A line o' gowf or two

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.

Golfator. Come, my good Scholar, let us tarry a space beneath this maple, that we waste not the morning utterly, but give ear to the meadowlarks, and take in the sweet scents which the sun distilleth from the new leaves and grasses. And if your mind still be on this golf you may view, to your profit, the players that pass by us; for it is as needful to know what to avoid doing as what to do.

Scholar. Here comes one that has played these many years, yet methinks he performs but indifferent well.

Golf. Ay, sir, and should he attain to the years of Noah he would come to no greater skill. This is one that, scorning instruction, hath worked out his own game—a poor thing but his own. There be many such, and when they play one against the other, commonly for stakes, ’tis a great battle of blunders. Mark you that drive! The green is but an iron shot away, but the ball has fallen a score of yards on this side.

Schol. Yet he smote it mightily.

Golf. A lusty stroke, that might have served in the driving of a fence post, but one that is as ill suited to the propelling of a golf ball as the stroke of a pile driver, the which it counterfeits. The marvel is, not that the ball fell short, but that it flew so far.

Schol. Ay, marry, he swung like a knight of Camelot upon an adversary’s shield.

Golf. Not so, else there had been room for praise. Think you the heroes of Camelot buffetted the enemy so ineptly, fighting their own selves at the top of the swing, as most golfers do? Nay, I promise you. Sir Launcelot timed his mighty blows; nor did he strike stiffly, in a piece, but drove sharply with his wrists, on which his sword turned as upon a hinge, his great arms following, and there was naught to resist his cleavage. Wherefore the fame of his follow-through spread through all the land. And this matter of the follow-through you are now to consider.

Golf. You are to know, my honest Scholar, that the follow-through, concerning which an infinite deal of nothing is said and written, is like to the snark, and he that setteth out to compass its taking will have his trouble for his pains. For the follow-through is the result of a proper stroke, and not the cause of it; it hath not a separate existence, as a something to be sought after; therefore I would have you take no thought of it.

Schol. Yet, Master, have I seen players practising this thing with exceeding industry.

Golf. Marry, sir, Simple Simon was as well employed. But ’tis the way of man to seek after the ends and take no thought of the means, and to look upon success as a something bestowed by heaven upon one mortal and denied to another. This is but vanity and vexation of spirit, as the Preacher saith. My good Scholar, this golf teacheth a man more things than one, and if you have any philosophy in you you shall nurture it and bring it to a full flower; but if you are wanting in philosophy you shall have as much profit in the beating of a carpet, for the which a multitude of golfers are by nature fitted.

Schol. Sir, your words are as apples of gold in pictures of silver.

Golf. Fairly spoken, Scholar; yet I mark you are impatient to be forward with your game, such as it is. Take, then, your iron and I will counsel you in the using of it.

Schol. I have heard, Master, that ’tis easier to play with the iron than with a club of wood.

Golf. As to that there be two opinions, as usual, and you will be wise to follow either, for I am satisfied that they are of equal value.

THE FIFTH HOLE.

Golfator. You are to observe, my honest Scholar, that although your iron is a shorter tool than your wooden, you may do quite as much mischief with it; nay, sir, more, I warrant, for the head of the club being of metal, you may hack a ball to pieces with it in a few wild strokes. Wherefore it is that the experienced golfer plays his iron shots with less frenzy than he brings to his drive, striving to hit the ball cleanly and with exactness.

Scholar. Sir, I shall endeavor the cultivating of this virtue, in accordance with your wise counsel.

Golf. You are to observe again, that in the free stroke of the drive ’tis all one whether the ball fly ten yards to this side or that of the true line of its flight, but as you draw near to the flag this true line becomes a matter of first importance. Marry, sir, if your desire for knowledge of this game were deeper than yonder ditch, I would have you to begin at the edge of the putting green, and to withdraw by degrees to greater distances, until you reached a point where the wrists no longer sufficed to propel the ball, by the which time they might be trained to some purpose.

Schol. Nay, Master, my desire for knowledge of this ingenious game is as deep as any well.

Golf. Then, sir, I have read you wrongly, for I mark that you clutch your iron with impatience, and gaze into the distance, and then upon this ball at your feet, and you do have the seeming of one that would smite the ball most lustily. Smite it, then, good Scholar, and have done with it. Ah! A most marvelous slice! The ball hath flown far into the wood, as a startled quail. Come, let us follow it, and though we find it not we may happen upon matter of more importance.

