LINES ON THE LINKS

Punch

"SHE WAS NOT A GOLFER""SHE WAS NOT A GOLFER"Husband."What on earth has happened to my driver?"Wife."Oh, I couldn't find the hammer, so I used that thing. It wasn't much use, though."

"SHE WAS NOT A GOLFER"

Husband."What on earth has happened to my driver?"

Wife."Oh, I couldn't find the hammer, so I used that thing. It wasn't much use, though."

OUR VILLAGEOUR VILLAGEThe Golf-Club in full swing.

OUR VILLAGE

The Golf-Club in full swing.

Mr. SmithShe."Why, Mr. Smith, you don't mean to say you have taken up golf?"Smith (age 78)."Yes. I found I was getting a bit too old for lawn tennis!"

She."Why, Mr. Smith, you don't mean to say you have taken up golf?"

Smith (age 78)."Yes. I found I was getting a bit too old for lawn tennis!"

ERRATICERRATICPedestrian (anxious for his safety)."Now, which way are you going to hit the ball?"Worried Beginner."Only wish to goodness I knew myself!"

ERRATIC

Pedestrian (anxious for his safety)."Now, which way are you going to hit the ball?"

Worried Beginner."Only wish to goodness I knew myself!"

SWEET SIMPLICITYSWEET SIMPLICITYDiffident Man (who does not know to how much of an ingénue he is talking)."Have you been out long, Miss Grace?"Miss Grace (consulting her wrist-strap)."Oh, about three-quarters of an hour. You see we were asked to come punctually."

SWEET SIMPLICITY

Diffident Man (who does not know to how much of an ingénue he is talking)."Have you been out long, Miss Grace?"

Miss Grace (consulting her wrist-strap)."Oh, about three-quarters of an hour. You see we were asked to come punctually."

Hard by the biggest hazard on the course,Beneath the shelter of a clump of gorse,Secure from shots from off the heel or toe,I watch the golfers as they come and go.I see the fat financier, whose "dunch"Suggests too copious draughts of "fizz" at lunch;While the lean usher, primed with ginger beer,Surmounts the yawning bunker and lies clear.I see a member of the House of PeersWithin an ace of bursting into tears,When, after six stout niblick shots, his ballLies worse than if he had not struck at all.But some in silent agony endureMisfortunes no "recovery" can cure,While others, even men who stand at plus,Loudly ejaculate the frequent cuss.An aged Anglo-Indian oft I seeWho waggles endlessly upon the tee,Causing impatience of the fiercest kindTo speedy couples pressing from behind.Familiar also is the red-haired PatWho plays in rain or shine without a hat,And who, whenever things are out of joint,"Sockets" his iron shots to cover point.Before ten thirty, also after five,The links with lady players are alive,At other seasons, by the rules in force,Restricted to their own inferior course.One matron, patient in her way as Job,I've seen who nine times running missed the globe;But then her daughter, limber maid, can smiteClose on two hundred yards the bounding Kite.Dusk falls upon the bracken, bents and whins;The careful green-keeper removes the pins,To-morrow being Sunday, and the swardIs freed from gutty and from rubber-cored.Homeward unchecked by cries of "Fore!" I stroll,Revolving many problems in my soul,And marvelling at the mania which bidsSexagenarians caracole like kids;Which causes grave and reverend signiorsTo talk for hours of nothing but their scores,And worse, when baffled by a little ball,On the infernal deities to call;Which brightens overworked officials' lives;Which bores to tears their much-enduring wives;Which fosters the consumption of white port,And many other drinks, both long and short.Who then, in face of functions so diverse,Will call thee, golf, a blessing or a curse?Or choose between the Premier's predilectionAnd Rosebery's deliberate rejection?Not mine to judge: I merely watch and noteThy votaries as they grieve or as they gloat,Uncertain whether envy or amazeOr pity most is prompted by the craze.

Hard by the biggest hazard on the course,

Beneath the shelter of a clump of gorse,

Secure from shots from off the heel or toe,

I watch the golfers as they come and go.

I see the fat financier, whose "dunch"

Suggests too copious draughts of "fizz" at lunch;

While the lean usher, primed with ginger beer,

Surmounts the yawning bunker and lies clear.

I see a member of the House of Peers

Within an ace of bursting into tears,

When, after six stout niblick shots, his ball

Lies worse than if he had not struck at all.

But some in silent agony endure

Misfortunes no "recovery" can cure,

While others, even men who stand at plus,

Loudly ejaculate the frequent cuss.

An aged Anglo-Indian oft I see

Who waggles endlessly upon the tee,

Causing impatience of the fiercest kind

To speedy couples pressing from behind.

Familiar also is the red-haired Pat

Who plays in rain or shine without a hat,

And who, whenever things are out of joint,

"Sockets" his iron shots to cover point.

Before ten thirty, also after five,

The links with lady players are alive,

At other seasons, by the rules in force,

Restricted to their own inferior course.

One matron, patient in her way as Job,

I've seen who nine times running missed the globe;

But then her daughter, limber maid, can smite

Close on two hundred yards the bounding Kite.

