Academic literature on the topic 'Home tutor scheme'

A principal factor in determining the biologic consequences of photodynamic therapy (PDT) is the light fluence rate. Preclinical and, more recently, clinical studies have focused on low-irradiance schemes, suggesting that prolonged light exposure, better known as CLIPT (continuous low-irradiance PDT), may improve tumor control while reducing morbidity. After a brief look at the origin of light therapy and photosensitizers, this article turns to the promising animal research supporting the use of low- and ultra-low fluence rate PDT, which serves as the basis of the ongoing CLIPT dosimetry trials for patients with chest wall progression of breast cancer. The future of CLIPT seems to be a home-based therapy using a portable, self-contained energy delivery system.

A Review of: Fidishun, Dolores. “Women and the Public Library: Using Technology, Using the Library.” Library Trends 56.2 (2007): 328-43. Objective – This study attempts to give insight into why and how women use the public library and information technology, and how they learned to use the technology. Design – Qualitative survey. Setting – The research took place at the Chester County Library in Exton, Pennsylvania, USA. Subjects – One hundred and eighty-four female library patrons 18 years and older. Methods – An anonymous qualitative survey was handed out to all patrons at the Chester County Library 18 years of age and older who came into the library on four separate days and times. Times were chosen to obtain a good representation of library patrons, and included daytime, evening, and weekend hours. The survey consisted of questions about library use, information sought, information seeking behaviour, technology used, and how the respondents learned to use the technology. The surveys were collated and spreadsheets were created that reported answers to yes/no and other data questions. Word documents facilitated the listing of more qualitative answers. The data were analyzed using a thematic content analysis to find themes and patterns that emerged to create grounded theory. In thematic content analysis, “the coding scheme is based on categories designed to capture the dominant themes in a text (Franzosi 184). There is no universal coding scheme, and this method requires extensive pre-testing of the scheme (Franzosi 184). Grounded theory “uses a prescribed set of procedures for analyzing data and constructing a theoretical model” from the data (Leedy and Ormrod 154). Main Results – The survey asked questions about library use, reasons for library use, using technology, finding information, and learning to use online resources. A total of 465 surveys were distributed and 329 were returned. From the surveys returned, 184 were from female patrons, 127 from male patrons, and 18 did not report gender. The data for this article are primarily taken from the 184 female respondents who reported ages between 18 and 79 years. Seventy-one percent of these reported having a bachelor’s degree or higher. The study uses some contrasting data from the men’s responses where appropriate. In terms of library use, out of the 184 respondents, 42% came to the library monthly, while 36% visited the library weekly. Sixty-two percent of respondents knew they could email the library and 72% knew that they could call the library with questions. As for reasons for library use, the most prominent response was to borrow books rather than buying them. The second most common reason for using the library related to children’s books and programming for children. Other common reasons for library use included research activities, using public computers, reading, use of services such as photocopying and tax forms, and to volunteer or tutor. The library was also used as a place of solitude, where women could find a place and time for themselves. The author compared the men’s results to the women’s responses, and found that coming to the library for books was lower on the list, and very few men mentioned children’s library services. Men came to the library more often than women to study or read. In terms of using technology, the female respondents were fairly tech-savvy. Seventy-four percent of respondents felt comfortable using computers. Only 5% replied that using computers meant more work for them. Eighty-two percent said they used a computer on a regular basis, and 98% reported that they had used the Internet. Out of those who use the Internet, 91% used it at home, 64% used it at work, and 34% used it at the public library. Ninety-eight percent of women who used the Internet used a search engine such as Google or Yahoo to find information. Topics frequently mentioned were medical and travel information, information for their children, and shopping. Men, by contrast, listed shopping and finding medical information as their second reason for using the internet. General research topics were most frequently cited by men. Seven survey questions focused on finding information. The Internet was the number one choice for finding health information, sports scores, the date of Thanksgiving, and the phone number of their state Senator. The library was the first place to find a good book. Results indicated that although women use libraries to find information, they use the Internet more, as libraries were at least third on the list of places women looked for most of the topics inquired about. When asked about their computer use, 71% of respondents said they used a computer to gain information for work, 74% said they used it for hobbies, and 81% used it to access medical information on the Internet. Sixty-five percent of respondents used email and chat to keep in touch with family and friends. 