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 THE ART OF GOLF 

 
 Pleasures are more beneficial than duties, 
 because, like the qnalily of mercy, they 
 arc not strained, and they are twice blest.' 
 
 K. L. S.
 
 THE 
 
 ART OF GOLF 
 
 Sir W. G. SIMPSON, Bart. 
 
 SACRED TO HOPE AND PROMISE IS THE SPOT. 
 
 Secomi lullthu,- Re-.-lscd 
 
 EDINBURGH: DAVID DOUGLAS 
 M D c c c X c: 1 1 
 
 \All rights rcser7'ed\
 
 TO 
 
 THE HONOURABLE COMPANY 
 OF EDINBURGH GOLFERS 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DEDICA TED 
 HUMBLY AS A GOLFER 
 
 PROUDLY AS THEIR CAPTAIN 
 GRATEFULLY FOR MERRY MEETINGS 
 
 AND 
 
 CORDIALLY WITHOUT PERMISSION 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR,
 
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 It is so lon<£ since the first edition was ex- 
 hausted, that I may be suspected of having 
 modestly supposed that there was nothing about 
 the book which could be wanted, or thought desir- 
 able enough to cause the demand, except scarcity 
 of copies : in other words, that ' the fewer the 
 better ' was indicated as the general opinion. 
 
 The only result of the months which have 
 elapsed is the knowledge that the additions I 
 projected would require perhaps years before they 
 could be properly dealt with, and that I have 
 already said all I positively know of the philo- 
 sophy of hitting. With theories which are possibly 
 and even probably true, but which are not facts all 
 the same, what golfer is unable to supply himself? 
 It is not without scrupulous care that he can pre- 
 vent himself from being self- deceived regarding 
 some of these. It is therefore better for me to 
 say too little, than to discredit the rest of the
 
 viii PREFACE. 
 
 text by admitting even doubtful matter. Where 
 detection is so improbable, one has no claim to be 
 treated as reliable, except by being unsuspected. 
 
 I thouofht at a first readinor that the Badminton 
 volume must be challenged and fought. The long 
 and keen but discursive and civil war which I 
 
 * forecast ' was only seen in another light after I 
 had looked up my weapons, examined some of their 
 points, sharpened my wits, etc. etc. Only then did 
 the antagonism turn out to be, as I venture to hope, 
 for the most part in non-essentials. 
 
 If this contention turns out to be sound, to a 
 far less extent even than seems the case, there is 
 an end to the nascittir non Jit view, and its proof, 
 
 * Look at me ! ' 
 
 That it is sound I am myself thoroughly con- 
 vinced, and therefore prepared to defend these 
 most pregnant and important theses : — 
 
 1st. There are many points of style which arc 
 essential to effective play. 
 
 2d. There is practical unanimity among golfers 
 in recognising the effect of the presence or absence 
 of most of these.
 
 rUEFACF. IX 
 
 3rd. Style is discredited by uncertainty as to 
 which are and which are not essentials, and by 
 other adherent causes. 
 
 For instance, Mr. Hutchinson advocates the 
 Laidlay stance in driving. He advises putting 
 with the wrists. On these two points we are 
 clearly opposed. There are no others on which I 
 can positively say or think that I differ from him. 
 He advises the club being allowed to slip in the right 
 hand. I prefer to see both hands grasping tightly. 
 But provided a man has power enough in one 
 hand to prevent any slipping, it gives him a freer 
 swing to let go with the right. On the other 
 hand, I can scarcely doubt Mr. Hutchinson would 
 make an exception for buttery-fingered persons. 
 He probably considers them too small a minority to 
 take into account. Besides, as a rule, when he 
 thinks the automatic action of the muscles should 
 be interfered with, he counsels the slackening of 
 joints, which I am inclined to control in the opposite 
 sense. For example, he advises bending the ri^ht 
 elbow. One of my objections to this advice is that 
 the exaggerated use of joints prevented me from
 
 X J'REFACE. 
 