Dusk falls upon the bracken, bents and whins;

The careful green-keeper removes the pins,

To-morrow being Sunday, and the sward

Is freed from gutty and from rubber-cored.

Homeward unchecked by cries of "Fore!" I stroll,

Revolving many problems in my soul,

And marvelling at the mania which bids

Sexagenarians caracole like kids;

Which causes grave and reverend signiors

To talk for hours of nothing but their scores,

And worse, when baffled by a little ball,

On the infernal deities to call;

Which brightens overworked officials' lives;

Which bores to tears their much-enduring wives;

Which fosters the consumption of white port,

And many other drinks, both long and short.

Who then, in face of functions so diverse,

Will call thee, golf, a blessing or a curse?

Or choose between the Premier's predilection

And Rosebery's deliberate rejection?

Not mine to judge: I merely watch and note

Thy votaries as they grieve or as they gloat,

Uncertain whether envy or amaze

Or pity most is prompted by the craze.

Foreign GolferForeigner (who has "pulled" badly, and hit his partner in a tender spot),"Mille pardons, monsieur! My clob—he deceived me!"

Foreigner (who has "pulled" badly, and hit his partner in a tender spot),"Mille pardons, monsieur! My clob—he deceived me!"

Auntie and UncleTommy."I say, do you know who's winning?"Ethel."I think uncle must be—I heard him offer to carry auntie's clubs."

Tommy."I say, do you know who's winning?"

Ethel."I think uncle must be—I heard him offer to carry auntie's clubs."

Scene—Any golf-club where an alteration of the course is in prospect.Time—Any time, from dawn to dusk.Characters—Any number ofMembers,plus (on this occasion) anInoffensive Stranger.

First Member(catching sight ofInoffensive Stranger). Look here, Nobbs, you're an impartial judge, we'll have your opinion. What I say is this. If you take the present 4th hole and make it the 13th, putting the tee back ten yards behind the 12th, and carry the lower green fifteen yards to the right, and play the 2nd, 5th and 16th holes in reverse order, keeping clear of the ditch outside the 4th green, you'll bring——

Second Member.Oh, that's rubbish. Anybody with a grain of sense would see that you'd utterly ruin the course that way. My plan is to take the first three, the 11th, and the 14th—you understand, Nobbs?—(slowly and emphatically) the first three, the 11th, and the 14th.

Inoffensive Stranger.Yes?

Second M.(quickly). And leave 'em as they are. Leave 'em just exactly as they are. Then you do away with the next, make the 3rd into the 7th, and——

I.S.(horribly confused). But——

Third M.Yes, I know—you're thinking of the crossing from the 14th. And you're perfectly right. Simply fatal, that would be; too dangerous altogether. What we really want is a 2nd hole, and my plan would make a splendid one—really sporting, and giving these gentlemen who fancy their play a bit to do.

Second M.Don't know aboutthat. Tried that patent 2nd hole of yours this morning out of curiosity. Holed it with my third, and might have done it in two, with a bit of luck.

Third M.(whistles expressively). Oh,come! Splendid player you are, and all that—handicap's fifteen, isn't it?—but there aren'tmanyof us who would stand here and say calmly that we'd done a hole of 420 yards in three!Really, you know——

Second M.420 yards? 130, you mean.

Third M.(defiantly). 420, if an inch.

Second M.But look here, you told me yourself only yesterday——

Third M.(slightly taken aback). Oh, ah, yes. I understand now. Ididthink, at one time, of making the 2nd a short hole. But this is quite a different idea. Miles better, in fact. It flashed across me quite suddenly at dinner-time last night. Sort of inspiration—kind of thing you can't account for—but there itis, you see.

Fourth M.Well, what you fellows can argue about like this beats me altogether. There's only onepossibleway of improving the course, and I showed you the plan of it last week. It won't be adopted—not likely. So good, and simple, and inexpensive that the committee won't look at it. Couldn't expect anything else. Anyhow (with an air of unappreciated heroism)—I've donemybest for the club!

(Sighs heavily, and picks up a newspaper.)

Fifth M.(brutally). Oh,weknow all about that blessed plan of yours. Now, I'm open to conviction. Mind you, I don't condemn anybody else's scheme. All thatIsay is, that if a man doesn't see that my plan is the best, he's a dunder-headedjackass, and that's all about it. What doyouthink, Mr. Nobbs?

I.S.(rather nervously). Well, really—I hardly know—perhaps——

First M.(compassionately). Ah, it's those whins below the 17th that are botheringyou. But if you exchange the 8th and the 10th——

Second M.(abruptly). Rot!

(The battle continues. TheInoffensive Strangerstealthily withdraws.(Curtain.))

Punch Reading

A TOWN MOUSEA TOWN MOUSEJones."Well, my little man, what areyouthinking about?"London Boy(who has never been out of Whitechapel before). "I'm thinkin' it's time yer mother put yer intotrousers!"

