be delivered. As no doctor examines his own class, these lectures will be followed in about another week by the visit of another medical gentleman, who will test the proficiency of the class by an examination; after which, those who pass will receive a certificate entitling them to make practical use of the instruction they have received, for a year from its date; while those who have failed had better attend another course of lectures and try again. is made acquainted with the main portions of that wonderful piece of mechanism the human frame, with the various accidents to which it is liable, and the best mode of treatment to be adopted on their occurrence, with the appliances usually at hand on such occasions. In cases of fractures and wounds, drowning, &c., the pupils are made to comprehend the precise treatment necessary in each case by practical examples, the class binding up one another for supposed accidents; so that, were it not for the happy appearance of the patients, a visitor arriving unexpectedly at about nine P.M. would think he had stumbled upon the accident ward of an hospital. The lectures, which generally last about an hour or an hour and a half, are by no means so dry or uninteresting as outsiders might suppose; most of the pupils find them the very reverse. They are well illustrated by the help of diagrams, &c., and the lecturers endeavour to make Thus evening after evening the instruction everything as clear and simple as possible. At goes on, with a week, as stated, between each the close of each lecture, the class is invited to lecture, during which period the pupil can study ask any questions upon which they may desire his handbook, and practise on his family circle information, the same being asked while the class the lessons he has received, until at length the is assembled, in order that the question and fifth evening is reached, when, after having answer may be for the general benefit. Some heartily cheered the lecturer and bid him goodof the lecturers, also, at the end of the evening-bye, the class is informed that on the classes are generally held in the evenings, as more convenient for attendance-give out a few questions on the subjects treated of, the answers to which are to be written out and brought at the next lecture. But this is not always the case. a certain day the examination will take place, which generally causes a sensation in the class. But there is no need for any one who has really attended to his lectures to fear being 'plucked.' The examiners are not let loose with instructions to harass and worry the pupils, after the manner The subjects of the five lectures are as follows: we hear of as occasionally practised at medical (1) General outline of the structure of the human examinations; they are gentlemen who wish body, with description of bones, &c.; and ban- merely to ascertain whether the candidates for daging. (2) Arteries, veins, &c.; mode of stopping their certificates are honestly fit to be intrusted bleeding described; and bandaging. (3) Frac-with, perhaps, the lives of their fellow-creatures; tures, and treatment; bandaging. (4) Apoplexy, epilepsy, &c.; bandaging. (5) Carrying the injured. This last is for men only; in women's classes, a lecture on nursing takes its place. The classes for the two sexes are always separate. There is also for women a further class, called the 'advanced class,' which embraces all the details of the sick-room. and all their questions will be simply to test that knowledge fairly. The writer having passed his three examinations and obtained the medallion, can speak from personal experience. The certificates are frequently presented by members of the royal family, who take a great interest in the movement, as they always do in any work for the public good. The late Duke of Albany not only went through a course of instruction, but also became the president of a centre; and others of the royal family, by becoming patrons and otherwise, have evinced their appreciation of the work of the Association. The certificate thus obtained lasts for a year from its date; after which, those who intend to keep up their training must pass a second examination, merely to see that they have not forgotten the teaching. The passing of this gives another year's license, when a third and final examination must be gone through, with the same object of refreshing the memory; after which the successful candidate is presented with a bronze medallion-which he may wear at his watch-chain, &c., but never as a decoration-and is freed from any further ordeal. Those medallion holders who choose can purchase silver or gold copies of their medallion from the Association; but the status of the wearer is precisely the same, of whatever metal his badge is composed. The lectures at headquarters are held in the room directly over the centre of the old Gateway, which is the one alluded to in the article on 'St John's Gate,' in No. 33 of this Journal, as the room wherein Garrick made his first appearance as an actor, an inscription on the wall over a bust of Shakspeare commemorating the event. At the opposite end of the room is grouped an arrangement of old weapons and armour, guarded by two mailed figures; while in other parts