lly she becomes lost in the overpowering light of
the sun, again to emerge as the new moon, and again to go through the
same cycle of changes.

The brilliance of the moon arises solely from the light of the sun,
which falls on the not self-luminous substance of the moon. Out of the
vast flood of light which the sun pours forth with such prodigality into
space the dark body of the moon intercepts a little, and of that little
it reflects a small fraction to illuminate the earth. The moon sheds so
much light, and seems so bright, that it is often difficult at night to
remember that the moon has no light except what falls on it from the
sun. Nevertheless, the actual surface of the brightest full moon is
perhaps not much brighter than the streets of London on a clear sunshiny
day. A very simple observation will suffice to show that the moon's
light is only sunlight. Look some morning at the moon in daylight, and
compare the moon with the clouds. The brightness of the moon and of the
clouds are directly comparable, and then it can be readily comprehended
how the sun which illuminates the clouds has also illumined the moon. An
attempt has been made to form a comparative estimate of the brightness
of the sun and the full moon. If 600,000 full moons were shining at
once, their collective brilliancy would equal that of the sun.

The beautiful crescent moon has furnished a theme for many a poet.
Indeed, if we may venture to say so, it would seem that some poets have
forgotten that the moon is not to be seen every night. A poetical
description of evening is almost certain to be associated with the
appearance of the moon in some phase or other. We may cite one notable
instance in which a poet, describing an historical event, has enshrined
in exquisite verse a statement which cannot be correct. Every child who
speaks our language has been taught that the burial of Sir John Moore
took place

"By the struggling moonbeams' misty light."

There is an appearance of detail in this statement which wears the garb
of truth. We are not inclined to doubt that the night was misty, nor as
to whether the moonbeams had to struggle into visibility; the question
at issue is a much more fundamental one. We do not know who was the
first to raise the point as to whether any moon shone on that memorable
event at all or not; but the question having been raised, the Nautical
Almanac immediately supplies an answer. From it we learn in language,
whose