A TOWN MOUSE

Jones."Well, my little man, what areyouthinking about?"

London Boy(who has never been out of Whitechapel before). "I'm thinkin' it's time yer mother put yer intotrousers!"

A MARTYR TO APPEARANCESA MARTYR TO APPEARANCESYoung Lady."I say, caddie, whatdoesMr. McFadjock do with all these clubs?"Caddie (wofully preparing to follow his tyrant)."He makes me carry them!"

A MARTYR TO APPEARANCES

Young Lady."I say, caddie, whatdoesMr. McFadjock do with all these clubs?"

Caddie (wofully preparing to follow his tyrant)."He makes me carry them!"

LINK(S)ED SWEETNESSLINK(S)ED SWEETNESSThe Real Caddie(audibly). "This club is going to ruin—allowing all these ladies to join!"Miss Sharp."They evidently can't get gentlemen!"

LINK(S)ED SWEETNESS

The Real Caddie(audibly). "This club is going to ruin—allowing all these ladies to join!"

Miss Sharp."They evidently can't get gentlemen!"

Sanguine Golfer.Sanguine Golfer."Is that on the 'carpet,' caddie?"Caddie(as the ball swerves into cottage window). "Yus, sir; front parlour, sir!"

Sanguine Golfer."Is that on the 'carpet,' caddie?"

Caddie(as the ball swerves into cottage window). "Yus, sir; front parlour, sir!"

THE OLD TYPE OF LINK MAN.THE OLD TYPE OF LINK MAN.Supper time.

THE OLD TYPE OF LINK MAN.

Supper time.

THE NEW TYPE OF LINK MAN.THE NEW TYPE OF LINK MAN.Tee time.

THE NEW TYPE OF LINK MAN.

Tee time.

Long ago in Sweet September,Oh! the day I well remember,I was playing on the Links against the winsomest of maids;In a "cup" my ball was lying,And the "divots" round were flying,And with eyes-a-dance she said to me, "Your iron's the King of Spades!"Now a foe, on such occasion,Of the feminine persuasion,Fair and twenty to the game a sort of subtlety imparts;And I felt its potent glamour,And I answered with a stammerShy and nervous, "It was rash of me to play the Queen of Hearts!"Any further explanationOf my inward admirationVery likely had exposed me to the deadliest of snubs!But a snigger from behind meJust in time came to remind meOf the presence of my caddie—and I blessed the Knave of Clubs!

Long ago in Sweet September,

Oh! the day I well remember,

I was playing on the Links against the winsomest of maids;

In a "cup" my ball was lying,

And the "divots" round were flying,

And with eyes-a-dance she said to me, "Your iron's the King of Spades!"

Now a foe, on such occasion,

Of the feminine persuasion,

Fair and twenty to the game a sort of subtlety imparts;

And I felt its potent glamour,

And I answered with a stammer

Shy and nervous, "It was rash of me to play the Queen of Hearts!"

Any further explanation

Of my inward admiration

Very likely had exposed me to the deadliest of snubs!

But a snigger from behind me

Just in time came to remind me

Of the presence of my caddie—and I blessed the Knave of Clubs!

GLORIOUS UNCERTAINTYGLORIOUS UNCERTAINTYScene—At the Golf Club.She."Good-bye, Major. What's the programme for to-morrow?"The Major."Oh, either skating or punting, according to the weather."

GLORIOUS UNCERTAINTY

Scene—At the Golf Club.

She."Good-bye, Major. What's the programme for to-morrow?"

The Major."Oh, either skating or punting, according to the weather."

(By the Expert Wrinkler)

Is it good form to golf? That is a question I have been so repeatedly asked of late by correspondents that I can no longer postpone my answer. Now to begin with, I fear there is no doubt that golf is a little on the down grade—socially. Golf is no longer the monopoly of the best set, and I am told that artisans' clubs have actually been started in certain districts. The other day, as I was travelling in Lancashire, a man in the same compartment—with the most shockingly ill-cut trousers I ever saw—said to a friend, "I like 'Oylake, it's 'ealthy, and it's 'andy and within 'ail of 'ome." And it turned out that the chief attraction to him at Hoylake was the golf. Such an incident as this speaks volumes. But I always try to see both sides of every question, and there is unquestionably a great deal to be said in favour of golf. It was undoubtedly played by kings in the past, and at the present moment is patronised by grand dukes, dukes, peers and premiers.

But the real and abiding attraction of golf is that it mercifully gives more opportunities to the dressy man than any other pastime. Football and cricket reduce everyone to a dead level in dress, but in golf there is any amount of scope for individuality in costume. Take the case of colour alone. The other day at Finsbury Park station I met a friend on his way home from a day's golfing, and I noticed that he was sporting the colours of no fewer than five different clubs. On his cap was the badge of the Camberwell Crusaders; his tie proved his membership of the Bickley Authentics; his blazer was that of the Tulse Hill Nondescripts; his brass waistcoat buttons bore the monogram of the Gipsy Hill Zingari; the roll of his knickerbocker stockings was embroidered with the crest of the Kilburn Incogs. The effect of the whole was, if I may be allowed the word, spicy in the extreme. Of course it is not everyone who can carry off such a combination, or who can afford to belong to so many first-class clubs. But my friend is a very handsome man, and has a handicap ofplustwo at Tooting Bec.

