Books Of The Bivvies.

We lend them from bivvy to bivvy
These volumes all tattered and torn
Which come from the land of Civvy
Where Dickens and Garvice were born

If some one drops in with a copy
Of 'Quinney's" or "Running it Off",
We cease to be weary and dopy,
And vow that our pal is a toff.

Should "Snowy" hand over "Love's Glances"
And Kipling's "Plain Tales from the Hills",
We swop with some dog-eared romances,
"East Lynne" and "The Maid of the Mills"

The Colonel's devoted to Lover,
The Captain goes nap on Defoe;
Our Q.M., from cover to cover
Reads stories by Edgar A. Poe.

The Staff Sergeant-Major's a terror
On "Troddles" and yarns o' that kind;
But the Sergeant, perceiving the error
Of humor, reads books for the "Mind".

The Corporal's a student of novels,
Produced by the authors who know,
That maidens who simper in hovels
Are born for the coronet's glow.

We lend them from bivvy to bivvy
Our books that are better than wine
And come from the land of the Civvy
They cheer us—our books are divine

Egypt. "Malurus".