Chapter I: Front Matter (1)

A Line o’ Gowf or Two

_BOOKS BY BERT LESTON TAYLOR_

A PENNY WHISTLE
THE SO-CALLED HUMAN RACE
THE WELL IN THE WOOD
A LINE O’ GOWF OR TWO

_In Preparation_

THE EAST WINDOW

_And others in a uniform collected edition, to be ready later_

_New York: Alfred · A · Knopf_

A Line o’ Gowf
or Two

by
Bert Leston Taylor

_With an Introduction by
Charles (“Chick”) Evans_

New York 1923
Alfred · A · Knopf

COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC.

_Published, March, 1923_

_Set up, electrotyped, and printed by
the Vail-Ballou Co., Binghamton, N. Y.
Paper furnished by W. F. Etherington & Co., New York.
Bound by H. Wolff Estate, New York._

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

_Acknowledgments for permission to use material are due ~The
Chicago Tribune~, ~Golf Illustrated~, ~The Golfer’s Magazine~
and ~Mr. Payson Sibley Wild~._

Foreword

If desired may be pronounced “Guff”.

B. L. T.

Introduction

By Charles Evans, Jr.

A man once said to me: “I consider the daily reading of B. L. T.’s column equal to a liberal education in English.” The thought immediately came to me that whatever it was necessary for B. L. T. to do he did well; and as his chief business in life was the writing of English he did that with an accuracy, a beauty and grace of expression at which the rest of us could only marvel. Of course, my attention was first called to him because of his interest in golf, and I began reading his column mainly to see what he might say about the game, but I ended by being interested in everything that he wrote about, and that often seemed to mean the whole universe.

I cannot remember exactly when I first met him, but I think that it was at one of the indoor golf schools where he was practicing, and we began discussing golf in a desultory sort of way. That part of my remembrance is hazy, however, but another meeting stands out with peculiar vividness. We were at the Cliff Dwellers, and deaf and blind to the clamor and brilliancy about us we retired into a corner, and with the aid of a cane or an umbrella we worked out the golf swing segment by segment. It was his idea of the way to learn it. It showed his thoroughness, and it may be said truthfully that by the time the demonstration was over he had mastered the theory of the swing. It was then very apparent that he was fast yielding to the charms of the enchantress.

After that he and I played a good many games of golf together. It was a great pleasure for me and I hoped that he enjoyed it. We presented a marked contrast. He had learned his golf at a comparatively late age; it was a cerebral production, a good one, too, and like all such things it had improved with time. Had he lived longer I am sure that his game would have become a very fine one. Indeed I often thought that it had developed faster, considering the time he had been able to give to it, and certain physical limitations, than any game I had ever watched. His eyes had been long over-worked, and I do not think that during his early life he had given much time to athletics. These two things are a drawback, but in spite of them his game improved with surprising rapidity. On the other hand I had picked up my game when a small boy and it was largely imitative. I had fine eyesight and I had played every game that the “vacant lot” or the school playground permitted. When I reached years of reason I spent a great deal of time trying to find out why certain shots were played in certain ways. When the reasons were unearthed I frequently discarded the methods, having proved to my own satisfaction that other ways were easier, and based on a sounder theory.

Mr. Taylor may have thought at times that I was helping him with golf. I knew that he was helping me. Through his eyes I was often able to see the theory of the shot, and I confess that many of us imitative golfers work from a false foundation, and do not know why or how we play our shots, and that is the reason why, when the game that we learned without reason deserts us, we are unable to find the way back quickly. Mr. Taylor’s whole attitude towards the game and everything else in life impressed upon me the intrinsic value of sound methods. In a way he is linked in my mind with Edgewater, for he, Mr. MacDonald, and I played many games there, and they are things that we are very glad to remember.

The greatest compliment ever paid my game of golf I received from B. L. T. The text is not now before me, because like many another thing that I prized and preserved most carefully its exact sanctum is unknown, but he said, in that priceless column that daily intrigued me, and thousands of others, that he had gone out one day to play golf with me and to try to find out the secret of my golf swing. He declared that it was rhythm, and added: “The morning stars have nothing on Mr. Chick.”

I have received much of praise and of blame in my life, and I have tried to bear both philosophically, feeling often that one was just as far wrong as the other, but never before have the morning stars and I occupied a place, to my advantage, in the same sentence. It may have been hard on them, but as for me, I was thrilled to the depths of my being. It made me wonder, too, if B. L. T. (what a world of affection dwells in those initials, whether spoken or written!) was not right in this: That any art, however humble, and often it may be the humblest, must be rhythmic, a part, infinitesimal though it may be, in the great song that the morning stars sing; and whether it be the sweep of the artist’s brush, the measured beat of the poet’s song, the movement of a game, or dance, it answers to the universal swing.