The burning question which divides golfers into two hostile camps is the choice between knickerbockers and trousers. Personally I favour the latter, but it is only right to explain that ever since I was gaffed in the leg by my friend Viscount —— when out cub-sticking with the Cottesmore I have never donned knickers again. To a man with a really well-turned calf and neat ankles I should say, wear knickerbockers whenever you get a chance. The late Lord Septimus Boulger, who had very thick legs, and calves that seemed to begin just above the ankles, used to wear knickerbockers because he said it put his opponent off his play. If I may say so without offence, he was a real funny chap, though a careless dresser, and I am told that his father, old Lord Spalding, has never been the same man since his death.

Another advantage of knickerbockers is the scope they afford for the display of stylish stockings. A very good effect is produced by having a little red tuft, which should appear underthe roll which surmounts the calf. The roll itself, which should always have a smart pattern, is very useful in conveying the impression that the calf is more fully developed than it really is. I noticed the other day at Hanger Hill that Sir Arlington Ball was playing in a pair of very full knickers, almost of the Dutch cut, and that his stockings—of a plain brown colour—had no roll such as I have described. Then of course Sir Arlington has an exceptionally well-modelled calf, and when in addition a man has £30,000 a year he may be allowed a certain latitude in his dress and his conduct generally.

The question of footwear at golf is one of considerable difficulty, but there is a general feeling in favour of shoes. My friend the Tooting Becplusseraffects a very showy sort of shoe with a wide welt and a sort of fringe of narrow strips of porpoise hide, which fall over the instep in a miniature cataract. As regards the rival merits of india rubber studs on the soles and of nails, I compromise by a judicious mixture ofboth. If a waistcoat be worn it should be of the brightest possible colour. I saw Lord Dunching the other day at Wimbledon Park in a charming waistcoat. The groundwork was a rich spinach green with discs of Pompeian red, and the buttons were of brass with his monogram in blue and white enamel in the centre. As it was a cold day he wore a mustard-coloured Harris tweed Norfolk jacket and a sealskin cap. Quite a large crowd followed him, and I heard afterwards that he had raised the record for the links to 193.

One thing is certain—and that is we cannot all be first-class players. Personally, owing to the accident I have already referred to, I hardly ever play at all, but I always make it a point, if I am going on a visit to any place in the country where I know there are no golf links, to take a few niblicks with me. A bag for clubs only costs a few shillings, and it looks well amongst your other paraphernalia on a journey. In engaging a valet again, always remember to ascertain whether he knows the rules of the "royal and ancient game."I shall never forget my humiliation when down at Lord Springvale's. As I was taking part in a foursome with the Hon. Agrippa Bramble, Lady Horace Hilton, and the second Mrs. Bunkeray, I got stuck in a furze-bush and my man handed me a putter. I could have cried with vexation.

Cavendish, Chatsworth.—As to the treatment of divots, different methods are recommended by different authorities. My plan, and I am not aware of a better, is to put them in my pocket when the caddie is not looking. When thoroughly dried they form an excellent peat for burning, or can be used for bedding out rhododendrons.

"Nil Desperandum," Beckenham.—The best stimulant during match play is a beaten-up egg in a claret glass of sloe gin. The eggs are best carried in the pocket of your club-bag.

A. Flubb, Woking.—No, it is not good form to pay your caddie in stamps.

Alcibiades, Wembley Park.—If you must play golf on Sunday, I call it nothing short of hypocritical to go down to the links in a tall hat.

Between FriendsBetween Friends.—Mr. Spooner, Q.C.(a Neophyte). "This is my ball, I think?"Colonel Bunting(an adept). "By Jove, that's a jolly good 'lie'!"Mr. Spooner."Really, Bunting, we're very old friends, of course. But I do think you might find a pleasanter way of pointing out a perfectly unintentional mistake!"

Between Friends.—Mr. Spooner, Q.C.(a Neophyte). "This is my ball, I think?"

Colonel Bunting(an adept). "By Jove, that's a jolly good 'lie'!"

Mr. Spooner."Really, Bunting, we're very old friends, of course. But I do think you might find a pleasanter way of pointing out a perfectly unintentional mistake!"

A Hero "Fin de Siècle."A Hero "Fin de Siècle."—Podgers(of Sandboys Golf Club). "My dear Miss Robinson, golf's the only game nowadays for themen. Lawn-tennis is all very well for yougirls, you know."

A Hero "Fin de Siècle."—Podgers(of Sandboys Golf Club). "My dear Miss Robinson, golf's the only game nowadays for themen. Lawn-tennis is all very well for yougirls, you know."

Stray BullIf you should find a stray bull in possession of the links, and who is fascinated by your little red landmarks, don't try and persuade poor Mr. Littleman to drive him away. He is very plucky—but it isn't golf.