of the room may be found sundry relics of the Order's ancestors in the shape of stone cannonballs and other ingenious implements in use for thinning the population in former times. Here, about eight P.M., when the lectures are on, may be seen an attentive group of men of all ages and callings, the professional man seated by the side of his humbler but not less useful co-worker in life's round, and all eager to profit by the coming instruction. To them enters the courteous and indefatigable secretary, Mr Easterbrook; and then, after the taking down of the names-for The pons asinorum at these lectures seems to four out of the five lectures must be attended, be the reef-knot,' which is the only knot to qualify for examination--and a few necessary allowed on a bandage. It is singular what a preliminaries connected with the payment of the number of pupils find a difficulty in tying it necessary fee, the lecturer is introduced, and the with certainty, though it is often tied by accibusiness of the evening commences. In clear dent. It is difficult to describe a knot in writing and easily comprehended phraseology, and avoid-only; but if the reader will attend to the fol ing technical terms as much as possible, the class lowing instructions, he will be enabled to tie the mysterious knot every time. Take a piece of cord about a foot long. With this tie an ordinary single knot, loosely. The reef-knot is merely a double knot, but it makes all the difference how you begin the second one. On looking at the first knot, it will be seen that one end of the cord comes out over, and the other under, the knot. Now, to tie the reefknot, all you have to do is to remember to keep that end which is over on leaving the first knot, over also in commencing the second. If you put it under, you will not succeed. The Association also gives numerous gratuitous lectures where the pupils cannot afford any payment, as at collieries, seaports, &c. ; many hundreds of the police, regular forces, railway, and dockyard employees and workers in similar avocations having thus become instructed. Of necessity, all this requires money; and therefore the Association has to be supported by the donations of friends, the subscriptions of life members five guineas; annual members-five shillings; the receipts from paying classes, and the sale of various useful appliances connected with the treatment of the injured, as litters, &c. If any of our readers desire to become associated with life-preservation, let them ascertain from the secretary at headquarters where a course of lectures can be attended, and go through it. The step will never be regretted, as the time thus spent will be passed pleasantly and profitably; and the result may be the means of saving lives near and dear to them in cases of sudden and unexpected emergency. NUMBER 492. that number. I grasped my stick firmly, and thought to myself that I was, so to speak, in a very nice little fix. Convicts are not pleasant neighbours at any time; but a tête-à-tête with an escaped convict on a lonely moor, miles from any house, is decidedly an interview not to be desired. However, my fears speedily subsided, for my convict did not seem at all disposed to make himself disagreeable, but merely stood looking at me, trembling in every limb, and from time to time coughing in a way that shook his wasted frame all over. Poor chap! he was a piteous spectacle-his cheeks all sunk and hollow, and with his prison dress just hanging about him, he looked like a living skeleton. The situation was awkward for me. As a lawabiding citizen, I felt that it was my duty to take some means of restoring him to the establishment at Princes Town, which he had evidently quitted without leave; while, as an ordinary human being, I felt the sincerest pity for the haggard fellow-creature who stood there, gazing at me with hollow, feverish eyes. However, the contest between duty and compassion was speedily put an end to by No. 492 himself, for, after a more than usually racking cough, his legs gave way under him and he rolled down among the bracken. Duty fled; compassion won the day; I went and picked him up, and propped him with his back against a rock, where he gasped and choked till I really thought he would die then and there. In a minute or two, however, he revived, and in a very faint and feeble voice said: 'I'm nigh starved, guv'nor; I guess it's about up with me.' I went back to get some sandwiches out of my case, and offered them to him; he seized them eagerly, and began to eat them ravenously; but again a terrible fit of coughing came on, and he sank back saying: 'It ain't no use; I can't eat now; s'pose I'm gone too far.' Here was a pleasant position. The man was evidently in the last stage of exhaustion; and even my unpractised eye could see that No. 492 had his days, or even hours, numbered. I moistened his lips with some brandy out of my flask, and saw, to my satisfaction, that this produced a decided improvement. But what in the world I should do next, perplexed me sorely, so I repeated the dose of brandy and took counsel with myself as to the next move. Under the influence of the brandy, my patient propped himself up again, and with great difficulty told me how he had escaped