Schol. The ball cannot be far in the wood, Master. I marked it by this dead tree, yet we find it not.

Golf. ’Tis most cunningly hidden. Do you sit down, honest Scholar, and rest your eyes, for much searching for a lost ball doth weary them. See, here is a brave array of trilliums, nodding welcome to us, as jocund a company as the poet’s daffodils. Here, too, is columbine, that begins to show itself, and Bethlehem’s Star, and many other wilding flowers.

Schol. Sir, I thought to walk directly to the ball, since I saw it drop among these trees.

Golf. Marry, sir, believe your ears sooner than your eyes, and your nose before either; but not one of the senses is to be trusted. Yet if mine eyes serve me now, here is yellow lady’s-slipper, that I have not seen before in this countryside, and it were well worth losing a ball to come upon this solitary plant, for I see no others of the family. I have found them in great number farther north, where, too, I chanced one rememberable day on the orchid Arethusa, that grows in bogs, and is the loveliest of plants. Mark you the gold in the sunlight, shewing that the summer draws on; and hearken to that thrasher overhead, who would have you to believe that singing is the chief business of life.

Schol. Think you that the ball struck upon a tree and was flung deeper into the wood?

Golf. ’Tis conceivable, for I never saw ball that had less notion of whither it was flying. Let us press farther into the thicket, for ’tis a rare place to loiter in. This, you are to observe, is the compensation for a foolish stroke at golf, for he that plays straight before him sees nought but a strip of turf, and ever his thought is of his next stroke, whether he shall take wood or iron to it.

Schol. Good fortune, Master! Here is the ball, among these trilliums, the which it is very like in color.

Golf. And fairer to your eye than any flower. I observe, sir, that you have the makings of a golfer, and are not to be diverted by the babbling of brookwater, and the twittering of birds, and other natural distractions. Let us return, then, to the fairgreen, where you may make further trial of your iron.

THE SIXTH HOLE.

Scholar. Sir, hither comes a pair of golfers that would play this hole. Shall we stand aside until they pass?

Golfer. Aye, sir, and I particularly charge you to remain stock still the while, and to breathe as lightly as a summer night; for one of these golfers, he that strutteth before the other, would have Nature to make a pause whilst he swing his club, and is fretful as a porcupine if a caddy do but shift an arm or leg, or a sparrow twitter in a nearby tree.

Schol. Sir, I shall take the pattern of the rabbit, that freezeth, as the saying is, when the predacious owl booms through the darkened wood.

[The players approach.]

Golf. Good morrow, gentlemen. How fares the match?

First Player. Indifferent well, sir; for what with the gabbling of these caddies and their clicking of clubs together, and the great number of noises round about, one might suppose himself to be on the links of Bedlam.

[The players drive and pass on.]

Golf. There goeth one that is a great affliction to his fellows, and is to be found this world over. Now, ’tis but common courtesy to refrain from talking whilst a player drives his ball, but he that is disturbed by such a trifle lacketh control of his mind, and were he a surgeon I should not summon him to so small an operation as the lancing of a boil. Why, sir, if there be any virtue in this game it is that it teacheth one control, and he that cannot dispatch a ball save in a church-yard hush hath somewhat the matter with his wits, or hath no salt of humor in him. To play a round with such a golfer is a great waste of time, save it be done in the way of penance, for which purpose a hair shirt were not more serviceable.

Schol. Will you counsel me, Master, in the use of this iron?

Golf. Willingly, honest Scholar, and for beginning do not hold the club loosely in the palms of your hands, but grip it firmly with your ten fingers. This is the first principle of iron play.

THE SEVENTH HOLE.

Golfator. Well met, honest Scholar. The birds have mated and reared their young since last I saw you, and the summer is over and gone. How fares it with you? Indifferent well, methinks, for I observed you to strike a ball a few minutes since.

Scholar. Truly, Master, this golf is a thing that is not come by quickly, and I well nigh despair of mastering it.

Golf. Then let me advise you to abandon it in season, that you may be spared much vexation, and your friends many afflicting tales.

Schol. Nay, sir, I am resolved at any cost to lay hold of the secret, to which end I have vowed the rest of my days.