If you should find a stray bull in possession of the links, and who is fascinated by your little red landmarks, don't try and persuade poor Mr. Littleman to drive him away. He is very plucky—but it isn't golf.

His First RoundHis First Round.—Caddie(pointing to direction flag). "You'd better play right on the flag, sir."Curate."Thank you very much. But I have very grave doubts as to my ability to hit such a very small mark at this distance!"

His First Round.—Caddie(pointing to direction flag). "You'd better play right on the flag, sir."

Curate."Thank you very much. But I have very grave doubts as to my ability to hit such a very small mark at this distance!"

Ear Blinkers.Ear Blinkers.—A suggestion for caddies of tender age in attendance on hot-tempered Anglo-Indian military gentlemen learning golf.

Ear Blinkers.—A suggestion for caddies of tender age in attendance on hot-tempered Anglo-Indian military gentlemen learning golf.

Every Man to his Trade.Every Man to his Trade.—Exasperated Amateur(to fore-caddie, who willNOTgo on ahead). "Go along, man.Doget on towards the next green."Caddie."Beg parding, Capting. You won't never get him to go no more than twenty yards ahead. 'E's been used to carrying a flag in front of a steam-roller."

Every Man to his Trade.—Exasperated Amateur(to fore-caddie, who willNOTgo on ahead). "Go along, man.Doget on towards the next green."

Caddie."Beg parding, Capting. You won't never get him to go no more than twenty yards ahead. 'E's been used to carrying a flag in front of a steam-roller."

Let A be the Links where I went down to stay,And B the man whom I challenged to play:—

C was the Caddie no golfer's without,D was the Driver I used going "out":E was the Extra loud "Fore!" we both holloa-ed,F was the Foozle which commonly followed:G was the Green which I longed to approach,H was the Hazard which upset the coach:I was B's Iron-shot (he's good for a younker),J was his Joy when I pitched in the bunker.K was the Kodak, that mischief-contriver,L was B's Likeness—on smashing his driver:M was the Moment he found out 'twas taken.N was his Niblick around my head shaken:O was the Oil poured on waters so stormy,P was the Putt which, next hole, made me dormy.Q was the Quality—crowds came to look on:R the Result they were making their book on:S was the Stymie I managed to lay,T was Two more, which it forced him to play;U was the Usual bad work he let fly,V was the Vengeance he took in the bye.

W the Whisky that night: I must ownX was its quantity—wholly unknown;Y were the Yarns which hot whisky combine with,Z was the Zest which we sang "Auld Lang Syne".

Fill up your glasses! Bumpers roundOf Scotland's mountain dew!With triple clink my toast you'll drink,The Links I pledge with you:The Links that bind a million hearts,There's magic in their name,The Links that lie 'neath every sky,And the Royal and Ancient Game!A health to all who "miss the globe,"The special "stars" who don't;May thousands thrive to tee and driveAs Jehu's self was wont!No tee without a caddie—thenThe caddies will acclaim!A health, I say, to all who playThe Royal and Ancient Game!Long life to all who face the foe,And on the green "lie dead"!—An envied lot, as all men wot,For gallant "lads in red":Where balls fly fast and iron-shots ploughWin medals, trophies, fame;Your watchword "Fore!" One cheer—two more—For the Royal and Ancient Game!Then "toeandheelit" on the green(You'll make your partner swear),But I'll be bound your dance, a round,With luck will end all squareWin, lose, or halve the match—what odds?We love our round the same;Though luck take wing, "the play's the thing,"The Royal and Ancient Game!Then, Royal and Ancient Game, acceptThis tribute lay from me;From me then take, for old sake's sake,This toast—Long life to thee!A long, long life to thee, old friend—None worthier the name—With three times three, long life to thee,O Royal and Ancient Game!

Fill up your glasses! Bumpers round

Of Scotland's mountain dew!

With triple clink my toast you'll drink,

The Links I pledge with you:

The Links that bind a million hearts,

There's magic in their name,

The Links that lie 'neath every sky,

And the Royal and Ancient Game!

A health to all who "miss the globe,"

The special "stars" who don't;

May thousands thrive to tee and drive

As Jehu's self was wont!

No tee without a caddie—then

The caddies will acclaim!

A health, I say, to all who play

The Royal and Ancient Game!

Long life to all who face the foe,

And on the green "lie dead"!—

An envied lot, as all men wot,

For gallant "lads in red":

Where balls fly fast and iron-shots plough

Win medals, trophies, fame;

Your watchword "Fore!" One cheer—two more—

For the Royal and Ancient Game!

Then "toeandheelit" on the green

(You'll make your partner swear),

But I'll be bound your dance, a round,

With luck will end all square

Win, lose, or halve the match—what odds?

We love our round the same;

Though luck take wing, "the play's the thing,"

The Royal and Ancient Game!

Then, Royal and Ancient Game, accept

This tribute lay from me;

From me then take, for old sake's sake,

This toast—Long life to thee!