30% of the women asked felt that books were more valuable than using a computer. Forty-six percent reported that being able to ask a librarian for help was an appreciated service. The use of library technology figured in the survey. Seventy-two percent of respondents reported that they were comfortable using the online catalogue and 53% said they used the library’s webpage. Only 19% said they used the library’s databases. The comments section of the survey included evidence that the women either did not know these electronic resources existed, or they did not understand what databases are for. However, 47% said they had access to online databases from other sources, for example, higher education institutions, public schools, businesses. Those who did use online databases were asked how they learned to use them. Sixteen percent were self-taught. Only a few had formal training, including 3% who were taught by a public library staff member. Sixty percent of respondents indicated they would like formal training: 23% preferred individual training, while 77% preferred training in a class setting. The survey attempted to discern the value of participants’ library experience by using positive and negative critical incidents. The participants responded to questions about their best and worst experiences using the library. Best experiences included those involving books; children’s literature, programs, and family projects; library technology; access to non-print materials; the library as a place for solitude; other library services; and library staff. The negative experiences included library issues such as having to return books on time, getting an overdue notice or fine on an item already returned, and desired books being out of the library, noise in the library. The number of positive experiences reported was higher than the number of negative experiences. Conclusions – Although definitive conclusions are difficult to make using qualitative analysis, Fidishun summarizes her findings by reporting that her study of women public library patrons found that technology features prominently in women’s lives, and that they regularly use the Internet to find information. However, many women were not aware of the databases available at the public library. Books were an important part of the library experience for these women, as were traditional library services, such as asking a librarian for help. Women often are the ones who bring children to the library and seek information for them. And the women surveyed valued the library as place.

Abstract Background: The standard treatment for glioblastoma is surgical resection following chemoradiation therapy. The rate of removal or the amount of residual tumor has some impact on the prognosis of patients with glioblastoma, but the highly invasive nature of this tumor makes complete removal limited to the contrast-enhanced lesions difficult due to its localization. Furthermore, when postoperative seizures and venous thrombosis are included in surgery-related complications, these perioperative adverse events can cause delays in the initiation of chemoradiotherapy and delay the return to work and home, such as prolonged hospitalization and rehabilitation time. Methods: We retrospectively reviewed the perioperative status of the recent 50 consecutive cases with histologically confirmed as glioblastoma at our hospital, the patient background, tumor localization, and perioperative treatment, and so on. Results: The major perioperative complications were ischemic or hemorrhagic complications, epileptic seizures, venous thrombosis, and pneumonia; CTCAE grade 2 or higher, grade 3 or higher, and grade 4 occurred in about 40%, 20%, and 10%, respectively, with some patients having multiple complications. Discussion: Although there was a tendency for ischemic changes around the cavity of the resection as the resection rate increased, most cases were asymptomatic and it seemed to be acceptable if residual brain function could be preserved. Residual tumors tended to show hemorrhagic changes and epileptic seizures because this is thought to be that the tumor was deliberately left in place to preserve function, based on the localization of the tumor. Postoperative FDP levels were useful in predicting the development of deep vein thrombosis and pulmonary artery thromboembolism. Conclusion: Because glioblastoma has short survival time and patient PS before and after surgery varies greatly depending on tumor localization, it is important to consider risk-benefit strategies for each case and to establish a scheme for a seamless transition from perioperative management to the introduction of postoperative therapy and maintenance therapy.

Leptomeningeal dissemination (LMD) is the defining pattern of metastasis for medulloblastoma. Although LMD is responsible for virtually 100% of medulloblastoma deaths, it remains the least well-understood part of medulloblastoma pathogenesis. The fact that medulloblastomas rarely metastasize outside the CNS but rather spread almost exclusively to the spinal and intracranial leptomeninges has fostered the long-held belief that medulloblastoma cells spread directly through the CSF, not the bloodstream. In this paper the authors discuss selected molecules for which experimental evidence explains how the effects of each molecule on cell physiology contribute mechanistically to LMD. A model of medulloblastoma LMD is described, analogous to the invasion–metastasis cascade of hematogenous metastasis of carcinomas. The LMD cascade is based on the molecular themes that 1) transcription factors launch cell programs that mediate cell motility and invasiveness and maintain tumor cells in a stem-like state; 2) disseminating medulloblastoma cells escape multiple death threats by subverting apoptosis; and 3) inflammatory chemokine signaling promotes LMD by creating an oncogenic microenvironment. The authors also review recent experimental evidence that challenges the belief that CSF spread is the sole mechanism of LMD and reveal an alternative scheme in which medulloblastoma cells can enter the bloodstream and subsequently home to the leptomeninges.