B. L. T. had a mind that continually asked why. Therefore when he discovered at first hand the overwhelming difficulties of the putt, and the overwhelming ignorance of all golfers, amateur or professional, concerning it, he put his mind to the task and evolved a new theory, or rather he decided that the billiard-player, not the golfer, was using the right method to get the ball into a sunken receptacle. “Keep your eye on the ball,” is a sacred, ancient golf law. Even the small boy, picking up his game when and where he can, learns it, and no one is more dogmatic than he in its promulgation. B. L. T. attacked us right here. He said, “Keep your eye on the hole and not on the ball.” Various matches were played to try out this theory, chiefly among newspaper men, I fancy, and I think that Mr. Taylor lost most of them, which may or may not have been conclusive, for it would have taken a longer time than had been given to weld a new theory solidly into one’s game. Ordinarily I should say, however, that Mr. Taylor should have beaten the other men.

I could not recommend looking at the hole, but I can say that the best putting I ever did was achieved by keeping my eye, not on the ball, but on a spot two or three inches in advance of it. But whether right or wrong, B. L. T.’s golf theories were always inspiring and they made a game with him a stimulating occasion that we were never willing to miss.

Our days with him upon the links were all too short. Without warning the news of his illness crept about. “Threatened with pneumonia,” some one said, and before we realized the threat the end had come. Few men could have been so missed. Thousands had found his column a sort of daily bread, and mind and heart were hungry when he laid aside his pen. His golfing friends missed him with an aching sense of loss; they felt that something irreplaceable had gone from their lives. Now it is a pleasure to them to learn that Mrs. Taylor has prepared a carefully edited collection of all B. L. T.’s sayings and writings about golf. It is just such a record as we have wished vainly to have. In his own inimitable style a student of the game has told us about it, and in this little book, the fine fugitive things, the glancing wit, the keen flashes of human nature that illuminated all that he said or wrote, have been preserved. And we are very grateful.

CHARLES EVANS, JR.

A LINE-O’-GOWF OR TWO

_Motto: Hew to the Line, let the divots fall where they may._

STARTING KEATS TWO UP.

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
The turf upon the fairgreen still is soft,
And offers many perfect brassie lies.

* * * * *

When Rome started to burn Nero turned to fiddling. Had there been a golf course nearby he likely would have golfed instead.

* * * * *

Lady giving order for a caddie at a Country club: “Please send me two small ones or one large one.”

* * * * *

Golf is a great game because it leads a man to self-restraint and poise. There is the case of the philosophical player at Glenview. After topping three new balls into the river he threw his midiron into the drink, pitched his bag of clubs after it, and then chased the caddie to the clubhouse.

* * * * *

The abolition of the stymie by the Western Golf Association will be applauded by those golfers—or, rather, golf players—who delight in five and ten-cent syndicates. When a man has a jitney or a drive invested in a hole it is “unfair” to have his investment jeopardized by a stymie. Then again, the holes are too small. The W. G. A. might consider enlarging the cup to the diameter of a peck measure.

ON ADDRESSING THE BALL.

Some players accost the ball opprobriously, employing the adjective “pock-marked.” Others regard it dubiously, hopelessly, prayerfully, tremulously, disgustedly, resignedly. Still others eliminate the troublous sphere from their consciousness (it can be done), and swing through the spot where the _Ding an sich_ would be if the consciousness had not refused to entertain the notion of its existence.

When Bishop Berkeley said there was no matter—
And sliced it—’twas no matter what he said.

The best way to address the ball is neither fiercely nor dreamily, but quizzically; as one should say, “Well, well, little pest! And so you are going on a long journey. Take keer of yourself!” Bang!

THE BALLYROT STYLE.

“Pairsonally,” said Mr. Sandy McTosh, professional at Ballyrot—the word “personally” being a waggle with which every pro preludes a shot at the King’s English—“pairsonally, I punch the ba’, nae sweep it. I dinna use a besom in gowf, though ’tis useful in curling.” Pressed for an analysis of his perfect stroke, “Oh, ay,” said Mr. McTosh, and obligingly took up a driver. “I tak’ the club in ma hands, and raise it so; and then”—his face fairly radiated intelligence—“I gie the ba’ a guid skelpin’. Ay.” Nothing could be more transparent; and by adopting the Ballyrot style we expect to add at least a few more strokes to our score.

* * * * *

We were discussing the golf stream, and Leopat was reminded of a fisherman acquaintance, Bill Rice, who having recently begun golf, fancied that everybody was as interested as he. Seeing Dick Lang, another fisherman, go by, he called out: “I got six in bogey to-day.” “You’re a liar,” replied Dick. “There ain’t no such stream in the hull state.”

* * * * *

A medical adviser suggests chair-swinging for men who cannot golf. It has the disadvantage that it cannot be practised in the open, without attracting the attention of the idle curious. On the other hand, it is not an expensive sport—a kitchen chair will last for years—and it is almost as interesting as indoor golf. Chair-swinging might also be recommended to those whose scores run over 100.

* * * * *

“The Essence of the Matter,” holds up as an exposition of the soundest technique we have encountered. Technique resides chiefly in the fingers, in golf as in piano playing. Its first use, and its last, is to enable the player to produce any desired effect with a minimum of effort. One man, without exertion, will drive a ball fifty yards farther than another man who delivers what seems to be a terrific blow. Mr. Percy Grainger will sail through a Tchaikowsky concerto at the conventional tempo, and yet, so impeccably smooth is his performance, he seems to be playing it much faster than you have ever heard it played before. Speed is necessary in golf; in piano playing an impression of speed suffices.

YOU NEVER CAN TELL.