A long, long life to thee, old friend—

None worthier the name—

With three times three, long life to thee,

O Royal and Ancient Game!

Punch and Judy Show.

Short-sighted Lady Golfer.Short-sighted Lady Golfer."Hi! have you seen a golf-ball fall anywhere here, please?"[Victim regards ball with remaining eye.]

Short-sighted Lady Golfer."Hi! have you seen a golf-ball fall anywhere here, please?"

[Victim regards ball with remaining eye.]

Very mild GentlemanVery mild Gentleman(who has failed to hit the ball five times in succession). "Well ——"Up-to-date Caddy(producing gramophone charged with appropriate expletives). "Allow me, sir!"[Mild GentlemanDOESallow him, and moreover presents him with a shilling for handling the subject in such a masterly manner.]

Very mild Gentleman(who has failed to hit the ball five times in succession). "Well ——"

Up-to-date Caddy(producing gramophone charged with appropriate expletives). "Allow me, sir!"

[Mild GentlemanDOESallow him, and moreover presents him with a shilling for handling the subject in such a masterly manner.]

Golfer in bunker.First Golfer(to Second Golfer, who is caught in a bunker). "Well, Jones told me this morning he did this hole yesterday in four."Second Golfer(who stammers). "If Jones s-s-said he did it in four, he was a l-l-l-l——"First Golfer."Steady, friend, steady!"Second Golfer."——he was a l-lucky beggar!"

First Golfer(to Second Golfer, who is caught in a bunker). "Well, Jones told me this morning he did this hole yesterday in four."

Second Golfer(who stammers). "If Jones s-s-said he did it in four, he was a l-l-l-l——"

First Golfer."Steady, friend, steady!"

Second Golfer."——he was a l-lucky beggar!"

Match for a suit of oil-skins between Sunny Jack and Dismal Jimmy."The rain has beaten all records."—Daily Papers."Play the game."—Modern motto.

Hole 1.—Halved in 28. D.J. gets into the current with his 16th (a beauty) and is rescued by life-boat.

Hole 2.—Abandoned. A green-finder with a divining-rod, which is convertible into an umbrella, states that Primitive Baptists are using the green for purposes of total immersion.

Hole 3.—Abandoned. A regatta is found to be taking place in the big bunker.

Hole 4.—Halved in 23. S.J. discovered with life-belt round him which he has stolen from the flag. Reported death of a green-keeper, lost in trying to rescue two caddies from the bunker going to the 11th hole.

Hole 5.—Abandoned out of sympathy with the green-keeper.

Hole 6.—Abandoned. S.J. gets his drivermixed in his life-belt, with the result that his braces burst. D.J. claims hole on the ground that no player may look for a button for more than two minutes. Mr. Vardon, umpiring from balloon, disallows claim. Both players take to canoes.

Hole 7.—D.J.'s canoe upset by body of drowned sheep as he is holing short put. Mr. Vardon decides that corpses are rubs on the green.

Hole 8.—Abandoned, owing to a fight for life-belt.

Hole 9.—Halved in 303, Mr. Vardon keeping the score.

Hole 10.—D.J. saves S.J.'s life. Hole awarded to S.J. by Mr. Vardon out of sympathy. S.J. one up.

Hole 11.—S.J. saves D.J.'s life and receives the Humane Society's monthly medal and the hole from Mr. Vardon as a reward of courage. S.J. two up.

Hole 12.—Abandoned. Collection made for the widows of drowned golfers, which realises ninepence. S.J. subsequently returns from a long, low dive.

Holes 13 and 14.—Won by D.J. in the absence of S.J., who attends funeral water-games in honour of the green-keeper. All square.

Holes 15 and 16.—Abandoned by mutual consent, whisky being given away by the Society of Free-drinkers. Instant reappearance of the green-keeper.

Holes 17 and 18.—Unrecorded. Mr. Vardon declares the match halved.

Punch riding on dog.

FORE and AFTFORE and AFT

FORE and AFT

Short-sighted Golfer.Short-sighted Golfer(having been signalled to come on by lady who has lost her ball). "Thanksverymuch. Andwouldyou mind driving that sheep away?"

Short-sighted Golfer(having been signalled to come on by lady who has lost her ball). "Thanksverymuch. Andwouldyou mind driving that sheep away?"

Rule V.Extract from the rules of a local golf club:—"Rule V.—The committee shall have the power at any time to fill any vacancy in their body."

Extract from the rules of a local golf club:—"Rule V.—The committee shall have the power at any time to fill any vacancy in their body."

"You won't dare!" said I.

"There is nothing else for it," said Amanda sternly. "You know perfectly well that we must practise every minute of the time, if we expect to have the least chance of winning. If shewillcome just now—well!" Amanda cocked her pretty chin in the air, and looked defiant.

"But—Aunt Susannah!" said I.

"It's quite time for you to go and meet her," said Amanda, cutting short my remonstrances; and she rose with an air of finality.