from the conviet prison three days before, and had wandered over the moor, till want of food and exposure had SOME years ago I was making a sketching tour in the West Country, and found myself one September afternoon on Dartmoor, a few miles from Princes Town. I had been strolling lazily about for some time, when I suddenly came upon a bit of moorland, which I decided it was imperatively my duty to transfer to canvas, so I sat down on a mossy boulder, and was soon diligently at work, and absorbed in the task of trying to represent the lovely autumnal tints on stream, rock, and heather. Intent on my picture, I took no note of time, till suddenly I perceived the shadow getting ominously long; and consulting my watch, I found it was past five o'clock, and that, unless I made a speedy start, I should hardly reach Princes Town before nightfall; so I hastily packed up my traps, deciding that I would come and finish the sketch on the following day. I was just lighting my pipe preparatory to starting, when I fancied that saw something move behind a large rock a few yards away, and I heard what sounded very like a smothered cough. I was a bit startled, as, save the birds, no living thing had been near me for hours; but I thought I would see what it was, so I walked up to the spot, and, pushing aside the high bracken, was going to examine the place, when suddenly a figure rose up and confronted me. I am not a nervous man, but I must confess I got a start as I saw before me a man clothed in convict garb, bare-headed, wild, and dishevelled. Even in my first alarm, I remember I noticed the number 492 on his clothes, and I don't fancy I shall ever forget | I did not think he would die in quod; but to use his own words 'spoilt his game;' and he was going back to the prison to give himself up. Seeing me sketching, and feeling his strength almost gone, he had decided to come and surrender himself to me; but when he got near, the poor fellow's courage failed him, and he had crawled away behind the rock where I had discovered him. 'It ain't no use my trying to get away, guv'nor,' said he sadly; 'I'm that weak, I can't walk a step. I couldn't escape now, not if a carriageand-four was waiting for me. I'd want a nuss to lift me up into it. Guess I'll die in quod after all.' I kept my thoughts to myself, for I felt sure that before the prison could be reached, No. 492 would be far enough away, and it would only be a suit of convict clothes or a wasted skeleton that would enter the gloomy gate. 'Look here, my poor chap,' said I. "You can't stop here; you must just let me carry you as well as I can; and I must try and get you back to the prison.' I felt rather mean as I said this, for I did pity him heartily. I knew nothing about his crimes. He might have been the greatest villain; yet I felt for him, having just tasted liberty, and having to go back to captivity. Still, I could do nothing else; and a single glance at him showed pretty plainly that the prison would not hold him long, even if we ever got there. I expected some attempt at resistance; but, to my surprise, he quietly acquiesced, saying: All right, guv'nor; it can't be 'elped. I've had my try, but summat told me as I wouldn't succeed.' It was now getting late, and the sun was just down, so there was no time to be lost, as we had a long way to go, and I was rather doubtful about my powers of carrying him, for he was, or had been, of a tolerable size and weight; but now he looked such a mere bundle of bones, that I thought I might manage it. At any rate, there was nothing to do but to try; so I hoisted him up on my back and started off in the direction of Princes Town. I shall not easily forget that journey; it soon grew quite dark, as I toiled on over the lonely road, with frequent halts to rest, while poor No. 492 grew weaker and weaker, and his terrible cough more and more frequent. We had gone, I suppose, about three miles, when I began to feel that it was quite impossible for me to accomplish the remaining distance, as it was so dark that I stumbled painfully over the rough path, and at each stumble my burden groaned with pain, and coughed so dismally, that I felt my well-meant endeavours were only putting him to complete torture; so I stopped, laid him down on the grass, and told him that we would not try to go on until the moon rose. All right, guv'nor,' said he feebly, and fell back fainting; so I administered the last few drops of brandy I had left, covered him up as well as I could with my coat, propped his head up on my sketching-case, sat down by his side, and wondered what would be the end of my adventure. I looked at my watch, and saw that it was nine o'clock. The moon, I knew, would not rise till nearly midnight, so we had three hours to wait. I think those three hours were the longest I ever passed in my life. The silence and loneliness of the moor were terrible, and No. 492 lay with his eyes closed, and, save for an occasional groan, might have been dead. Once or twice he tried to speak, but apparently it was beyond his powers, and he fell back again exhausted. Once he put out his hand, caught mine, and, to my great surprise, carried it to his lips and kissed it. I am not much used to having my hand kissed at