the other hand, may not be accustomed to such lies, and his temper becomes a little ruffled, and the putting-greens surprise him, for he finds it so difficult to get the strength. The inferior player is in no way surprised at anything unless a ball almost teed through the green should by some chance await him. He accepts a horse-shoe mark and a niblick stroke as part of the day's work, and is not astonished when his approach shot bounds off at right angles to the hole. When the hedge is 130 yards from the ball he takes his cleek and plays short; the St. Andrews man has a poor lie, but he is too proud to play short, tries to carry it with his brassey, and an ominous crashing of wood is heard.
It is perfectly true that nobody would play on an inland links who could possibly play on the sandy sea-shore; but many of us have had the keenest enjoyment whom fate has compelled to be content with a clay common. You would almost learn to enjoy golf in Piccadilly itself, if you played often enough there. The lies are often bad, but you do enjoy the casual good lie when it comes. You know the course by heart, and have a soft spot in your heart for