It was Saturday afternoon, and a cup match was under way. We were standing near the first tee, smoking a cigar and watching one manifestation of the inefficiency of the human race. The weather was dry, and the course was noticeably in need of rain.

A friend ambled out, garbed for battle, but unaccompanied by implements or bag-bearer. “Aren’t you playing?” we queried. “I’m waiting for my opponent,” he replied. “He is taking a lesson from the professional.”

“Congratulations!” we exclaimed. “The match is as good as won. No man was ever able to hit a ball for a week after taking a lesson.”

Our friend smiled complacently, and we left him to his waiting triumph. A few hours later, when we encountered him again, the smile was on the other side of his countenance. “Jones trimmed me,” said he; “never knew him to play so well.”

Moral: All signs fail in a dry time.

* * * * *

“When a player puts four balls into a pond,” queries a reader, “would you call it playing golf or pool?”

WITHOUT WHICH NOT.

Of the instructing of dubs there is no end. Yet how little emphasis is placed on the _sine qua non_, the _multum in parvo_, the _e pluribus unum_! As Edmond Dantes observed, when he finished three up on his enemies, all human wisdom is contained in the five words, “Get back of the ball!”

HEWING TO THE LINE.

There were three dubs stood on a tee,
And they were dubs as dubs could be.
The par for that there hole was three,
But all they made was B. L. T.

W. B. H., JR.

“THE ESSENCE OF THE MATTER.”

Mr. Hammond’s article in the world’s greatest golf magazine for September was interesting in more ways than two. The photograph of Ernest Jones shooting a 72 with only one leg to his name, and that a left, was an arc-light of illumination. One-legged golf is what we have all been hoping for. It does away with the problem of the shifting of weight from one pin to another; it eliminates the perplexities of stance; it prevents heaves and swayback; it precludes pivoting on the left great-toe (unless the player is a Mordkin); it reduces the game to its simplest terms, and leaves the pundits not a leg to stand on. Surgeon, get the saw! On to the operating room!

Mr. Hammond mentions Jones’ conviction that “the fingers are the essence of the matter.” They must be, since the cracks all have the game at their fingers’ ends.

THE QUINTESSENCE OF THE MATTER.

The Essence of the Matter having been definitely exposed, suppose we consider the quintessence, “the perfect flower and efflorescence,” the Pythagorean ether, and this quintessence we esteem to be a “fine careless rapture.”

* * * * *

We will say this much for golf. It begets an ambition to succeed—at golf.

* * * * *

While we are praising golf, we will say still another thing for it. Its first rule contains the sum of human wisdom: “Keep your eye on the ball.”

This being understood, we now inquire—

Why, if putting is as simple a matter as it is cracked up to be—and it is even simpler—why practise it, as the doctors enjoin? Why not merely do it? Whatever genius may be in the fine arts, genius in the gentle art of putting is _not_ infinite capacity for taking pains; it is possible to putt well and take no pains whatever. If a man must practise, let him practise the fine careless rapture of the singing thrush, for this includes confidence, relaxation and everything else that the doctors say should enter into the least complex of strokes. If anyone should not comprehend what is meant by this fine careless rapture, we might reply with Burke—or somebody—that we are not obliged to find him a comprehension.

Perhaps the next simplest thing to putting is rolling off a log. Prithee consider what would happen if a man practised _that_ for an hour each day, paying excessive care to the position of his hands and feet, the relaxing of his muscles, the eye fixed on the ground, and so forth! Eventually he would execute the roll-off in a self-conscious, constrained manner, and, if it were possible, he would miss the ground once out of five times. If he also practised following through he would stand an excellent chance of breaking his neck.

MAKING IT EASY FOR DEMOCRACY.

“I want,” writes Mr. Francine in the _Golfer’s Magazine_, in his prolegomena to a disquisition on form, “I want to take good golf out of the class of accomplishments that belong to gifted characters only, and pass it on to the common people.” Quelque want, nace-paw? Why pause here? Why not take poetry out of the class of accomplishments that belong to the gifted, and sometimes dissolute, characters only, and pass _that_ on to the undeniably common people? It is a simple matter to tell a mute inglorious Milton what constitutes good poetry; all he needs then is pen and ink. The golf swing is simple, and so is the line—

“_I will arise now, and go to Innisfree._”

Why should only a few gifted characters write stuff like that, and only a few other gifted ones whale a golf ball a mile without slicing it to Helngon?

* * * * *

Medal play is certain to retain its popularity in a country the motto of which is “Safety First.”

* * * * *

Suggestion for the opening of an essay on putting by any celebrated professional: “At the outset I may commence by beginning to say that putting cannot be taught.”

AN ALL-AROUND LINKS.

[From an ad of a Southern resort.]

You can sail, bathe, motor, play tennis or play golf on the finest nine-hole golf course in the South.

* * * * *

Speaking of democratizing the U. S. G. A. and making the game safe for democracy, an old lady accosted a man who was poking a ball along the edge of a public course. “What do you call that game?” she asked. “Dunno,” said the man. “This is the first time I ever played it.”

On the same course, a child was heard to announce: “I’m going to play golf, too, when I’m six years old.” “Here!” called a waiting and weary democrat, “take my clubs. You’ll be six years old when my number is called.”