any time, and should probably, under any circumstances, feel the situation embarrassing; but to have it kissed by a dying convict out on Dartmoor, in the middle of the night, was a novel experience. I did not mean to hurt the feelings of No. 492, but I drew it away somewhat hastily; and then, seeing his lips move, as if he was trying to say something, I bent over him to listen, and in a voice little more than a whisper he said: 'Beg your pardon, sir; but you've been precious kind to me, and I feels weak and silly like; I didn't mean no offence.' I hastened with some compunction to assure him that I was not offended; and again he closed his eyes; and around us once more was silence. At last, to my great joy, the sky brightened up a bit; the outlines of the tors became more distinct, and then the moon appeared over the hills, and shot a flood of silver light all over the moor. My spirits, which had fallen below zero, revived considerably; darkness has at all times a depressing influence, and under my peculiar circumstances, had reduced me to a most profound melancholy. I felt quite glad to see the moon rise, though, beyond the fact of being able to see where we were, it did not materially assist me out of the fix I was in. I looked at No. 492, and he seemed to be asleep. I did not like to wake him, so I got up quietly, intending to walk to the top of a hill close by, and see if I could discover the lights of Princes Town, or any house nearer, to which I might direct my steps. I was not gone long-perhaps half an hour; and when I came back, I found No. 492 with his eyes wide open, and, to my great surprise-though I do not know why I should have been so surprised-tears running down his cheeks. Really, my ideas about convicts were becoming quite upset; one who furtively kissed my hand, and who wept, was, I thought, indeed an anomaly. I bent over him, and asked if he was in worse pain, or what was the matter. fellow! he lifted his wasted hand, drew it across his eyes, and said: 'No; I ain't in no pain now, sir; but I woke from a bit of a doze, and saw you was gone; and I thought as how you had left me; and somehow I felt lonesome and afeared;' and then a great sob shook him. Poor I assured him that I was not going to leave him, and he appeared comforted. Then, after a pause, he said: 'I ain't one as has been much afeared in my time, sir; but, somehow, now I can't 'elp it; I seems all of a tremble; and it looks awful dark ahead of me, and I be so weak I don't seem able to face it nohow.' I longed truly to be able to help him, and wished with all my heart that I could do it better; but, feeling rather ashamed, I tried to tell No. 492 something about a strong Hand which will help us in the dark valley, and One who will be near us when of ourselves, as he said, 'we don't seem able to face it nohow.' He listened attentively, and then closed his eyes, murmuring something I could not catch. After a pause, I asked him if he would try to go on again. All right, guv'nor; you knows best,' was his answer, but very faint and feeble. Well, I picked him up again, and off I started. By this time the moon was high up, so we progressed a good deal faster than before, and had traversed a considerable distance before I had to stop and put my burden down. Even then, I could have gone a bit farther, but No. 492 Journal whispered: Stop, sir, now; it ain't no use; I shan't get no farther.' I laid him down, and saw at a glance that our journey together was about to end. In the moonlight he looked ghastly and wan; and as I laid him down, a violent fit of coughing came on, and after it, a red stream flowed from his mouth. Poor fellow thought I; and yet I could hardly pity him really, for to him Death must have come as a true friend. He lay quiet for some time, and I wiped the blood from his lips; then, just as the first gray streak of dawn appeared, he raised himself on his elbow and whispered: 'I've been a bad un, I knows; but I didn't 'ave no chance. Say a bit of a prayer for me, sir.' There was no refusing; and as I finished, his face lighted up, and again repeating his formula, 'All right, guv'nor,' he fell back-dead. He had succeeded in his escape, after all. I covered up the body, and thinking no one would be likely to come near the spot, I drew it aside near a rock which I should recognise again, and started off, walking briskly to Princes Town, considering many things by the way. I went to the prison, and came back with some warders to show them the spot; and, as I was obliged to await the inquest, I attended the funeral of poor No. 492. I trust that in the 'Other Land' it may be for him-as for many of us for whom it has been all wrong here- All right.' WHEN SHALL WE LOSE OUR POLE-STAR? It is THIS may be to some of our readers a startling question; for most of us have had that star pointed out to us many years; and perhaps those who directed our eyes to it little thought that there would ever be any other pole-star. well known that if the northern extremity of the axis of our earth were lengthened until it met the imaginary sphere of the heavens, it would come very near to our present pole-star, hence called Polaris; and if, for any cause, the direction of that axis were materially altered, that