 acquiring any sort of steadiness for some five years. 
 Mr. Hutchinson seems to have reason for warning 
 beeinners ag^ainst too short a swino-. But if there 
 were any question as to our general unanimity, it is 
 removed by the fact that we chance to have chosen 
 a model for beginners from the same point of view. 
 I have noted my intention of naming Mr. Stuart 
 and Willie Park, whom Mr. Hutchinson also says 
 are the safest to copy. There is thus no risk of 
 the Badminton being responsible for a style such 
 as mine was for many years. It would be invidi- 
 ous to name whose is the slashing swing which I 
 interpreted Avrongly and fatally. The process 
 looked like the unfolding of a three-pieced flail 
 round the body and the refolding of it in front 
 again. This I imitated by getting round myself 
 stealthily, stumbling twice on each journey, and 
 (being vexed the fourth time) letting the ball have it. 
 It is very likely because Mr. Hutchinson sees 
 short and cramped styles are acquired by those who 
 began as old men, that he warns us against being 
 too stiff. Now we old men arc not stiff-jointed. 
 On the contrary, we are rather comparable to old
 
 PREFACE. xi 
 
 carriages. Our springs are soft, we are loose- 
 jointed, we rattle, we have to be screwed up tight 
 occasionally, to feel like whipcord and whalebone. 
 But a peg, when required, ceases to be of any use 
 in course of time. It is better, on the whole, to 
 exhort men to play stiffly. By pulling themselves 
 together middle-aged pupils may learn as strong a 
 game as when they have the elasticity of youth. 
 They don't drive so far perhaps, but it is only the 
 difference between a sea tangle and a stiff shaft 
 which is between them. 
 
 On the subject of approaching as a whole we may 
 be said in a sense to differ. Yet it is also true that 
 there is scarcely a word in the Badminton chapter 
 with which I disagree. Golfers will recognise one 
 cause of variance to be that every player has a 
 scheme of approaching known only to himself and 
 to his caddy. Another is, I exclude from ordinary 
 shots many which are absolutely necessary to get 
 very near the hole in difficult circumstances. It may 
 be thought that my pupil is thus aiming only at a 
 second-class game. I admit that it is a humble- 
 looking programme ; but it was based upon the
 
 xii PREFACE. 
 
 approaching during a game that won the champion- 
 ship for Bob Fergusson. He trusted to this scheme 
 and hick, rather than to a more ambitious one. 
 Yet there was no man steadier at ' gallery ' shots. 
 
 These examples are sufficient to indicate to 
 the reader my drift. But no amount of proof 
 of this sort will be absolutely conclusive, until the 
 subject has been cleared of much that is obscure. 
 Instead of meddling and muddling their own game, 
 golfers with sufficient leisure would not only profit 
 themselves but give an additional interest to play, 
 by keeping in view and collecting data for fixing 
 what are the essentials of style. This is not the 
 place to go into details, but even with the facts 
 which lie ready to every one's hand, so much can be 
 deciphered, that with no very tedious labour the 
 whole subject might likely be cleared up. 
 
 The great difficulty in collecting statistics arises, 
 as I have found, from the misconceptions of most 
 men regarding the essential points in their own style. 
 They ridicule (not recognising) the very Baalim 
 before whom ihey bend the elbow. With one breath 
 they are unanimous regarding certain essentials
 
 PREFACE. xiii 
 
 to be recognised in any good player's style you 
 mention ; with the next breath they deny that any- 
 thing- but practice matters. No matter what you 
 practise (they contend), so long as you do practise, 
 golf will be the result. 
 
 The recognition of essentials of style or even 
 of practice as a panacea would effect a marked 
 improvement on iron play especially, because it 
 probably depends more on style than any other 
 part of the game. 
 
 There is little doubt that many fair players 
 have a scheme of approaching, in which topping 
 and other kinds of missing off the wrist are de- 
 pended on to supply the amount of drag requisite 
 at the distance. Such a scheme is to be sus- 
 pected, if occasionally an approach lofts as far past 
 as it was short. This it does when the ball is 
 hit clean, which is very rarely, because it is very 
 difficult to do, and doubly difficult by reason of 
 another fiction, viz., that over-clubbing is wise, 
 and hard hitting a fault. How can the victim 
 even learn to hit cleanly ? By practice ! What 
 folly 1 Most players will recognise that they some- 
 
 c
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 times get into a way of foundering putts, which 
 is difficult to get out of, because cleanly-putted 
 balls go too far. But it is got over, because how 
 to putt cleanly is one of the few undisputed and 
 universally-known points of style. Not so how- 
 to approach properly. Occasionally, however, it 
 is got round. A master-mind hits upon the idea 
 of ' skelping ' with the putter instead of trusting 
 to the happy-go-lucky hepperty-kicking, which is 
 called lofting in the foozle scheme of approach. 
 What a comment on the latter, that this skelping is 
 considered a shabby thing to do ! It gives too great 
 an advantage ! 
 