AbstractDrug therapy unavoidably brings toxic side effects and drug content-limited therapeutic efficacy although many nanocarriers have been developed to improve them to a certain extent. In this work, a concept of drug-free therapeutics is proposed and defined as a therapeutic methodology without the use of traditional toxic drugs, without the consumption of therapeutic agents during treatment but with the inexhaustible therapeutic capability to maximize the benefit of treatment, and a Z-scheme SnS1.68-WO2.41 nanocatalyst is developed to achieve near infrared (NIR)-photocatalytic generation of oxidative holes and hydrogen molecules for realizing combined hole/hydrogen therapy by the drug-free therapeutic strategy. Without the need of any drug and other therapeutic agent assistance, the nanocatalyst oxidizes/consumes intratumoral over-expressed glutathione (GSH) by holes and simultaneously generates hydrogen molecules in a lasting and controllable way under NIR irradiation. Mechanistically, generated hydrogen molecules and GSH consumption inhibit cancer cell energy and destroy intratumoral redox balance, respectively, to synergistically damage DNA and induce tumor cell apoptosis. High efficacy and biosafety of combined hole/hydrogen therapy of tumors are achieved by the nanocatalyst. The proposed catalysis-based drug-free therapeutic strategy breaks a pathway to realize high efficacy and low toxicity of cancer treatment.

As I round the corner from Church Street onto Vesey, I am abruptly met with the façade of St. Paul’s Chapel and by the sudden memory of two things, both of which have not yet happened. I think about how, in a couple of decades, the area surrounding me will be burnt to the ground. I also recall how, just after the turn of the twenty-first century, the area will again crumble onto itself. It is 1759, and I—via my avatar—am wandering through downtown New York City in the videogame space of Assassin’s Creed: Rogue (AC:R). These spatial and temporal memories stem from the fact that I have previously (that is, earlier in my life) played an AC game set in New York City during the War for Independence (later in history), wherein the city’s lower west side burns at the hands of the British. Years before that (in my biographical timeline, though much later in history) I watched from twenty-something blocks north of here as flames erupted from the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Complicating the situation further, Michel de Certeau strolls with me in spirit, pondering observations he will make from almost this exact location (though roughly 1,100 feet higher up) 220 years from now, around the time I am being born. Perhaps the oddest aspect of this convoluted and temporally layered experience is the fact that I am not actually at the corner of Church and Vesey in 1759 at all, but rather on a couch, in Virginia, now. This particular type of sudden arrival at a space is only possible when it is not planned. Prior to the moment described above, I had finished a “mission” in the game that involved my coming to the city, so I decided I would just walk around a bit in the newly discovered digital New York of 1759. I wanted to take it in. I wanted to wander. Truly Being-in-a-place means attending to the interconnected Being-ness and Being-with-ness of all of the things that make up that place (Heidegger; Haraway). Conversely, to travel to or through a place entails a type of focused directionality toward a place that you are not currently Being in. Wandering, however, demands eschewing both, neither driven by an incessant goal, nor stuck in place by introspective ruminations. Instead, wandering is perhaps best described as a sort of mobile openness. A wanderer is not quite Benjamin’s flâneur, characterised by an “idle yet assertive negotiation of the street” (Coates 28), but also, I would argue, not quite de Certeau’s “Wandersmünner, whose bodies follow the thicks and thins of an urban ‘text’ they write without being able to read it” (de Certeau 93). Wandering requires a concerted effort at non-intentionality. That description may seem to fold in on itself, to be sure, but as the spaces around us are increasingly “canalized” (Rabinow and Foucault) and designed with specific trajectories and narratives in mind, inaction leads to the unconscious enacting of an externally derived intention; whereas any attempt to subvert that design is itself a wholly intentional act. This is why wandering is so difficult. It requires shedding layers. It takes practice, like meditation.In what follows, I will explore the possibility of revelatory moments enabled by the shedding of these layers of intention through my own experience in digital space (maybe the most designed and canalized spaces we inhabit). I come to recognise, as I disavow the designed narrative of game space, that it takes on other meanings, becomes another space. I find myself Being-there in a way that transcends the digital as we understand it, experiencing space that reaches into the past and future, into memory and fiction. Indeed, wandering is liminal, betwixt fixed points, spaces, and times, and the text you are reading will wander in this fashion—between the digital and the physical, between memory and experience, and among multiple pasts and the present—to arrive at a multilayered subjective sense of space, a palimpsest of placemaking.Before charging fully into digital time travel, however, we must attend to the business of context. In this case, this means addressing why I am talking about videogame space in Certaudian terms. Beginning as early as 1995, videogame