Part 3

A band is playing under an arcade of glass in front of the _Kurhaus_. They play really admirably--as good a band, as I have heard for a long time. But they are all, to a flute, dressed in black frock-coats, tightly buttoned, and black top-hats, for all the world like a provincial British municipality out for a holiday. Everything, save for the band, is wonderfully peaceful. A few cows browse in the valley, their pleasant bells drowsily tinkling. The surrounding mountains have donned their white crowns in our honour: the snowy, silent peaks glitter in the brilliant sun. In front of our hotel a retriever puppy, with an imperfect control over his paws, engages in a romp with a little white dog. He bowls over the little white dog, and, before he has quite recovered from the shock, bowls him over again. This is too much for the white dog's dignity: he bites the retriever violently in a tender part of the back. Woe, woe, the game is over, and the puppy flies homeward. In the afternoon the colony sits out again; it sits out finally after dinner. And so the quiet days proceed, for the time of toboggans and skates is not yet. It is a peaceful, a delightful spot, and on every hand are to be met hale and hearty folk who drifted hither, derelict wrecks, to be towed into haven and made sound for many a voyage. The tales of complete cures vary the conversational record of hours of sitting out. St. Luke, the good physician, is the patron saint of the little English Church here, and might well be the patron saint of Davos itself.

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A COUNCIL OF WAR.--The pugnacity which tradition tells us was the chief characteristic of the Kilkenny Cat Conferences finds a parallel in a recent meeting of Aberdare District Councillors, at which, among other compliments, such as members bluntly accusing each other of falsehood, the chairman advised a counsellor to go to the ---- gentleman whose name is usually omitted in polite converse. The seconder of a motion proposed by a Justice of the Peace, had the following remarkable and withering invective hurled at him from the chair: "You know _nothing_ about it, Mr. GEORGE knows but little, and _you know less_," while another counsellor observed, "I should show at least that I had a little brains." This gentleman is to be congratulated upon his consciousness of superior cerebral strength, and if the council possesses but "little brains" this deficiency is amply supplied by a corresponding wealth of choler and a copious flow of wrathful language.

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"BONNIE DUNDEE."

There was something exceedingly pretty in the doings at Dundee the other day when the burghers assembled to do honour to their old Member Mr. ARMITSTEAD. In the Parliament of 1880-5 Mr. ARMITSTEAD'S commanding presence was a familiar and welcome feature. Since then, having piloted Mr. GLADSTONE in successive journeys about the continent, his personality has obtained a wider field of recognition. When, at Biarritz and elsewhere, the population, tracking Mr. GLADSTONE, came upon this tall, straight figure, with flowing beard and kindly honest eyes, they thought he must be the Grand Old Man of whom they had heard so much. They, it is said, cheered him accordingly, leaving Mr. GLADSTONE free from embarrassing attention. That is probably a fable. Certainly, in Dundee, where Mr. ARMITSTEAD lived and worked for forty years, there is no chance of his being mistaken for any other G. O. M. Having retired from public life, Dundee wanted to have a portrait of its most honoured citizen. That was very nice, but as acceptance of the suggestion would have involved his presence at the installation of the portrait, and the making of a speech in response to all the kind things said, Mr. ARMITSTEAD modestly shrank from the ordeal. But he managed, after all, to gratify Dundee. He sat for his portrait at his own expense, gave it to the city, and, represented to the life on canvas, felt at liberty to absent himself from the public meeting at which the Lord Provost accepted the picture on behalf of Dundee. Thus beyond the timorous Tweed do Merit and Modesty dwell together.

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QUITE CORRECT.

DEAR MR. PUNCH,--In your number of Oct. 5, "AN INCONSTANT TRAVELLER" quotes _Mrs. Malaprop_ as saying "Caparisons are odorous." Perhaps it may interest him to know that the quotation correctly reads thus:--

"_Mrs. Malaprop._ No caparisons, Miss, if you please. Caparisons don't become a young woman.--_The Rivals_, Act IV., Sc. 2."

"Comparisons are odorous," occurs in _Much Ado about Nothing_, Act III., Sc. 5.

Yours,

HETTIE SETTERER.

P.S. Enclosed advertisement is from the _Willesden Chronicle_:--

Young person, 23, short, dark, strict disciplinarian, wishes to correspond with gentleman between 40 and 50, with view to matrimony.

What a "strict disciplinarian" to begin in this way. _And after?_

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A BACHELOR "BOWL'D."--What with many a "maiden over" and the taking of three hundred wickets in first-class matches, TOM RICHARDSON is _facile princeps_ in the bowling averages of the past cricket season. Now he has "made a match" on the Matrimonial Ground, and among the numerous presents received upon the auspicious occasion that which, perhaps, is of most interest to the "fastest trundler" takes the shape of a magnificent piano, the gift of a "syndicate" of admiring friends. His favourite tune on a winter evening will, of course, be "_Tom Bowling_"; and what more appropriate, after some stirring anecdote relating to the "hat-trick," than a spirited "_Bolero_"? Then, too, music descriptive of a "leg-bye" may surely be found among PAD-EREWSKI'S compositions. By the way, the Christian name of THOMAS, as shared by LOATES, RICHARDSON, and MORRIS, stands high in the annals of contemporary sport.

One strides the racing saddle and excels upon the flat, Another proves his power, with the leather, o'er the bat, A third is lion of the links--the Golfer's ecstacy; Thus "TOMMY" trebly triumphs in serene supremacy

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"ATHELSTANE THE UNREADY."--_Note from Dr. Brewer's Reader's Handbook: "'Unready' does not mean 'unprepared,' but 'injudicious.'"_ Almost everybody is angry with him. Bull-baiting is nothing to the new game of Riling RILEY, the injudicious one! So chorus, gentlemen of the School Board, if you please, and take the air from the composer of "_Ballyhooly_,"--

Is that Mr. RILEY? Our ATHELSTAN RILEY? Is that Mr. RILEY who rings the Church bell?

It _is_ Mr. RILEY! He does nothing slily, And yet doesn't do it remarkably well.

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COVENT WINTER GARDEN.--Opera Wagnerensia in full bloom. Consule Druriolano, Magistro Lorinerio, Equite. Sir DRURIOLANUS must introduce a dance of Love-lorn Loriners.