A second experiment was made at the same place with Mr Gordon’s invention. This consists of firing shells filled with oil, which, when the shells burst, spreads itself over the water. Each shell contains about three-quarters of a gallon of oil. They are fired from mortars, a charge of eight ounces of pebble powder being used. The shell is simply an oil-flask, at the bottom of which is a recess for a fuse of somewhat peculiar construction. It consists of two small chambers. In these there is a projecting submarine fuse about an inch in length. The fuse is capped with a composition which renders it absolutely waterproof, and is so constructed as to secure its ignition with unfailing certainty. Then the fuse is so timed that it bursts at the time required, and just as the shell is touching the surface of the water. The oil from each shell covers a very considerable area of surface. Somewhere about a dozen of these shells were fired at a range of from four hundred and fifty to five hundred yards. The effect was wonderful. The hissing and raging waters were gradually allayed. For a considerable space the sea was converted into a lake with a gentle swell, in which a ship or a boat could ride with perfect ease. The shells, of course, obviate the necessity of pipes, and the smallest seaport in the kingdom might therefore, with an old mortar and a dozen or two of gallons of oil, make a temporary harbour of refuge whenever the necessity arose. THE CHURCHYARD BY THE SEA. A MEMORY. Across the waste of years I see One spot for ever soft and green, Which, shrined within my memory, In evening glow or morning sheen, Tells of the golden, vanished years, When smiles came oftener far than tears. A churchyard by the restless sea, Where, in deep calm and dreamless sleep, The Dead lay resting peacefully, Unheeding the tempestuous deep; Careless alike of sun and breeze, Or ebbing of those changeful seas. And oft when shipwreck and despair Came to the little sea-beat town, Pale women, with dishevelled hair, To the wild shore went hurrying down, And tenderly dead eyes would close, And smooth dead limbs for long repose. Full many a weary, storm-tossed wight, Year after year, in quiet was laid, Safe from the blustering storms of night, In this green spot, and undismayed, Slept close beside the breakers’ roar, Whose wrath should mar his rest no more. And over each low-sleeping head, Where thymy turf grew green and soft, The wild bee hummed, and rosy-red The brier-flower bloomed, and up aloft The fleecy clouds went drifting by Like shades, across the summer sky. And ever as the years go by, And one by one old memories creep From out the sweet Past solemnly, I seem to see, beside the deep, That little, lonely, silent spot, With many a childish dream enwrought. J. H.