My wife, within her limitations, is a very clever woman. She is prompt: she is resolute: she has the utmost confidence in her own generalship. Yet, looking at Aunt Susannah, as she sat—gaunt, upright, and formidable—beside me in the dogcart, I did not believe even Amanda capable of the stupendous task which she had undertaken. She would never dare——

I misjudged her. Aunt Susannah had barelysat down—was, in fact, only just embarking on her first scone—when Amanda rushed incontinently in where I, for one, should have feared to tread.

"Dear Aunt Susannah," she said, beaming hospitably, "I'm sure you will never guess how we mean to amuse you while you are here!"

"Nothing very formidable, I hope?" said Aunt Susannah grimly.

"You'll never, never guess!" said Amanda; and her manner was so unnaturally sprightly that I knew she was inwardly quaking. "We want to teach you—what do you think?"

"I think that I'm a trifle old to learn anything new, my dear," said Aunt Susannah.

I should have been stricken dumb by such a snub. Not so, however, my courageous wife.

"Well—golf!" she cried, with overdone cheerfulness.

Aunt Susannah started. Recovering herself, she eyed us with a stony glare which froze me where I sat.

"There is really nothing else to do in these wilds, you know," Amanda pursued gallantly, though even she was beginning to look frightened."And it is such a lovely game. You'll like it immensely."

"Whatdo you say it is called?" asked Aunt Susannah in awful tones.

"Golf," Amanda repeated meekly; and for the first time her voice shook.

"Spell it!" commanded Aunt Susannah.

Amanda obeyed, with increasing meekness.

"Why do you call it 'goff' if there's an 'l' in it?" asked Aunt Susannah.

"I—I'm afraid I don't know," said Amanda faintly.

Aunt Susannah sniffed disparagingly. She condescended, however, to inquire into the nature of the game, and Amanda gave an elaborate explanation in faltering accents. She glanced imploringly at me; but I would not meet her eye.

"Then you just try to get a little ball into a little hole?" inquired my relative.

"And in the fewest possible strokes," Amanda reminded her, gasping.

"And—is that all?" asked Aunt Susannah.

"Y—yes," said Amanda.

"Oh!" said Aunt Susannah.

A game described in cold blood sounds singularly insignificant. We both fell into sudden silence and depression.

"Well, it doesn't sounddifficult" said Aunt Susannah. "Oh, yes, I'll come and play at ball with you if you like, my dears."

"DearAuntie!" said Amanda affectionately. She did not seem so much overjoyed at her success, however, as might have been expected. As for me, I saw a whole sea of breakers ahead; but then I had seen them all the time.

We drove out to the Links next day. We were both very silent. Aunt Susannah, however, was in good spirits, and deeply interested in our clubs.

"What in the world do you want so many sticks for, child?" she inquired of Amanda.

"Oh, they are for—for different sorts of ground," Amanda explained feebly; and she cast an agonised glance at our driver, who had obviously overheard, and was chuckling in an offensive manner.

We both looked hastily and furtively round us when we arrived. We were early, however, and fortune was kind to us; there was no one else there.

"Perhaps you would like to watch us a littlefirst, just to see how the game goes?" Amanda suggested sweetly.

"Not at all!" was Aunt Susannah's brisk rejoinder. "I've come here to play, not to look on. Which stick——?"

"Club—they are called clubs," said Amanda.

"Why?" inquired Aunt Susannah.

"I—I don't know," faltered Amanda. "Do you Laurence?"

I did not know, and said so.

"Then I shall certainly call them sticks," said Aunt Susannah decisively. "They are not in the least like clubs."

"Shall I drive off?" I inquired desperately of Amanda.

"Drive off? Where to? Why are you going away?" asked Aunt Susannah. "Besides, you can't go—the carriage is out of sight."

"The way you begin is called driving off," I explained laboriously. "Like this." I drove nervously, because I felt her eye upon me. The ball went some dozen yards.

"That seems easy enough," said Aunt Susannah. "Give me a stick, child."

"Not that end—theotherend!" cried Amanda, as our relative prepared to make her stroke with the butt-end.

"Dear me! Isn't that the handle?" she remarked cheerfully; and she reversed her club, swung it, and chopped a large piece out of the links. "Where is it gone? Where is it gone?" she exclaimed, looking wildly round.

"It—it isn't gone," said Amanda nervously, and pointed to the ball still lying at her feet.

"What an extraordinary thing!" cried Aunt Susannah; and she made another attempt, with a precisely similar result. "Give me another stick!" she demanded. "Here, let me choose for myself—this one doesn't suit me. I'll have that flat thing."

"But that's a putter," Amanda explained agonisedly.

"What's a putter? You said just now that they were all clubs," said Aunt Susannah, pausing.

"They are all clubs," I explained patiently. "But each has a different name."

"You don't mean to say you give them names like a little girl with her dolls?" cried AuntSusannah. "Why, what a babyish game it is!" She laughed very heartily. "At any rate," she continued, with that determination which some of her friends call by another name, "I am sure that this will be easier to play with!" She grasped the putter, and in some miraculous way drove the ball to a considerable distance.