Golf. Truly, a worthy ambition. Now there be men that have vowed their days to so futile a thing as the mapping of the farthest stars, which is of small purpose compared with the mastering of this incomparable game. Good luck to you then, honest Scholar.

Schol. Sir, what luck I have now and again is the fruit of such counsel as you have given me, and I entreat you further to instruct me in the art of striking the ball, that it may fly straight, and not match the crescent of the young moon.

Golf. Marry, sir, you will never bring off a skillful shot, save by accident, until you put rhythm into your stroke; nor is aught else of value achieved in this life save by rhythm. A sage once said that if he but had his way he would write the word “Whim” above every man’s door-way. Now, sir, in the place of this “Whim” I would write the word “Rhythm.”

Schol. I take not your meaning, Master. What, in so many words, is this priceless Rhythm?

Golf. Marry, sir, he that could answer you in so many words would have the tongue of all philosophy.

THE EIGHTH HOLE.

Golfator. Well met, Scholar. Much water has passed the miller’s wheel since last we were in company; and, marry, much has fallen on these fair acres, which too oft at this season are sere and brown; and thus we have compensation for the cool winds and drenching rains of this so backward summer. Saw you ever so green a sward, and grasses so void of dust? Yet mark you the chatter of yon robin, that never gets his fill of rain, so that methinks some far ancestor of his was a water fowl, or perchance a flower that grew in water, since to my fancy birds are but flowers that have taken wings. But peradventure you had rather I question you concerning your towardness in the game of golf, as I mark you have your tools by you, and I may hazard that you have prospered exceedingly.

Scholar. Why, good Master, to speak truth, this ingenious game has so bedeviled me that I mark not if the grass be brown or green, or if robin or blackbird chatter by my path. As for my towardness, I have practised with great diligence, and have been directed by this teacher and that, and all excellently well, yet do I find myself at a stand, and unable to advance beyond a moderate skill.

Golf. I pray you, Scholar, make trial with your club of wood, that I may observe in what fashion you handle it.

Schol. There, Master! Is that not well swung? And that? And that?

Golf. Marry, an excellent swing, save that it lacks freedom and rhythm, and has no power in it, otherwise a most worthy swing, that might be of great service in knocking apples from a tree. One may observe with half an eye, Scholar, that you have been well instructed in every detail save one, the which concerns the striking of the ball.

THE NINTH HOLE.

Golfator. You are now to know, worthy Scholar, that whatsoever skill you may come to in the wielding of your tools, naught of great consequence is to be achieved at this ingenious game save by the cultivating of the highest powers of concentration, as has well been said by Mr. Travers, and other notable performers; and to the acquiring of this faculty you are to sacrifice all else in life; for what is of greater moment in this world than the proper striking of a ball?

Scholar. Alas, good Master, it is this great faculty that I so sadly lack; for from the moment that I raise my wood or iron until I bring it back, my mind is, as you might observe, a blank.

Golf. A perfect blank, truly; ’tis as if no mind existed. But thus it is with the majority, therefore be not cast down.

Schol. This concentration, sir, is it aught save the fixing of the eye upon the ball?

Golf. Ay, marry, much more. There is an attention of the eye, and an attention of the mind, and there is also an attention of the soul, and all three of these you shall require. There are lower forms of concentration, and much has been achieved through them. Thus one man sets his mind to the building of a system of philosophy; another man puts himself to the discovering of a satellite of our sun beyond the farthest that is known, or to the devising of an hypothesis that may explain the beginnings of matter, and the movements of the stars; a third man gives his life to the writing of plays, as Shakespeare or Euripides. All these are excellent pastimes, that require concentration; but they are of little import compared with the striking of a ball so it fly straight and to a great distance.

Schol. And how, Master, may this concentration be found?

Golf. Marry, sir, by the endless iteration of the magical words, Keep the eye upon the ball! Give your days to this, good Scholar. ’Tis not necessary to say the words loudly, but so much power is there in the spoken word that one must do more than think the conjuration; a low murmur, or a mumble, will serve. There be those that, observing a man going about muttering to himself, will be moved to scoff, but these, being ignorant of the great matter going forward, need not be considered. Persist, worthy Scholar, and ere the snow lies in winrows on these links, your heart’s desire will be well toward fulfilment.