’Twas Prime Meridian, twelve at noon, By signal I from Nancy parted; At eight she watched the rising moon, With wringing hands, half broken-hearted. At nine, while tautening the fore-stay, I saw her faint, unless ’twas fancy: At ten we all got under weigh, And bade a long adieu to Nancy! Night came. The theme of every tongue Was the Meridian Conference. Weary Of that at last, we piped and sung, And chawed our quids in confab cheery; But something weighed upon my mind, The wildest dreams possessed my fancy, And fate seemed whispering on the wind, I ne’er again should meet my Nancy! And now arrived the happy time Which every true Tar’s spirit rouses, When safe at home (Meridian Prime) We hoped to meet sweethearts and spouses. But round and round the world went we, Seeking that Prime Meridian! Fancy! The _darned thing wasn’t fixed_, ye see, And I could not find home or Nancy! It was, of course, the beastliest bore. Those stupid Frenchmen had a notion That fixing it on England’s shore,―― England, whose vessels scour the ocean, And who is owned to rule the waves,―― Insulted France! A foolish fancy! The vanity to which they’re slaves Fooled them――and kept me from my Nancy. We sailed about, all round we steered, ’Midst sunshine’s gleam and tempest’s rattle. No Prime Meridian appeared! The Conference was still at battle. The Frenchman still maintained the strife To please his egotistic fancy, Kept many a Tar from his true wife, And me from my beloved Nancy! Alas! Confound the Frogs, I says! Though fair the wind and fine the weather, I cannot yet forecaste the day When Nance and I shall come together. That Prime Meridian serves to floor My fondest hopes, my warmest fancy. It’s still unfixed, and never more I fear shall I see it or Nancy. _Punch._ October 25, 1884. ――――:o:―――― THE LAST SHILLING. As pensive one night in my garret I sate, My last shilling produced on the table, That adventurer, cried I, might a history relate, If to think and to speak it were able. Whether fancy or magic ’twas played me the freak, The face seemed with life to be filling; And cried, instantly speaking, or seeming to speak, “Pay attention to me, thy last shilling!” * * * * * CHARLES DIBDIN. ―――― THE OLD OAK TABLE.