RULES FOR PORCH GOLF.

Our interest is solicited by W. J. T. in behalf of the Porch Golfer, who burns up perfectos and works his elbow in a praiseworthy endeavor to reduce the floating debt of his club. Should he not be subject to rules, as is the regular golfer? As a starter, the following is suggested:

Rule I. “Keep your eye on the high-ball and swallow through.”

II.—Foursomes shall have precedence over twosomes. It costs no
more to make four high-balls than to make two, and the club
gets twice the revenue.

III.—When a player is carried out of bounds he shall not be
permitted to put another ball into play.

IV.—A golfer soleing his face on the table shall be
disqualified.

V.—A player holing his opponent’s ball shall be penalized one
round.

VI.—Should a player, when addressing his ball, roll off the
porch he may be replaced; penalty, one round.

VII.—In case of rain, snow, or darkness the player shall take
the same.

A GOLFER’S GARDEN OF VERSES.

OFFICE IN SUMMER.

In winter, when the links are white,
I’m at the office until night.
In summer, when the course is green,
I always catch the 12:15.

I have to stay till then to see
The business folks who bother me.
There’s always something to detain,
And more than once I’ve missed my train.

And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
That I must office half the day,
With only eighteen holes of play?

WHOLE DUTY OF GOLFERS.

A golfer, when he plays with you,
Should speak when he is spoken to,
And keep his score-card free from fable;
At least as far as he is able.

RAIN.

The rain is raining all around,
It falls on turf and tree;
But I don’t care how wet I get—
I made that hole in three!

TRAVEL.

Winters I should like to go
Where there is no cold and snow,
Where, below another sky,
Lureful links Elysian lie;—
Where, with nothing else to do,
I should golf the whole day through,
Pausing only now and then
For a bite, then back again.
Southward I would track the sun:
Travel always broadens one.

THE PRO.

The friendly Pro so tanned and tall
I love with all my heart:
He shows me how to hit the ball,
And shares with me his art.

He wanders here, he wanders there,
Instructing dubs like me,
And charges for his counsel rare
A very modest fee.

He drops a ball upon the tee
And knocks it half a mile:
“There, hit it that way, man,” says he,
And never cracks a smile.

PRAYERS.

Every night my prayers I say,
And ask a better score next day;
And every day, for all my care,
My card would make St. Andrew swear.

HAPPY THOUGHT.

The world is so full of a number of links,
I’m sure we should all be as happy as kinks.

HOW TO TOP A MASHIE.

One of the prettiest shots in golf is the topped mashie. The ball flies low, like swallow on the river’s brim, and, crossing the green, comes to rest in the clean white sand of a deepish depression, vulgarly termed a trap. The majority of golfers execute this shot naturally, but not inevitably; now and then they get under the ball, which of course prevents a top, the result being an ordinary pitch. To make certain of a top, it is only necessary to have the left hand, at the moment of impact, a few inches in advance of where it was when the ball was addressed. This means that the pivot on which the club swings (the left wrist in a short shot, the left elbow in a long) is transferred to a point nearer the flag, and the lower edge of the clubhead, instead of connecting with the ball at 90 degrees south latitude, meets it anywhere from 35 to 45 degrees south. In the works of the golf masters, old and young, we have seen no reference to this advancing of the pivotal point in the swing, from which omission we conjecture that the idea has not yet occurred to them.

Another pretty mashie shot is that which sends the ball well to the right of the green, where commonly there is some sort of hazard. The simplest way to bring this off is to pronate the left forearm. This facilitates cramping the down-swing and pushing the ball off to starboard.

* * * * *

There is no accounting for tastes, in love or golf. Many expert players use a mashie with a narrow face, whereas we prefer one with a square chin.

PEMMICANIZED GOLF.

In selecting a driver, choose a club that is neither too long nor too short. If too long, you must stand away from the ball; if too short, you must stand in to it.

Choose a shaft that has just the right amount of whip; a whippy shaft is not desirable, neither is one that is rigid.

The lie is important. Expert opinion is against a too flat lie, and the best authorities disapprove of the ultra-upright.

Be particular about the weight. A heavy driver is likely to be unwieldy, while one too light would not be wieldy enough.

The best plan is to have your professional measure you for a club. The ready-made ones soon bag at the knees.

THE METAPHYSICIANS.

Far—far as Arcturus—be it from us to dissipate the mist of theory that envelops the so-called royal and undeniably ancient game, or to diminish by one the methods of its madness. The more the merrier, as Noah remarked when he led the way to the Ark. The fairway is wide, and we had as soon knock a ball through it in one style as another; variety spices the journey, and wards off monotony. It is only when, approaching the green, we require accuracy in direction, that we dismiss theory and resort to the primitive expedient of striking the ball with the club-face at right angles to the line o’ flight—in other words, returning the club-face to the position it was in when the ball was addressed. The trick is so simple, when the mind is disburdened of all other consideration, that we are a little ashamed of the inevitable result; it is so much more interesting to try to reach the pin by the most complicated method, involving a nice consideration of stance and grip, division of labor between the hands, pronation, concentration, pausation, and what not. If every stroke in golf were reduced to its lowest terms, what would the pundits do for an audience?

