heavy on my doom.  With a restless desire to shine and excel, at Lord’s, on the river, on the Moors, in the forests, in Society, on the Links, bitter personal experience and the remarks of candid friends, tell me that the doom has come upon me.  I am “an all-round Duffer,” as my youngest nephew, aetat. XI., freely informed me, when I served twice out of court (once into the conservatory, the other time through the study window).  I was a Duffer at marbles, also at tops, and my personal efforts in these kinds were constantly in liquidation.  But what are marbles and tops!  The first regular game I was entered at was Golf.  Five is not too early to begin, and I began at five by being knocked down with a club which another small boy was brandishing.  This naturally gave me an extreme zeal for the sport of MARY STUART, the Great Marquis of MONTROSE, CHARLES EDWARD (who introduced Golf into Italy), DUNCAN FORBES of Culloden, Mr. HORACE HUTCHINSON, and other eminent historical characters.

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Almost everybody now knows that Golf is not Hockey.  Nobody runs after the ball except young ladies at W—­m—­n!  The object is to put a very small ball into a very tiny and remotely distant hole, with engines singularly ill adapted for the purpose.  There are many engines.  First there is the Driver, a long club, wherewith the ball is supposed to be propelled from the tee, a little patch of sand.  The Tee and the Caddie have nothing to do with each other; nobody but a flippant Cockney sees any fun in plays upon words which, in themselves, are only too serious.  Then there is a weapon called a Brassey.  It is like unto a club, but is shod with brass, and is used for hitting a ball in “a bad lie” among long grass or heather.  A small tomahawk, styled a Cleek, is employed when you don’t know what else to play with.  The same remark applies to an Iron, which is very good for missing the ball with, also for hitting to square leg when you meant to go straight.  A “Mashy” is a smaller “iron.”  The skilful use these when the ball lies in sand, in gorse, or when they wish to make the ball soar for a short distance and then fall dead.  A Putter is a short thickish club used for jogging the ball into the hole with.  There are plenty of other kinds of clubs, also spoons, but these are enough to break the heart of any Duffer.

I am an old player, of forty years’ standing, but, like Parolles I was “made for every man to breathe himself on.”  When my form is espied near the links, the players shirk off as if I were a leper.  They are afraid I may want to make a match with them, and there is no falsehood from which they will shrink, in their desire to escape me.  Even Ladies,—­but this is a delicate theme.  Beginners breathe themselves on me, and give me odds after two or three engagements.

Yet I don’t know why I am so bad.  True, I am short-sighted, never see the flag at the hole, play in the wrong direction, and talk a good deal on topics of academic interest during the round.  The Golfer’s mind should be a blank, and generally is “blank enough,” like Sir Tor’s shield.  My mind is, perhaps, too active—­that may be what is the matter with me.  It is the same thing at whist—­but of this hereafter.  My Caddie, or arm-bearer, has his own views about the causes of my incompetence.