A JUST CORRECTION.--In _Macmillan's_ for this month there is an interesting article entitled "_In the Wake of Captain Cook_." An Irish member of the club threw the number down, exclaiming, "The man who wrote that can't write English! 'Tis not '_in_ the wake' at all. Sure it ought to be '_at_ the wake.'" * * * * * LEGAL CLOCKWORK.--Towards the end of last week, the key of the difficulty having been found, the Justice-VAUGHAN-WILLIAMS'-winding-up business was wound up, and J. V. W., being wound up, was set going again. There is, however, still some difficulty, and a little oil on the troubled works will be necessary. _Mem. to the Lord Chancellor._--"Please not to touch the figures." * * * * * _Q._ What is the best sort of cigar to smoke in a Hansom? _A._ A Cab-ana. * * * * * LITTLE MOPSËMAN. THE SECOND ACT. [Illustration: "Yes, Alfred, Retribution!"] _A little narrow glen, with a slope in the background, belonging to_ ALFRED. _Under the dripping trees a table and chairs, all made of thin birchstaves. Everything is sodden with wet, and mist-wreaths are driving about._ ALFRED FRÜYSECK, _dressed in a black mackintosh, sits dejectedly on a chair. Presently_ MOPSA BROVIK _comes down the slope cautiously behind, and touches his shoulder_; ALFRED _jumps_. _Mopsa._ You shouldn't really sit about on damp seats in such miserable weather, ALFRED. I have been hunting for you everywhere. [_Closing her umbrella with quiet significance._ _Alfred_ (_to himself_). Run to earth! Oh, Lor'! (_Aloud._) If you would only be kind enough to search for MOPSËMAN instead! I _cannot_ unravel the mystery of his disappearance. There he was, just entering upon conscious intelligence--full of the infinite possibilities of performing poodlehood. I had charged myself with his education. After having been an usher at so many boarding-schools, I felt peculiarly fitted for such a task. And then a shady scoundrel has only to come his way with rats in a bag----! _Mopsa._ But we don't in the least know how it really all came about. _Alfred._ That infernal VARMINT-BL[=O]K is at the bottom of it, you may depend upon that! Though what motive in the world----(_Quivering._) It's not as if MOPSËMAN would ever have faced a rat. He used to bolt at the mere sight of a blackbeetle even. The whole thing is so utterly meaningless, MOPSA. And yet, I suppose the order of the universe requires it. _Mopsa._ Have you indulged in these abstruse philosophical speculations with SPRETA? _Alfred_ (_shakes his head hopelessly_). She is so utterly incapable of----(MOPSA _nods_.) I prefer discussing them with _you_. There is something unnatural in imparting confidences to a mere wife. What on earth have you got there?