WHY.

Why, when the sun is gold,
The weather fine,
The air (this phrase is old)
Like Gascon wine;—

Why, when the leaves are red,
And yellow, too,
And when (as has been said)
The skies are blue;—

Why, when all things promote
One’s peace and joy—
A joy that is (to quote)
Without alloy;—

Why, when a man’s well off,
Happy and gay,
_Why_ must he go play golf
And spoil his day?

“A DEEP STUDENT OF THE GAME.”

We have found on the links at Manchester, Vt., opportunity for uncommonly deep study. It took us three (ladder-steps) to get out of one pit. The caddie retrieved the ball.

* * * * *

“Romberg’s Sign,” says a medical writer, indicates locomotor ataxia; if, when the eyes are closed, the body sways several inches, we have a positive Romberg. On the other hand, if the eyes are open when the body sways, we have the average golfer. In either case, when the condition is advanced, “the body is likely to topple over.”

Pourquoi, indeed? He goeth forth at noon-time, chattering, laughing, overflowing with goodnature. He cometh in at eventide, sore, sullen, and silent, except for an occasional curse. Man that is born of woman is full of foolishness.

CONCERNING SPIN.

“There is no ball that will run more straightly to the hole than an ordinary putt,” deposes one pundit, meaning a ball to which no spin has been imparted. On the o. h., a physicist tells us that the cut ball will hold the tenor of its way more evenly than the uncut ball. The reason, we conjecture, is that the deflecting material on a green exhausts itself in opposing the spin on the ball, and so has little chance to interfere with its forward motion. One may ascertain in practice what line a ball will take, curved or straight, with any given spin, and he may then hew to that line in full confidence that the spin will keep it in its course, whether the shot be a pitch or a putt.

“THE PSYCHOLOGY OF GOLF.”

We were smoking a pipe in the laboratory of Dr. Sike, the eminent student of the soul and less eminent golfer. All about us were queer looking instruments for measuring the mental processes of the so-called human race. We indicated one contraption and asked its use.

“That,” said Dr. Sike, “is the well-known Poggendorff illusion.”

“Never drove into Pogg. What’s his club?”

“The Styx Country Club, if any.”

“And what was his illusion, that the flag moves after you shoot?”

“You are nearer the mark than you think,” said the Doctor; and taking up a pencil he drew two perpendicular lines (as represented in Fig. 1). Then he added the oblique line, and pushed the paper across the table. “Continue that line across the ditch,” he instructed.

We did so, and the result is indicated by the dark line in Fig. 2; the real line is the dotted one. The illusion is corrected by looking down the oblique line.

Dr. Sike lit an introspective cigarette.

“Suppose that a fairway,” said he. “If a ditch or road cuts the line of play at that slant, the player should aim a bit to the left.”

“Unless the ditch runs northeast-southwest. Then he should hold to the right.”

“Exactly so.”

We poked the ashes in our pipe with a deep contemplative forefinger, and remarked that the illusion would not seriously affect the play of the average golfer, but that it might mean the loss of a match to an accurate approacher like Mr. Chick Evans or ourself.

“But hold on,” we second-thoughted. “The player is not, as in this test, looking down the ditch, but down the line that crosses it. Wouldn’t that correct the illusion?”

“A slight illusion would remain, if the player established his line of play by looking along the ground, and if the ditch were wide enough to disclose two lines.”

“Otherwise the Poggendorff person contributed nothing of permanent value to the psychology of golf.”

“Exactly so,” said Dr. Sike, and plunged into a revery. Presently he emerged. “Still,” said he, “the majority of shots would fly to the right.”

“Because of the cosmic tendency to slice?”

“Exactly so. Will you pass the matches?”

“How is it,” we asked Dr. Sike, as we passed the matches, “that after one has taken the line of his putt and transferred his attention to the ball, he still can view the line with ‘that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude’?”

“Eye-pull,” said the Doctor, lighting a laconic cigarette.

“What an alibi!” we whatted. “A gentleman who blows a five-foot putt has only to remark to his partner: ‘Sorry. My eye-pull isn’t on straight to-day.’”

“Exactly so,” said Dr. Sike. “To some persons, like myself, the line of the putt is clearly defined, as a darker green in the grass; to others the line is not present, but these locate the target just as accurately. All this is quite apart from the visual imagery referred to in the Wordsworth poem. The eye——”

What followed was highly technical, and we regret that our memory failed to imprison the Doctor’s exact words; but we gathered that the eye is a mawxstrawnry organ, which can do everything except talk. The technical explanation would, of course, be a-b-c to a reader like Max Behr, who looked in “A Critique of Pure Reason” for a definition of amateurism, and is now working on the Hegelian Hypothesis of Professionalism; but we fear the average reader would be puzzled by such phrases as “accommodation pull,” “convergence pull,” and “binocular disparity.” Therefore, to put it as simply as possible, we will say that when a man takes the line of his putt the muscles of his eyes set themselves, his head and neck muscles co-ordinate, and there is probably co-ordination in the semi-circular canals. The eye-pull once established, it remains after attention is transferred to the ball—how long we cannot say, but long enough to serve the purpose of all except those extremely deliberate persons who fall asleep over their putts. We should advise, therefore, putting as rapidly as is consistent with an unhurried stroke.