 It is not necessary to enlarge further. The 
 golfer can realise for himself the endless misconcep- 
 tions and obscurities and confusions of all sorts that 
 would be thought worth clearing up as soon as it was 
 proved that most Scots require something besides^a — 
 club and a ball, and an eye to keep on that ball, to- 
 develop their heaven-given instinct for ' the Gouf.' 
 
 Ballabraes, Ayton, 
 March 1892.
 
 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 A Preface would be superfluous were it not 
 necessary to say a word or two about the Illus- 
 trations. My aim was to show (for the first time, 
 I believe), by means of instantaneous photography, 
 the movements made by players with a classical 
 style in the process of striking a golf ball. For 
 plates in this book (with the exception of Nos. xii., 
 XIII., XVI., XVII., and xviii., which are the work of 
 Mr. Alexander Nicol, Photographer) I have to, and 
 do, cordially thank my friend Mr. A. F. Macfie, 
 whose knowledore of the orame, and whose skill 
 with the camera, have enabled him to catch move- 
 ments which are in many cases so swift as to 
 escape ordinary observation. That the illustra- 
 tions, therefore, truly represent the styles of the 
 fine players who stood for them, no reader need 
 doubt.
 
 Xvi PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION. 
 
 The authority of the text is another matter. 
 It may be — nay, it has been — asked, 'What does 
 he know about it?' Indeed (and alas!) I cannot 
 speak from the highest platform. Rut if a poor 
 cricketer, a hopeless billiard player, an execrable 
 shot, begins golf by the doctor's orders after three 
 decades, flounders hopelessly for years, and then 
 by theory and experiment evolves a golf which 
 I shall only characterise as infinitely better than 
 his cricket, his billiards, or his shooting ever were, 
 it is evident that he knows (whether he can say 
 it) something of that department of brick-making 
 which does not depend upon the quality of the 
 straw. 
 
 3 Belgrave Crescent, 
 EDiNBURCiH, May 1887.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION, . . . . vii 
 
 PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION, . . . . xv 
 
 PART I. 
 PRELIMINAR Y, AND PRINCIPALL V FOOLISH. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 THE PRAISE OF GOLF, ..... 3 
 
 Chapter II. 
 THE ORIGIN OF GOLF, . . 12 
 
 Chapter III. 
 THE NATURE OF THE GAME, .... 16 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 OF SETS OF CLUBS AND OTHER GOLFING APPUR- 
 TENANCES, 21 
 
 Chapter V. 
 OF CADDIES, ....... 29
 
 XVIU 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART IL 
 
 OF PLAYING THE GAME. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 OF DRIVING IN GENERAL, . 
 
 I'AGE 
 41 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 OF STYLE IN DRIVING, 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 ADVICE TO BEGINNERS, 
 
 53 
 
 78 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 OF PECULIARITIES AND FAULTS, . 
 
 94 
 
 Chapter V. 
 
 OF TEMPORARY FAULTS, 
 
 116 
 
 Chapter VI. 
 OF PLAYING THROUGH THE GREEN, 
 
 131 
 
 OF BUNKER PLAY, 
 
 OF APPROACHING, 
 
 OF PUTTING, 
 
 Chapter VII. 
 
 Chapter VIII. 
 
 Chapter IX. 
 
 Chapter X. 
 OF MATCH AND MEDAL PLAY, 
 
 135 
 
 140 
 
 160 
 
 170
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PL A TES. 
 
