mistake of judgment—all these are trials, and they form part of the discipline of life. But on the whole I think that golf is perhaps the greatest trial of all. The bad-tempered golfer is a nuisance and anxiety to himself and his friends; indeed I have seen it come to such a pass that, though a man may have friends anywhere else, they are not to be found on the links. Some men abuse their poor innocent beast of burden, the caddie, in a manner painful to hear. It is far better and more humane to abuse your opponent who has a right of reply, than your caddie who has none. The tempers of some golfers have their humorous side, but there are also some that are painful to witness. We must congratulate ourselves that the glorious element of humour is never quite absent from golf, serious though the game and the Scotch nation be. But the ridiculous exhibition of temper and sulkiness that a great many players show habitually, only begins to be humorous when the game is over and the opponent of the irascible one is telling a congenial friend after dinner about it, and the offender is not present.
We must not judge our friends harshly.