“Strange to say,” mused Dr. Sike, “although innumerable experiments in eye-pull have been made and recorded in laboratories, there has been no attempt to relate them to golf, which is the proper study of mankind.”

“But science is coming round,” said we. “The last two or three years have brought a great deal of speculation and research.”

“Yes, yes,” yessed the Doctor. “Even the watchers of the skies are beginning to admit that Canopus, Aldebaran, and the Pleiad Seven are only exaggerations of a golf ball, which is the symbol of the universe.”

* * * * *

“Now, if we imagine amateurism as a great sea, and in the midst of it a little island....”—Mr. Behr, at the annual meeting.

Why, then, on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, at any country club, we can define an island. An island is a professional entirely surrounded by dubs.

* * * * *

“Did you ever take up the game?” we asked Arthur Whiting, the musician. “I took it up and put it down,” said he, and mentioned two shots that were memorable. The first was made with a driver, the pet club of the lady who was showing him how to wield it. The head broke off and wound itself around the lady’s neck. “And your second shot?” we inquired. “Ah,” said he, “the second shot—” An interruption at this point put the game out of his mind. It was undoubtedly a remarkable second shot.

SUNDAY SCHOOL FOR GOLFERS.

Sir: One member remarked that his wife had agreed to play with him in the afternoon if he would go to church in the morning. I’ve agreed to play with my wife in the afternoon if she doesn’t make me go to church in the morning. Which bargain is best?

J. M. P.

* * * * *

Spring to the golfer is something more than Spring.

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Spring or no spring, we shall open the season to-day.

The driver, son!

The Compleat Golfer;

OR, THE IDLE MAN’S RECREATION.

[_A discourse betwixt a Golfer and one that would have knowledge of the game._]

INTRODUCTORY.

GOLFATOR. A fine morning, sir, as fresh as when this world was young. I mark you have a sack of golfing tools upon your back. Are you for the links thus early?

SCHOLAR. Ay, sir, for I am resolved to learn this game, of which you spake so bravely yester-night, and rose betimes to buy these tools; and I do entreat you to instruct me in the art of striking the ball, that I may be well launched upon my adventure.

GOLF. Well, sir, as for that I am at your pleasure, yet I am loath to launch any man upon so great a sea of troubles, but would persuade him rather to forego the hazard.

SCHOL. Nay, I am not to be persuaded, but am impatient to be at the business, and to strike a ball that it may fly to a great distance.

GOLF. Marry, sir, consider well, there is yet time to withdraw. Have you a wife?

SCHOL. Not I, nor do I contemplate such folly.

GOLF. I am rejoiced, for what is your loss is some maid’s gain. A woman that has a golfer for husband might as profitably be wed to a sailor, or to an adventurer in polar lands. Haply you have a business that will suffer.

SCHOL. Not I, again. My worldly goods are all in stocks and bonds, and I have nought on my mind of greater import than the learning of this ingenious game. Let us then to the links, and be at it.

GOLF. In good season, Scholar. I pledge you I am in no haste to watch your antics, and since you are but of a middle age there is great store of time before you. Come, let us sit beneath this tree, in the branches of which a robin is chirping, and we will speak further of the adventure to which you are committed.

First, you are to know that the chief end of golf, as I view it, is not to strike the ball with greater skill than your adversary, but to give strength to your character, and, if it be needed, to reform it. Patience and a good temper, courtesy and a pleasant speech, these be marks of the true golfer, yet are they virtues that one may put on as a mask, whereas I would have you wear them honestly.

SCHOL. Master, I am all ears, like an ass, and I entreat you to fill them.

GOLF. Clap then a hand to one of them, that my counsel may not escape you. You are to reflect, Scholar, that in tennis, or in a passage at foils, or in any other game of great movement, there is not the space of a moment in which to desire ill luck to your adversary, but this golf is a game of so great deliberation, that whilst you address the ball I may pray fervently that you top or founder it, or that you miss it entirely, and this I hold to be no true spirit.

SCHOL. Would you beseech heaven that your adversary strike the ball with greater cunning than yourself?

GOLF. Marry, sir, I would hope that he struck it fairly, and that I struck it fairly in my turn, and that good fortune might attend us both.

SCHOL. Sir, I will endeavor to give such current to my thought. Shall we not seek the links now? I am impatient to have knowledge of this great game.

GOLF. The which you will presently be as impatient to be rid of, and seeking to dispose of this sack of tools for a tenth of their cost. Marry, sir, when I reflect on the tribulations in store for you I could weep, as a mother regards her female babe, and laments the ills that it is heir to. Here is as fine a morning as ever broke upon this world, with a sweet wind from the south, and birds calling from the greening boughs; yet must you mar your day and mine. But since there is no help for it, let us to your undoing.

THE FIRST HOLE.

SCHOL. Well, Master, here am I upon the tee. How shall I strike the ball?

GOLF. As you will. For this first stroke I would have you assail the ball in any fashion that may please you; for it will be a great time hence when you please yourself again, before which day you shall be slave to this dogma and that, and a great grief to your friends.

SCHOL. Shall I stand in this fashion?

