McClure's Magazine, Vol. 6, No. 5, April, 1896 — John Shaqi
McClure's Magazine, Vol. 6, No. 5, April, 1896Various
History
McClure's Magazine, Vol. 6, No. 5, April, 1896
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Literature -- Periodicals
Hearing of this case, Professor Pupin induced the gentleman to allow
him to attempt a photograph of the hand. He used a Crookes tube. The
distance from the tube to the plate was only five inches, and the hand
lay between. After waiting fifty minutes the plate was examined. Not
only did every bone of the hand show with beautiful distinctness, but
each one of the forty shot was to be seen almost as plainly as if it
lay there on the table; and, most remarkable of all, a number of shot
were seen through the bones of the fingers, showing that the bones
were transparent to the lead.
In making this picture, Professor Pupin excited his tube by means of a
powerful Holtz machine, thus following Dr. Morton in the substitution
of statical electricity for the more common induction coil.
Professor Pupin sees no reason why the whole skeleton of the human
body should not be shown completely in a photograph as soon as
sufficiently powerful bulbs can be obtained. He thinks that it would
be possible to make Crookes tubes two feet in diameter instead of a
few inches, as at present.
Thomas A. Edison has also been devoting himself, with his usual
energy, to experiments with the Röntgen rays, and announces
confidently that in the near future he will be able to photograph the
human brain, through the heavy bones of the skull, and perhaps even to
get a shadow picture showing the human skeleton through the tissues of
the body.
THE HOUSEHOLDERS.
BY "Q,"
AUTHOR OF "DEAD MAN'S ROCK," "THE ROLL-CALL OF THE REEF," ETC.
I will say this--speaking as accurately as a man may, so long
afterwards--that when first I spied the house it put no desire in me
but just to give thanks.
For conceive my case. It was near midnight by this; and ever since
dusk I had been tracking the naked moors a-foot, in the teeth of as
vicious a nor'wester as ever drenched a man to the skin, and then blew
the cold home to his marrow. My clothes were sodden; my coat-tails
flapped with a noise like pistol shots; my boots squeaked as I went.
Overhead the October moon was in her last quarter, and might have been
a slice of finger-nail for all the light she afforded. Two-thirds of
the time the wrack blotted her out altogether; and I, with my stick
clipped tight under my arm-pit, eyes puckered up, and head bent like
a butting ram's, but a little aslant, had to keep my wits agog to
distinguish the glimmer of the road from the black heath to right and
left. For three hours I had met neither man nor man's dwelling, and
(for all I knew) was desperately lost. Indeed, at the cross roads, two
miles back, there had been nothing for me but to choose the way that
kept the wind on my face, and it gnawed me like a dog.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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