theorists have employed de Certeau’s notion of “spatial stories” in their assertions that games allow players to construct the game’s narrative by travelling through and “colonizing” the space (Fuller and Jenkins). Most of the scholarship involving de Certeau and videogames, however, has been relegated to the concepts of “map/tour” in looking at digital embodiment within game space as experiential representatives of the place/space binary. Maps verbalise spatial experience in place terms, such as “it’s at the corner of this and that street”, whereas tours express the same in terms of movement through space, as in “turn right at the red house”. Videogames complicate this because “mapping is combined with touring when moving through the game-space” (Lammes).In Games as Inhabited Spaces, Bernadette Flynn moves beyond the map/tour dichotomy to argue that spatial theories can approach videogaming in a way no other viewpoint can, because neither narrative nor mechanics of play can speak to the “space” of a game. Thus, Flynn’s work is “focused on completely reconceiving gameplay as fundamentally configured with spatial practice” (59) through de Certeau’s concepts of “strategic” and “tactical” spatial use. Flynn explains:The ability to forge personal directions from a closed simulation links to de Certeau’s notion of tactics, where users can create their own trajectories from the formal organizations of space. For de Certeau, tactics are related to how people individualise trajectories of movement to create meaning and transformations of space. Strategies on the other hand, are more akin to the game designer’s particular matrix of formal structures, arrangements of time and space which operate to control and constrain gameplay. (59)Flynn takes much of her reading of de Certeau from Lev Manovich, who argues that a game designer “uses strategies to impose a particular matrix of space, time, experience, and meaning on his viewers; they, in turn, use ‘tactics’ to create their own trajectories […] within this matrix” (267). Manovich believes de Certeau’s theories offer a salient model for thinking about “the ways in which computer users navigate through computer spaces they did not design” (267). In Flynn’s and Manovich’s estimation, simply moving through digital space is a tactic, a subversion of its strategic and linear design.The views of game space as tactical have historically (and paradoxically) treated the subject of videogames from a strategic perspective, as a configurable space to be “navigated through”, as a way of attaining a certain goal. Dan Golding takes up this problem, distancing our engagement from the design and calling for a de Certeaudian treatment of videogame space “from below”, where “the spatial diegesis of the videogame is affordance based and constituted by the skills of the player”, including those accrued outside the game space (Golding 118). Similarly, Darshana Jayemanne adds a temporal element with the idea that these spatial constructions are happening alongside a “complexity” and “proliferation of temporal schemes” (Jayemanne 1, 4; see also Nikolchina). Building from Golding and Jayemanne, I illustrate here a space wherein the player, not the game, is at the fulcrum of both spatial and temporal complexity, by adding the notion that—along with skill and experience—players bring space and time with them into the game.Viewed with the above understanding of strategies, tactics, skill, and temporality, the act of wandering in a videogame seems inherently subversive: on one hand, by undergoing a destination-less exploration of game space, I am rejecting the game’s spatial narrative trajectory; on the other, I am eschewing both skill accrual and temporal insistence to attempt a sense of pure Being-in-the-game. Such rebellious freedom, however, is part of the design of this particular game space. AC:R is a “sand box” game, which means it involves a large environment that can be traversed in a non-linear fashion, allowing, supposedly, for more freedom and exploration. Indeed, much of the gameplay involves slowly making more space available for investigation in an outward—rather than unidirectional—course. A player opens up these new spaces by “synchronising a viewpoint”, which can only be done by climbing to the top of specific landmarks. One of the fundamental elements of the AC franchise is an acrobatic, free-running, parkour style of engagement with a player’s surroundings, “where practitioners weave through urban environments, hopping over barricades, debris, and other obstacles” (Laviolette 242), climbing walls and traversing rooftops in a way unthinkable (and probably illegal) in our everyday lives. People scaling buildings in major metropolitan areas outside of videogame space tend to get arrested, if they survive the climb. Possibly, these renegade climbers are seeking what de Certeau describes as the “voluptuous pleasure […] of ‘seeing the whole,’ of looking down on, totalizing the most immoderate of human texts” (92)—what he experienced, looking down from the top of the World Trade Center in the late 1970s.