"Oh, splendid!" cried Amanda. Her troubledbrow cleared a little, and she followed suit, with mediocre success. Aunt Susannah pointed out that her ball had gone farther than either of ours, and grasped her putter tenaciously.

"It's a better game than I expected from your description," she conceded. "Oh, I daresay I shall get to like it. I must come and practise every day." We glanced at each other in a silent horror of despair, and Aunt Susannah after a few quite decent strokes, triumphantly holed out. "What next?" said she.

I hastily arranged her ball on the second tee: but the luck of golf is proverbially capricious. She swung her club, and hit nothing. She swung it again, and hit the ground.

"Whycan't I do it?" she demanded, turning fiercely upon me.

"You keep losing your feet," I explained deferentially.

"Spare me your detestable slang terms, Laurence, at least!" she cried, turning on me again like a whirlwind. "If you think I have lost my temper—which is absurd!—you might have the courage to say so in plain English!"

"Oh, no, Aunt Susannah!" I said. "You don't understand——"

"Or want to," she snapped. "Of all silly games——"

"I mean you misunderstood me," I pursued, trembling. "Your foot slipped, and that spoilt your stroke. You should have nails in your boots, as we have."

"Oh!" said Aunt Susannah, only half pacified. But she succeeded in dislodging her ball at last, and driving it into a bunker. At the same moment, Amanda suddenly clutched me by the arm. "Oh, Laurence!" she said in a bloodcurdling whisper. "Whatshall we do? Here is Colonel Bartlemy!"

The worst had happened. The hottest-tempered man in the club, the oldest member, the best player, the greatest stickler for etiquette, was hard upon our track; and Aunt Susannah, with a red and determined countenance, was urging her ball up the bunker, and watching it roll back again.

"Dear Auntie," said Amanda, in her sweetest voice, "you had much better take it out."

"Is that allowed?" inquired our relative suspiciously.

"Oh, you may always do that and lose a stroke!" I assured her eagerly.

"I shan't dream of losing a stroke!" said Aunt Susannah, with decision. "I'll get it out of this ditch by fair means, if I have to spend all day over it!"

"Then do you mind waiting one moment?" I said, with the calmness of despair. "There is a player behind us——"

"Let him stay behind us! I was here first," said Aunt Susannah; and she returned to her bunker.

The Links rose up in a hillock immediately behind us, so that our successor could not see us until he had reached the first hole. I stood with my eye glued to the spot where he might be expected to appear. I saw, as in a nightmare, the scathing remarks that would find their way into the Suggestion Book. I longed for a sudden and easy death.

At the moment when Colonel Bartlemy's rubicund face appeared over the horizon, Aunt Susannah, flushed but unconquered, drew herself up for a moment's rest from toil. He had seen her. Amanda shut her eyes. For myself, I would have run away shamelessly, if there had been any place to run to. The Colonel and AuntSusannah looked hard at each other. Then he began to hurry down the slope, while she started briskly up it.

"Miss Cadwalader!" said the Colonel.

"Colonel Bartlemy!" cried Aunt Susannah; and they met with effusion.

I saw Amanda's eyes open, and grow round with amazed interest. I knew perfectly well that she had scented a bygone love affair, and was already planning the most suitable wedding-garb for Aunt Susannah. A frantic hope came to me that in that case the Colonel's affection might prove stronger than his zeal for golf. They were strolling down to us in a leisurely manner, and the subject of their conversation broke upon my astonished ears.

"I'm afraid you don't think much of these Links, after yours," Colonel Bartlemy was saying anxiously. "They are rather new——"

"Oh, I've played on many worse," said Aunt Susannah, looking round her with a critical eye. "Let me see—I haven't seen you since your victory at Craigmory. Congratulations!"

"Approbation from Sir Hubert Stanley!" purred the Colonel, evidently much gratified. "You will be here for the twenty-seventh, I hope?"

"Exactly what I came for," said Aunt Susannah calmly.

"Though I don't know what our ladies will say to playing against the Cranford Champion!" chuckled the Colonel; and then they condescended to become aware of our existence. We had never known before how exceedingly small it is possible to feel.

"Aunt Susannah, what am I to say? What fools you must think us!" I murmured miserably to her, when the Colonel was out of earshot looking for his ball. "We are such raw players ourselves—and of course we never dreamt——"

Aunt Susannah twinkled at me in a friendly manner. "There's an ancient proverb about eggs and grandmothers," she remarked cheerfully.

"There should be a modern form for golf-balls and aunts—hey, Laurence?"

Amanda did not win the prize brooch; but Aunt Susannah did, in spite of an overwhelming handicap, and gave it to her. She does not often wear it—possibly because rubies are not becoming to her: possibly because its associations are too painful.

[The sharp decline of ping-pong, whose attractions at its zenith seduced many golfers from the nobler sport, has left a marked void in the breasts of these renegades. Some of them from a natural sense of shame hesitate to return to their first love. The conclusion of the following lines should be an encouragement to this class of prodigal.]

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