the very disadvantages. One of the charms of golf is its uncertainty, and on inland greens the uncertainty of the lies may almost be described as a charm. To make a good stroke is always delightful; but the most delightful form of good stroke is when it is played under unfavourable circumstances, out of a bad lie for instance. If you do happen to hit a bad-lying ball, you remember it when you shut your eyes at night; it banishes the office ledger which you cannot get to balance. The man of abundant means and leisure who can afford to go to the sea-side whenever he likes, may not like to play on inland greens; he has in his mind the splendid air and the glorious links of Sandwich and Prestwick. But in regard to the toiler who, nolens volens, must pass ten months of the year inland—the only time he possibly may not enjoy the golf on the old clay common is when he returns to it after a month's uninterrupted play at North Berwick. Then he may wonder if he ever will be able to enjoy the game there again; but in a short time the old affection will return to him.
Lastly, there is the intense enjoyment of a