***On digital ground level, back in 1759, I look up to the top of St. Paul’s bell tower and crave that pleasure, so I climb. As I make my way up, Non-Player Characters (NPCs)—the townspeople and trader avatars who make up the interactive human scenery of the game—shout things such as “You’ll hurt yourself” and “I say! What on earth is he doing?” This is the game’s way of convincing me that I am enacting agency and writing my own spatial story. I seem to be deploying “tricky and stubborn procedures that elude discipline without being outside the field in which it is exercised” (de Certeau 96), when I am actually following the program the way I am supposed to. If I were not meant to climb the tower, I simply would not be able to. The fact that game developers go to the extent of recording dialogue to shout at me when I do this proves that they expect my transgression. This is part of the game’s “semi-social system”: a collection of in-game social norms that—to an extent—reflect the cultural understandings of outside non-digital society (Atkinson and Willis). These norms are enforced through social pressures and expectations in the game such that “these relative imperatives and influences, appearing to present players with ‘unlimited’ choices, [frame] them within the parameters of synthetic worlds whose social structure and assumptions are distinctly skewed in particular ways” (408). By using these semi-social systems, games communicate to players that performing a particular act is seen as wrong or scandalous by the in-game society (and therefore subversive), even when the action is necessary for the continuation of the spatial story.When I reach the top of the bell tower, I am able to “synchronise the viewpoint”—that is, unlock the map of this area of the city. Previously, I did not have access to an overhead view of the area, but now that I have indulged in de Certeau’s pleasure of “seeing the whole”, I can see not only the tactical view from the street, but also the strategic bird’s-eye view from above. From the top, looking out over the city—now The City, a conceivable whole rather than a collection of streets—it is difficult to picture the neighbourhood engulfed in flames. The stair-step Dutch-inspired rooflines still recall the very recent change from New Amsterdam to New York, but in thirty years’ time, they will all be torched and rebuilt, replaced with colonial Tudor boxes. I imagine myself as an eighteenth-century de Certeau, surveying pre-ruination New York City. I wonder how his thoughts would have changed if his viewpoint were coloured with knowledge of the future. Standing atop the very symbol of global power and wealth—a duo-lith that would exist for less than three decades—would his pleasure have been less “voluptuous”? While de Certeau considers the viewer from above like Icarus, whose “elevation transfigures him into a voyeur” (92), I identify more with Daedalus, preoccupied with impending disaster. I swan-dive from the tower into a hay cart, returning to the bustle of the street below.As I wander amongst the people of digital 1759 New York, the game continuously makes phatic advances at me. I bump into others on the street and they drop boxes they are carrying, or stumble to the side. Partial overheard conversations going on between townspeople—“… what with all these new taxes …”, “… but we’ve got a fine regiment here …”—both underscore the historical context of the game and imply that this is a world that exists even when I am not there. These characters and their conversations are as much a part of the strategic makeup of the city as the buildings are. They are the text, not the writers nor the readers. I am the only writer of this text, but I am merely transcribing a pre-programmed narrative. So, I am not an author, but rather a stenographer. For this short moment, though, I am allowed by the game to believe that I am making the choice not to transcribe; there are missions to complete, and I am ignoring them. I am taking in the city, forgetting—just as the design intends—that I am the only one here, the only person in the entire world, indeed, the person for whom this world exists.While wandering, I also experience conflicts and mergers between what Maurice Halbwachs has called historical, autobiographical, and collective memory types: respectively, these are memories created according to historical record, through one’s own life experience, and by the way a society tends to culturally frame and recall “important” events. De Certeau describes a memorable place as a “palimpsest, [where] subjectivity is already linked to the absence that structures it as existence” (109). Wandering through AC:R’s virtual representation of 1759 downtown New York, I am experiencing this palimpsest in multiple layers, activating my Halbwachsian memories and influencing one another in the creation of my subjectivity. This is the “absence” de Certeau speaks of. My visions of Revolutionary New York ablaze tug at me from beneath a veneer of peaceful Dutch architecture: two warring historical memory constructs. Simultaneously, this old world is painted on top of my autobiographical memories as a New Yorker for thirteen years, loudly ordering corned beef with Russian dressing at the deli that will be on this corner. Somewhere sandwiched between these layers hides a portrait of September 11th, 2001, painted either by collective memory or autobiographical memory, or, more likely, a collage of both. A plane entering a building. Fire. Seen by my eyes, and then re-seen countless times through the same televised imagery that the rest of the world outside our small downtown village saw it. Which images are from media, and which from memory?Above, as if presiding over the scene, Michel de Certeau hangs in the air at the collision site, suspended a 1000 feet above the North Pool of the 9/11 Memorial, rapt in “voluptuous pleasure”. And below, amid the colonists in their tricorns and waistcoats, people in grey ash-covered suits—ambulatory statues; golems—slowly and silently march ever uptown-wards. Dutch and Tudor town homes stretch skyward and transform into art-deco and