star would no longer be a true index of the north. We now propose to show that such a change of the direction of the earth's axis is continually taking place; and that the terrestrial axis when thus lengthened describes a cone, the apex of which is the centre of the earth; and the circumference of the base of the cone is a circle described amongst the stars. When the axis has described one-half of its course, the angle between the two positions it occupies at the beginning and at the middle of the rotation is about fortyseven degrees. And thus the extremity of the axis will successively come near to other stars than our present pole-star; and in about twelve thousand years it will have as the Polaris the very conspicuous star Vega, or a in the constellation Lyra. We now proceed to explain the reason of this movement of the earth's axis. It is well known that the earth is not a perfect sphere, but is flattened at the poles, being what astronomers call an oblate spheroid. Now, the sun's attraction upon such a spheroidal body is not quite the same as it would be upon a perfect sphere. When the sun is at either equinox-that is, just over the equator-the attraction exercised upon our earth is the same as if that body were spherical; but when the sun is at or near the upper tropic, its action upon the terrestrial matter which bulges at the equator has a tendency to pull that matter towards the ecliptic, and to make the axis of the earth approach to a vertical to the ecliptic. The same influence is at work when the sun is near the lower tropic. And if this influence were not counteracted, the effect would be to cause the ecliptic and equator ultimately to coincide; and our annual succession of seasons would be done away with. But as no such catastrophe is threatening us, and the inclination of the ecliptic to the equator remains about twenty-three and a half degrees, there must be some force which neutralises the above tendency: this is the rotation of the earth on its own axis. No one but a good mathematician could a priori tell the exact effect of these two forces combined. But any one may see how rotation may affect the motion of a body acted on by another force, by observing how a pegtop is kept upright by the rotation, whilst it falls as the rotation ceases. The influence of this rotation to keep a body from falling may be noticed by any one who carefully observes a spinning coin when about to fall. While the coin spins rapidly, its uppermost part appears as a point. As it falls, the point becomes a small circle, increasing as the rotation slackens. But if the coin be very closely watched, when beginning to fall, it will be seen that the small circle is for a moment diminished, showing that the coin had partially recovered its upright position. This recovery is entirely due to the rotation. Similarly, a bicycle is kept from falling by its horizontal motion; and a conical bullet, which has gained a great rapidity of rotation from a rifled barrel, keeps the direction of its axis without deflection to the right or left. And thus we find that the present position of the earth's axis with respect to the ecliptic is not altered ; but the two forces acting upon the earth cause the axis to rotate, as above described, so that the north pole describes a circle in the heavens. But as the period of this rotation is very great, it was not easy to detect such a result, except after a long period of observation. It was discovered thus. The point where the ecliptic and equator cut is called the first point of the constellation Aries, one of the well-known twelve signs of the zodiac. From this point all celestial measurements are made eastwards. Each star of importance has had its distance east of that point-called its right ascension-recorded. In the course of time, the tables of these numbers so recorded appeared to be erroneous; but the error was so regular, and all in one direction, that it was conjectured that the point from which these right ascensions were reckoned had itself shifted its place. And so it proved; and if any one looks at a celestial globe, he will see that Aries no longer occupies the position where the equinox is, but is somewhat to the east, or right, because the point of intersection of the ecliptic and equator has slipped back. But as the sun appears to take a shorter time to come back to the equinox than to arrive at the same stars, which were once close to that point of intersection, this slow retrograde motion is termed the precession of the equinoxes. The distance on the equator caused by this retrograde motion would, if not otherwise modified, be 5041 annually. But the attraction of the planets on each other produces a very small motion of the equinox in the other direction; and so the resulting precession is about 50"1 annually. If we divide the three hundred and sixty degrees in every circle by the above small quantity, we shall find that the period of the revolution of the earth's axis is twenty-five thousand eight hundred and sixty-eight years. Of course the moon has an influence on the extra mass at the earth's equator, as the sun has, similar in kind, but far less in quantity. This influence would cause the earth's axis to describe very small