suffices to add nine to its anno domini, and
divide the sum by twenty-eight. Thus, for
eighteen hundred and fifty-nine; to it add
nine, which makes eighteen hundred and
sixty-eight, which, divided by twenty-eight,
gives a quotient of sixty-six with a remainder
of twenty; whence it follows that eighteen
hundred and fifty-nine is the twentieth year
of the sixty-seventh Solar Cycle.

The Roman Indiction is still admitted into
the calendar. It is a cycle of fifteen years,
which has nothing to do with astronomy, but
which has reference to a mode of tax-gathering
in the time of the Roman Emperors,
not anterior to Constantine. To find it, add
three to the anno domini, and divide the sum
by fifteen; the remainder is the number of
the order of the year in this cycle. When
there is no remainder, fifteen is taken as the
number of order required. Thus, eighteen
hundred and fifty-nine, plus three, divided
by fifteen, gives a quotient of one hundred
and twenty-four, with two for remainder.
Whence it follows that eighteen hundred
and fifty-nine is the second year of the
hundred and twenty-fifth cycle of the Roman
Indiction.

Not only has ecclesiastical chronology its
acknowledged conventional errors and
inaccuracies, but there are several paradoxical
circumstances connected with Time, as
measured by the real motions of the earth and
the apparent motions of the sun. Yet
there is scarcely any other way of measuring
it, for popular and daily use, except by taking
those motions as a metrical basis, at least
approximatively. The measurement of the
diurnal interval, so important an item in all
forms of recorded annals, is not carried out
in practice by a fixed and absolute rule,
although it may be astronomically and within
the walls of observatories. If you make a
journey round the world in the direction of
from east to west (that is, from England to
America and thence to China), when you get
back to your starting-point, you will have
had one day less than if you had stayed at
home; the date of your arrival will be,
according to your own reckoning, the last day,
perhaps, of this month, instead of the first
day of next mouth as calculated by gentlemen
who sit at home at ease. The reason is
plainly analogous to that which causes the
difference between the solar and the sidereal
day; as you have followed the apparent
course of the sun, your tour has cheated you
out of the occurrence of one sunrise. On the
other hand, if you circumnavigate from west
to east, calling upon Asia first and afterwards
on America, you will have enjoyed one day
more than your stay-at-home brethren; for
you will have had the spectacle of one more
sunrise, in return for your politeness in going
to meet the sun. Supposing you to run
round the globe in a year exactly, in neither
case would your days coincide with the days
of the sedentary Britisher who, except in
leap-year, would count three hundred and
sixty-five days and nights; in the one case
yours would consist of three hundred and
sixty-four, and in the other of three hundred
and sixty-six.

Hours and the time of day are also changed
by our change of place, if we change our
longitude; that is, if we traverse the world's
length (which is the meaning of the word
longitude) as we see it in maps on Mercator's
projection, travelling along it from east to
west or from west to east. But if we travel
up and down it in a straight line, along the
same meridian or melon-rib, from north to
south or from south to north, we do not
change the time of day; but we do change
the season of the year if we cross the
equatorial line. Thus, on the very same meridian,
it may be noon in the very height of summer
in the northern hemisphere, while it is noon
in the depth of winter in the southern. But
the moment we excursionise across the map
from side to side instead of from top to
bottom, we come to a different time of day.
Thus, if we frisk by railway from Norfolk
to Wales, at every mile, at every furlong that
we proceed westwards, there is really and
truly a different "What o'clock?" although
for convenience sake and uniformity of
business, we may agree to regulate our watches
by railway time, Saint Paul's time, or any
other cathedral time. In travelling rapidly
long distances in longitude (as from England
to America or from Paris to the Crimea),
the difference of the time of day, as shown
by the sun and the chronometer respectively,
soon becomes very striking. Morning and
afternoon are speedily confounded: evening
and night make serious inroads upon each
other's territories. All this of course is
merely relative. At the same moment of
astronomical time, it may be to-day in England
and to-morrow in Asia or yesterday in
America.

The Julian Period, another mystical item
found on the opening page of most almanacs,
is an ingenious chronological invention of
Joseph Scaliger's. It is so styled on account
of being exclusively composed of Julian
years (that is, years as defined by Julius
Cæsar), and not in compliment to the
inventor's father, whose Christian name was
Julius. The duration of the Julian Period
is seven thousand nine hundred and eighty
years. This number was purposely selected,
because it is the product of fifteen multiplied
by nineteen multiplied by twenty-eight, which
numbers are the respective durations of the
Cycles of the Indiction, of the Golden
Numbers, and of the Sun. After having fixed on
the length of his period (the object of which
is to correct and compare chronological errors
and discrepancies) the next point was to
determine the date from which it should
commence. In this he made a most judicious
and laudable selection. He went back from
cycle to cycle till he found a year which was