glass monoliths. These multiform strata, like so many superimposed transparent maps, ground me in the idea of New York, creating the “fragmentary and inward-turning histories” (de Certeau 108) that give place to my subjectivity, allowing me to Be-there—even though, technically, I am not.My conscious decision to ignore the game’s narrative and wander has made this moment possible. While I understand that this is entirely part of the intended gameplay, I also know that the design cannot possibly account for the particular way in which I experience the space. And this is the fundamental point I am asserting here: that—along with the strategies and temporal complexities of the design and the tactics and skills of those on the ground—we bring into digital space our own temporal and experiential constructions that allow us to Be-in-the-game in ways not anticipated by its strategic design. Non-digital virtuality—in the tangled forms of autobiographical, historic, and collective memory—reaches into digital space, transforming the experience. Further, this changed game-experience becomes a part of my autobiographical “prosthetic memory” that I carry with me (Landsberg). When I visit New York in the future, and I inevitably find myself abruptly met with the façade of St Paul’s Chapel as I round the corner of Church Street and Vesey, I will be brought back to this moment. Will I continue to wander, or will I—if just for a second—entertain the urge to climb?***After the recent near destruction by fire of Notre-Dame, a different game in the AC franchise was offered as a free download, because it is set in revolutionary Paris and includes a very detailed and interactive version of the cathedral. Perhaps right now, on sundry couches in various geographical locations, people are wandering there: strolling along the Siene, re-experiencing time they once spent there; overhearing tense conversations about regime change along the Champs-Élysées that sound disturbingly familiar; or scaling the bell tower of the Notre-Dame Cathedral itself—site of revolution, desecration, destruction, and future rebuilding—to reach the pleasure of seeing the strategic whole at the top. And maybe, while they are up there, they will glance south-southwest to the 15th arrondissement, where de Certeau lies, enjoying some voluptuous Icarian viewpoint as-yet unimagined.ReferencesAtkinson, Rowland, and Paul Willis. “Transparent Cities: Re‐Shaping the Urban Experience through Interactive Video Game Simulation.” City 13.4 (2009): 403–417. DOI: 10.1080/13604810903298458.Benjamin, Walter. The Arcades Project. Trans. Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaughlin. Ed. Rolf Tiedmann. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press, 2002. Coates, Jamie. “Key Figure of Mobility: The Flâneur.” Social Anthropology 25.1 (2017): 28–41. DOI: 10.1111/1469-8676.12381.De Certeau, Michel. The Practice of Everyday Life. Translated by Steven Rendall. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984.Flynn, Bernadette. “Games as Inhabited Spaces.” Media International Australia, Incorporating Culture and Policy 110 (2004): 52–61. 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This study sets out to describe the current situation in the Home Tutor Scheme in the Australian Capital Territory, and to evaluate the Scheme's effectiveness in achieving its goals as listed in the Australian Institute of Multicultural Affairs Review (1980). These stated goals were: to improve the students' English language proficiency, to encourage integration of the students into the wider community, and to prepare them to attend more formal English language classes. The writer also considered a further question in evaluating the Scheme, whether it satisfied the needs and expectations of the tutors and the students. There were two sections to the investigation: the main study, in which the progress of eighteen tutors and their students was followed for a period of up to six months, and a subsidiary study that was designed to assess the generalisability of the data elicited in the main study. A range of instruments were employed. In the main study, findings were derived principally from interviews, and from lesson reports written by tutors. In the subsidiary study, data were collected by means of questionnaires issued to a greater number of tutors and to students from the Scheme's four major language backgrounds. The introductory chapter sets out the purpose of the study and explains its relevance in the current Australian context. This is followed, in Chapter 2, by a review of the relevant literature and previous research. The design of the study is set out in Chapter 3, where details are given of the procedures and instruments employed to gather data. In Chapters A, 5 and 6, the results of the study are presented. Discussion of these results and a consideration of their implications may be found in Chapter 7. In the final chapter, Chapter 8, the findings are summarised and recommendations are made for future developments in the Scheme. In summary, the study found that in the ACT the Scheme was achieving some success in its language teaching and social objectives, and in satisfying its student clientele. It was also found, however, that the Scheme's operational efficiency was hampered by the low level of staffing and that a significant number of tutors withdrew from the Scheme after a short period because they were not experiencing a high level of satisfaction. The recommendations made would, it is thought, lead to greater efficiency of organisation and could raise the level of tutor satisfaction.