The Egyptian Moon.

I sing my lay in praise of an old friend. At night he beams on me with countenance mild, placid, unchangeable—for he surely smiles when I'm cheery, droops when I'm sentimental, and assu-mes a benign look when I'm wrapped in Slum-ber's gentle clasp.

He's the same old pal who used to becloud his rays discreetly o'er St. Kilda beach, on those summer nights long ago; who shone gently through the leafy canopy at Lindfield' park, and made the shining reaches of the Swan gleam like stretches of molten silver. His friendship is universal; he knows no class nor creed distinct-ions. His rays reflect from the Colonel's gold wristlet watch with the same soft splash of pale light as they do from the batman's steel spurs. He looks with kindly interest alike on the troop-er and the officer nursing the memory of the "girls they left behind them"'.

His tastes are cosmopolitan—he visits the military camps, shines through the Italian rest-aurant keeper's window, keeps the Sudanese policeman from going to sleep, sends a straggl-ing ray into the Indian tailor's shop, and takes a peep into the Egyptian peasant's mud dwelling.

I often lie, with my pipe in my mouth, and watch my old, silent friend: just lie and' think that, in a few hours, instead of disporting his precious rays on an endless vista of sand, he'll he shining on harbors, gardens, churches, plea-sant surburban homes, nice girls going to thea-tres with lucky chaps—ah! he seems a near and dear friend then. My last word to him on these occasions is a message for those on whom he'll be smiling—those dear ones who await our home coming—"Be of good cheer; all's well". Because I believe he delivers this message, I call him friend, and sing this, his Song of Praise: Shine on O Moon, and keep thy double tryst with those who wait and us who serve.

Moascar. " Tralas."