath, "I thought dying had been more difficult."
That the painlessness of death is due to some benumbing influence, acting on the sensory nerves, may be inferred from the fact that untoward external surroundings rarely trouble the dying.
On the day that Lord Collingwood breathed his last, the Mediterranean was tumultuous; those elements which had been the scene of his past glories rose and fell in swelling undulations, and seemed as if rocking him asleep. Captain Thomas ventured to ask if he was disturbed by the tossing of the ship. "No, Thomas," he answered, "I am now in a state that nothing can disturb me more—I am dying; and I am sure it must be consolatory to you, and all that love me, to see how comfortably I am coming to my end." In the "Quarterly Review" there is related an instance of a criminal who escaped death, from hanging, by the breaking of the rope. Henry IV of France sent his physician to examine him, who reported that after a moment's suffering the man saw an appearance like fire, across which appeared a most beautiful avenue of trees. When a pardon was mentioned, the prisoner coldly replied that it was not worth asking for. Those who have been near death from drowning, and afterward restored to consciousness, assert that the dying suffer but little pain. Captain Marry at states that his sensations at one time when nearly drowned were rather pleasant than otherwise. "The first struggle for life once over, the water closing round me assumed the appearance of waving, green fields. . . . It is not a feeling of pain, but seems like sinking down, overpowered by sleep, in the long, soft grass of the cool meadow."
Now, this is precisely the condition presented in death from disease. Insensibility soon comes on, the mind loses consciousness of external objects, and death rapidly and placidly ensues from asphyxia.