GOLF. Nay, bestride not the ball like the colossus which was at Rhodes, for in such stiff and ungraceful posture you cannot put hip and shoulder into the blow. There be many strange golfers that spread themselves in this fashion, and play with elbows, to the great detriment of the landscape, so that when I walk over the links I could wish for blinders, that horses wear. Let your feet be more neighborly, so, and have at it.

SCHOL. The ball is gone, yet I saw it not.

GOLF. Well hit, Scholar; as true a ball as ever left wood, and as far as the most.

SCHOL. Why, sir, it was nought. I did but swing the club, and felt not the blow.

GOLF. A brave shot, Scholar, which you shall have sweet remembrance of these many months to come. Marry, sir, if you take my advice you will rest content, and sell these tools of wood and iron, to your great peace of mind and the continued esteem of such friends as now you have.

SCHOL. Sir, I take not your meaning. Let us to the ball, that I may strike it again, for my impatience is not to be described.

GOLF. Come, then; for compared with the task of staying you, it were a profitable employ to discourse to the deaf, or to show pictures to the blind. A sparrow, new come from the southland, sings for a mate in yonder maple tree, yet I warrant you hear him not. There are patches of springing green in the brown carpet of the links, yet this pleasing tapestry serves but as background for your ball. Here it lies, well up. Take now this other club of wood, the which is shod with brass, and whilst you fall upon the ball I do desire to look another way.

SCHOL. Saw you the ball, Master?

GOLF. Nay, I did avert mine eyes the while you smote it; but this scarred turf will bear witness to the stroke. You are to observe that the ball was pulled and foundered, and will be close at hand, methinks in yonder copse. Let us to it.

SCHOL. What must I do, now, with the ball?

GOLF. Cast it upon the turf and make further trial. And do you clap an eye on the ball the while you strike it, or fix your gaze on yonder flag; either, as it please you, so long as your head be at rest. Sir, I shall ever marvel why a golfer must cock his head up at every stroke, like a robin questing worms, for since the greater number of players top the ball, or fling it in any direction save the right one, you would conceive they would avoid to look up as long as might be, that they be spared sight of their woeful want of skill. Marry, sir, if I played as the majority I would close mine eyes with each stroke, and ask to be led as a blind man to the ball.

SCHOL. Sir, I will endeavor to abide by your counsel, and I pray you attend me. Now, sir!... Maledictions! Another ill stroke, yet I looked upon the ball.

GOLF. Nay, my good Scholar, your head did come up with the jerk of the hanged ere the ball was struck. So little of concentration hath the average man that he cannot bring his mind to a focus for a few seconds; wherefore he avoids to read a serious book, or to attend a serious play, or to give ear to music which is other than a tinkle. I shall give you counsel in plenty, and to some small part of it you will give attention, and thus you may curtail your apprenticeship a year; but the larger part of what I shall tell you will be wasted on these sparrows that flit about us, and for a great while you will go from bad to worse, as the saying is, pursuing this notion and another, and reading many books upon the matter, the which are writ by players that preach the one thing and practise the other, until there remain no fresh folly that you may commit. Truly, I would not pass through the travail which is before you for a great sum of money.

SCHOL. Sir, it is but a dismal prospect that you offer, yet am I resolved at all pains to learn this noble game; therefore I beg you to unlock the storehouse of your knowledge and set me in the right path.

GOLF. That I will do, and gladly. But do you step aside a moment, for hither come two golfers that would play this hole.... Good morning, sirs. A fine, sweet day, is it not?

FIRST PLAYER. Sir, I should have made that last hole in five, but that a worm-cast marred my putt.

GOLF. A grievous accident, and all too common. Will you play by us?

FIRST PLAYER. With pleasure, sir. Yesterday I did make this hole in four, and Saturday a week I was so fortunate as to get a three.

GOLF. Say, rather, so skillful; and, sir, I am enraptured to learn of your cunning and would desire a much longer tale of it. Good morning, gentlemen.... And there, my honest Scholar, you may perceive yourself in the sorrowful days that are to come, a burden and a grief to your friends, to whom you must relate the ill luck that robbed you of a four at this hole, and the conspiracies of nature that prevented a five at that; for it is ever want of luck and not want of skill that addeth strokes to a score, and many a summer’s day that promised fair has been marred by a cuppy lie or ruined utterly by a worm-cast. Marry, sir, I had as lief listen to a play actor recounting his greatness as to a man besotted by this game of golf.

SCHOL. Shall I make further trial with this club?

GOLF. Nay, sir, you have done enough mischief with that tool. Put it in the sack and let us to a putting-green; for whoso would walk must begin by creeping, and much may be made of a golfer that is caught young.

THE SECOND HOLE.

SCHOLAR. Well, Good Master, I have belabored the ball to no purpose and I entreat you, sir, to counsel me in the way of striking it, else I shall come to no understanding of the art.

GOLFATOR. You are to know, Scholar, that concerning the Drive there is nought that is Rosicrucian, nor is it a thing to be approached with incantations, though there be many that give it an air of mystery and make of it a business of much weight and complication. Nor do we find among the wiseacres of the game more agreement than was brought to the building of the great tower in Babel, as is shown in the vast number of theories, the one contradicting the others, and all of them as owlish as you please.

