With Mr. +Saunders's+ _The Story of some Famous Books_ (+Elliot Stock+) I was rather disappointed, in consequence of there not being enough "famous books," and not much more story than the needy knife-grinder had to tell. Still, I thank him for introducing me to a delightful name--"+Theopompus+ of Chios"--whom, for this present, I will take as my godfather, and sign myself, Yours, +Theopompus, Baron de Book Worms+. * * * * * +Staff Appointments.+--The Specials. * * * * * [Illustration: AN EYE FOR "ELECTIVE AFFINITIES." _Sir Edwin_. "+Hullo, Angy? Stew-pan? Apron? Tripe and Onions? What on earth's up?+" _The Lady Angelina_. "+Yes, Dearest! Since _you've_ become a _Special Constable, I'm_ doing my little utmost to become a Special _Cook_! I thought it might bind us still closer together!+" _Sir Edwin_. "+My own _Love!!_!+"] * * * * * LIGHTING THE DUBLIN BEACON. (_A Ballad of the Brave Old Sort_.) "It was all for the Union We left fair Albion's land. It was all for the Union We first saw Irish land, My Boy! We first saw Irish land! "All must be done that man can do. Shall it be done in vain? My +G-sch-n+, to prove that untrue We two have crossed the main, My Boy! We two have crossed the main!" He turned him round and right-about All on the Irish shore. Said he, "We'll give +P-rn-ll+ a shake, And make the Rads to roar, My Boy! And make the Rads to roar!" He was a stout and trusty carle. Said he, "A flare we'll raise, And, spite the Leaguers' angry snarl, We'll make the Beacon blaze, My Boy! We'll make the Beacon blaze! "Who says our friends a handful are, Our foes a serried host? Our Beacon, blazing like a star, Shall check the blatant boast, My Boy! Shall cheek the blatant boast. "Not all are to sedition sworn, Or shackled by the League. Cheer up! We'll laugh, their hate to scorn, And baffle their intrigue, My Boy! And baffle their intrigue. "Puff, +G-sch-n+, puff! Like Boreas blow! And I the logs will pile. The Beacon, now a slender glow, Shall blaze across the Isle, My Boy! Shall blaze across the Isle. "Eh? What? The wood is damp, you say? There comes more smoke than flame? Nay; pile, and poke, and puff away! We'll not give up the game, My Boy! We'll not give up the game. "If we should let this fire die out All on the Irish shore, To Unionism stern and stout Adieu for evermore, My Boy! Adieu for evermore!" * * * * *