cones of the same nature as the large cone above described; and the period of every rotation would be about nineteen years. The effect of this second or lunar influence is to cause the earth's axis to dip a little towards the equator, and then to resume its position; and this nodding motion is termed nutation, from the Latin word nuto, to nod. Thus the axis of the earth describes a cone not of uniform surface, but as it were fluted, and completes its majestic round in nearly twenty-six thousand years, pointing to a various succession of stars which will in their turns be honoured by future astronomers as the pole-stars of their respective generations. the viscid admixture into its final position-into the trench, where a foundation is being formed-or between the two parallel rows of planking, forming as it were a huge mould, and marking the position of a future concrete wall. The material rapidly hardens, and in an astonishingly short period assumes that monolithic hardness which is so justly esteemed for solidity and stability, In this country, the cement usually employed in the preparation of concrete is that bearing the name of Portland cement-a designation derived, it is believed, from its similarity in appearance to Portland stone. Portland cement is prepared by the calcination' or burning of chalk and clay, and is manufactured in large quantities on the banks of the Thames and Medway. The sand employed aids in the formation of a solid mass, by filling up interstices between the larger material. It should be angular and sharp, also free from extraneous matter. When it is impossible or undesirable to use gravel, crushed stone, usually that of the neighbourhood, provided it is suitable, is employed. When used in sufficiently large quantities to warrant the employment of steam-power, a stone-crushing machine is usually provided. The stone is broken to a size similar to that of road-metal. Both as regards materials and composition, concrete necessarily presents considerable variation. The materials employed are those most available economically and physically; whilst the proportions of the admixture depend on the class of work to be executed, as well as on the individual RAPID as has been the development of concrete judgment of the designer. The ratio between during the last few years, never has that progress the quantity of cement and that of other matebeen more marked than at the present time, when rial employed forms the standard by which conscarcely an undertaking is carried out, be it cot-crete is known. Thus a six to one concrete tage construction of the simplest type, or public building vast in size-be the design insignificantly small, or the scheme one involving the outlay of millions, but we find constructors and contractors gladly availing themselves of this material, which unites so happily economy and durability with ease in manipulation, and great adaptability to forms and shapes required. Concrete is no new thing. The Romans understood the employment of concrete; nor did the builders of that day hesitate to press into their service the advantages derived from its use, with a skill and success to which at the present day the test of centuries bears ample testimony. CONCRETE. To the great strides in all constructive art-to the ever-pressing demand for cheaper materialsto the improvements which have been effected in the manufacture and manipulation of cement, as well as to the economy resulting from the introduction of special machinery for crushing stone -to these, amongst other considerations, must we look for the causes which have resulted in the revival of concrete. The composition and preparation of concrete may be briefly explained. Concrete is an artificial agglomeration formed by the admixture of lime or cement with sand and gravel or broken rock. The preparation of concrete, though exceedingly simple, requires to be carried out with system and regularity, if satisfactory results are to be obtained. The ingredients just mentioned having been well mixed by shovelling, water is added, and after further turning over, the concrete is ready. All that remains to be done is to throw implies a material compounded of six parts by volume of gravel or crushed stone or brick, as the case may be, with one part by volume of cement. An enumeration of the many purposes to which concrete is now adapted would form a formidable list; suffice it to point out that in almost every class of construction, in the execution of designs both great and small, the economical advantages derived from its employment are more and more appreciated. VERB TO BE.' I AM-a lonely, bitter-hearted woman; (I might have been-a happy honoured wife.) Thou art-another's husband; thou art human; (Thou mightst have been-the joy of all my life.) She is my jealous cruel enemy; (She might have been-as once-my trusted friend.) We are-but strangers meeting; woe is me! (We might have been-together to the end.) You-fate or fortune-are-both deaf and blind; (You might have been-a goddess gentle-eyed.) They-my own household-selfish are-I find; (They might have been-as bulwarks by my side.) The present tense is harder far, I ween, Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. All Rights Reserved. |