SCHOL. I am rejoiced, Master, to learn this thing, for I had esteemed the proper striking of a ball to be a most difficult art.

GOLF. The difficulty resides in yourself, sir, and not in the mechanics of the stroke, which are most plain and simple; therefore I have deemed it wise to prepare you against the thousand follies that you shall commit, so that when you have made the round of them you shall not sink into discouragement, but take up the matter afresh with a mind purged of vanities and errors.

SCHOL. But, Master, might not one begin at this point, without entering upon the follies of which you speak?

GOLF. Yes, if one and twenty had the wisdom of two score years, but nature hath decreed it otherwise, and there be many things of great simplicity that are to be come by only through experience. Let us take the matter of looking at the ball. I was reading of late a writing that contained much sound sense, and it was declared that this golf is the only game played with a ball in which the player looks upon the ball instead of the direction he would have it fly. Now, sir, this is but half a truth. It is true that the skillful player sees the ball, as a tennis player sees it, yet his mind is upon the line of its flight, which the club’s head must travel; whereas the unskillful player has his mind upon the ball, which charms him as a serpent is fabled to charm a bird; so that to tell a novice to keep his eye upon the ball is but mischievous counsel, and I pray you avoid this thing.

SCHOL. Yet, Master, you did advise me, but a little time ago, to clap an eye upon it.

GOLF. Marry, sir, that was to divert you from cocking up your head like a little bird, before ever the ball was struck. Take now your driver, and we will consider the matter of swinging it.

THE THIRD HOLE.

SCHOLAR. Well, Master, I have pursued this ball unto the second green, smiting it some dozen times, and not once fairly; yet you would have me believe that it is but a simple matter.

GOLFATOR. Ay, sir, as simple as the boiling of an egg; yet is there no trick so simple but care must be brought to the turning of it; and you are to know that the stroke in golf and the boiling of an egg are the same in this, that to time it rightly is nine-tenths of the matter.

SCHOL. It may be, sir, that I am ill fitted to this game, and shall never come to skill in it, for it seemeth of great difficulty, despite your fair words.

GOLF. Well, Scholar, to speak truth, your antics have been most fantastical, and what skill you may come to no man can say; therefore if you are for withdrawing I do again heartily counsel you so to do, and to give your leisure to a more profitable employ, as the study of mares’ nests or the collecting of phœnix eggs; but if you are resolved to have knowledge of this ingenious game I am still at your service.

SCHOL. Then, sir, I entreat you to teach me this stroke, that you say is so simple.

GOLF. Why, sir, you have but to do certain things and to avoid doing certain other things and the trick is learned. The things you are to do are to stand easily, neither stiffly nor limply; to sole the club at a right angle to the line of the ball’s flight; to take the club back smoothly, seeing to it that the wrists start the motion and the arms follow, and that the wrists turn inward during or at the height of the swing; and to strike downward with decision, timing the blow to the thousandth of a second, and letting the arms draw the body around in a natural fashion. And the things you are not to do are these: you must not let the club’s head flop at the height of the swing, nor stiffen the muscles at any time, nor move your head, nor heave your shoulders like a ship in a sea, nor hop upon your left great toe as a ballet dancer, nor fall upon the ball, nor fall backward, nor pound the ball as if it were a peg for a tent, nor cock up your head as a tomtit, nor fall into other errors of which I shall speak later. These divers matters kept in mind, the ball will fly straight, and to a great distance.

SCHOL. On my word, Master, it were a rare feat to hold so many things in mind at the one moment.

GOLF. My good Scholar, it is not to be compassed, yet do we see scores of hapless creatures endeavoring the impossible; for it is the way of many teachers of this game to bedevil the novice with a multitude of instructions, so that the poor wretch is at his wits’ end. Therefore I commend to you the learning of one thing before another, and the thing you are first to come by is a free wrist; for in tennis, or in handball, or in bowls, as in this golf, it is a supple wrist that puts pace on the ball and gives it direction. And you are to observe this principle again in the fine art of casting a fly for trouts, and in the play of foils, so that a man that has reached to three score and ten, though the vigor of his prime is past, is yet able to take trouts or to wield a rapier with the youngest.

SCHOL. Sir, I am heartened by the thought that there is a likeness between the casting of a fly and the swinging of a club, for I have some skill with the rod.

GOLF. Then, Scholar, you must know that the rod itself does the work, guided by the wrist, so that a man may throw a fly for hours without fatigue; therefore you have but to conceive yourself as casting with the left wrist, and you have the secret of every stroke in golf; for it is all of the putt and the beginning of the drive.

SCHOL. I take your meaning, Master. You would have me to swing in this fashion.

GOLF. Marry, sir, that had been a sorry performance on a trout river, for you were forward with your cast before ever your line had straightened behind you. Whip back your clubhead, as a brown hackle on a leader, pause until all is straight behind and free of kinks, then forward with the wrists, and the arms will follow.

SCHOL. Sir, your words are as a torch in a dark night.

GOLF. Practice then this back cast diligently, let the ball fly where it will. And I would I were at this moment in a little river, knee-deep in sweet running waters, and casting here and there for trouts; for that, Scholar, is a game worth two of this.

THE FOURTH HOLE.