his regiment of Fusilier Guards, with the colours borne aloft, when for a moment they were thrown into disorder by the shower of Russian shot, as they staggered up the hill-side at the Alma. The good old stuff will shine through the fine-laced coat, and the silken boudoirs of May Fair will not less prize some record of such a deed than the homespun people of the country cottage. Of the merits of Mr. Desanges’ gallery as an art exhibition it is not our province to speak. His facile pencil is too well known to require any flourish from us; but we think no Englishman can visit the Victoria Cross Gallery without a feeling of national pride, and without the conviction also that the Cross is enhanced in value by Mr. Desanges’ characteristic illustrations of the manner in which it has been won. We trust when the gallery is closed that these interesting pictures may pass into the national possession, and that on the walls of Chelsea College they may tell to future heroes how their forefathers fought and conquered in the Crimean and the Indian wars.
A POURING WET DAY.
JUNE 17TH, 1860.
Rain! endless rain! methinks the weeping clouds
Should long ere this have deepest grief assuaged
With their fast-falling tears. Quick-footed Winds!
Drive these o’er-gloomy mourners far away,
So pitilessly selfish in their woe.
Poor shiv’ring Earth! when will these spiteful ones
Hear her sad sighs, and cease to interpose
Between her and her love—the god of day—
Ready to woo her with his brightest smiles,
But by these marplots thwarted in his wish?
Say, ill-used orb, who, in most gen’rous mood,
Hast often given these traitor clouds attire
Of roseate hue, superbly fringed with gold,
Canst thou fresh honours on the rebels fling?
Wilt thou again recline thy weary head,
In summer eve, on their ungrateful breasts,
And fondly kiss them with thy ruddy lips?
And ye, sweet, blue-eyed, even-temper’d skies,
That look so happy all the sunlit hours,
And in the night wear such a tranquil face,
When moon and stars hang up their shining lamps,
When shall we see you? Peevish clouds, begone!
THE TRAINING OF NURSES.
In treating of the profession of the Nurse, some months ago,[1] I observed that, “it is not the fatigue, nor the disagreeableness, nor the anxiety, nor the low and doubtful position of nurses which keeps us so bare of them, while other departments of female industry overflow. It is that no woman who would be a nurse knows where to go, and what to do to qualify herself.” There is now an end of this difficulty. Every woman may now ascertain her own fitness or unfitness for the nursing profession, and, if found capable, can at once enter, without expense or trouble, on the training which shall qualify her for her business.
The fund which was formed in Miss Nightingale’s honour, on her return from the East, and placed at her disposal for her great object of training nurses, has been accumulating since that time, under the care of trustees, the failure of Miss Nightingale’s health compelling a long delay in the formation of plans. In spite of illness she has framed her scheme; and the Committee of the Fund have published it in a way so plain that no woman can now be under any difficulty how to proceed.
St. Thomas’s Hospital is to be the training-school. There, in those wards, some of them 100 feet long, and among the new cases coming in by the hundred in a day, and in full view of almost every disease but small pox, and of every conceivable accident, the future nurses of the English people may now learn their business. The matron will be their ruler, the Resident Medical Officer and the “Sisters” (superintendents of the nurses) will be their instructors; and they will act as assistants to the regular day and night nurses. By due diligence, the novices will become fit for professional employment in a year; and a year’s training at St. Thomas’s Hospital is the amount offered.
The candidate must be fully resolved to stay the year out. There may be circumstances—such as a failure of health, or other accident—which may induce the Committee to allow an earlier departure; but nothing of the sort must be depended on. The candidate must know her own mind, and pledge herself for the twelve months. The authorities of the hospital, on the other hand, have the right of dismissing any “Probationer” (as the nurses in training are called), at any time, for obvious unfitness, as well as for misconduct.
The best age is from twenty-five to thirty-five. Of course, the candidate must be in good health and vigour, and must bear a good character. She will be registered on her entrance on her training, and a record will be kept of her conduct and qualifications, which will be laid before the Committee of the Nightingale Fund once a month. If this record presents a satisfactory account at the end of the year, she will be a certificated nurse,—no doubt eagerly sought, and nearly certain of being provided with an engagement, either in that hospital or some other. The Committee declare that they “look forward with confidence to being able to find situations for their certificated nurses,” at the end of their term of probation.
The Probationers will be trained at the expense of the Nightingale Fund. That is, they will have board and separate lodging in the hospital, and their washing, and a certain provision of outer clothing. They will be paid 10l. in the course of the year; 2l. the first quarter, 2l. 10s. the second quarter, and also the third; and 3l. the last quarter. A certain degree of merit will obtain a gratuity of 3l., and the highest of all a gift of 5l., from the Committee at the end of the first year of independent service.
It does not appear that there is at present any limitation of number. In fact, any woman of the proper age, and good health, and character, may offer herself, with a tolerable certainty that a useful and honourable career is open before her, in which she cannot fail except by some failure in herself.