 Plate I. ADDRESSING FOR A DRIVE, . . al page i,o 
 
 II. TOM MORRIS DRIVING (i), ... 48 
 
 III. „ „ (2), . . . 4S 
 
 IV. „ „ (3), ... 48 
 V. JIM MORRIS DRIVING (i), . . .64 
 
 VI. „ „ (2), ... 64 
 
 VII. SAVERS DRIVING (i), . . . -76 
 
 VIII. „ .,, (2), .... 76 
 
 IX. ADDRESSING FOR AN APPROACH SHOT, . 140 
 
 X. JUST WITHIN A WRIST (i), . . .144 
 
 XI. „ „ (2), . .144 
 
 XII. SIXTV VARDS FROM THE HOLE (1), . . 14S 
 
 XHI. „ „ „ (2), . 148 
 
 XIV. LOFTING HIGH (i), . . . .152 
 
 XV. „ „ (2), . . . .152
 
 XX ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Plate XVL RUNNING IT WITH AN IRON (i), . at page is^ 
 
 XVII. „ „ (2), . . 154 
 
 XVIII. „ ., (3)> ■ • 154 
 
 XIX. PUTTING (I), . . . . . i6o 
 
 XX. ,, (2), ... . . 160 
 
 D I A GRAMS. 
 
 POSITIONS OF -/HE FEET IN DRIVING. 
 Fig. I. GETTING TOO MUCH IN FRONT, 
 
 2. CADDY'S CORRECTION, 
 
 3. STANDING ' IN FRONT,' 
 
 4. STANDING 'SQUARE,' 
 
 5. STANDING 'OPEN,' .... 
 
 POSITIONS OF THE HANDS IN DRIVING. 
 
 6. PROPER GRIP— HANDS 'OVER' OR 'ABOVE,' 62 
 7- ,, ,. 63 
 8. HANDS TOO FAR ' ROUND ' OR ' UNDER,' . So 
 9- ,, ,, ., • 81 
 
 10. UNEQUAL GRIP. RKiHT HAND 'UNDER,' . 87 
 
 I'AGE 
 46 
 
 47 
 54 
 55 
 55
 
 PART I. 
 
 PRELIMINARY, AND PRINCIPALLY 
 FOOLISH.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PRAISE OF GOLF. 
 
 There are so many good points about the royal 
 and ancient game of golf that its comparative 
 obscurity, rather than its increasing popularity, is 
 matter for wonder. It is apparently yet unknown 
 to the Medical Faculty. The golfer does not find 
 it in the list of exercises recommended by doctors 
 to persons engaged in warfare with the results of 
 sedentary habits. He is moved to pity British 
 subjects compelled to stir their livers by walking, 
 horse-riding, or cycling. He knows how mono- 
 tonous it is following one's nose, or flogging a 
 horse and following it, compared with flogging and 
 following a ball. For the wearied and bent cyclist, 
 who prides himself on making his journey in as 
 short a time as possible, he has a pitying word. 
 Men who assume that the sooner the journey is 
 over the greater the pleasure, evidently do not love 
 their pursuit for its own sake. 
 
 With any other sport or pastime golf compares 
 favourably.
 
 4 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 With cricket ? The golfer has nothing to say 
 against that game, if you are a good player. But 
 it is a pastime for the few. The rest have to hang 
 about the pavilion, and see the runs made. With 
 the golfer it is different. He does not require to 
 be even a second-class player, in order to get into 
 matches. Again, the skilful cricketer has to retire 
 when he gets up in years. He might exclaim with 
 Wolsey : ' Had I served my golf as I have served 
 my cricket, she would not thus have deserted me 
 in my old age.' How different it is with golf! It 
 is a L^ame for the many. It suits all sorts and con- 
 ditions of men. The strong and the weak, the halt 
 and the maimed, the octogenarian and the boy, the 
 rich and the poor, the clergyman and the infidel, 
 may play every day, except Sunday. The late riser 
 can play comfortably, and be back for his rubber 
 in the afternoon ; the sanguine man can measure 
 himself ao-ainst those who will beat him ; the half- 
 crown seeker can hnd victims, the gambler can bet, 
 the man of high principle, by playing for nothing, 
 may enjoy himself, and yet feel good. You can 
 brag, and lose matches ; depreciate yourself, and win 
 them. Unlike the other Scotch game of whisky- 
 drinking, excess in it is not injurious to the health. 
 
 Better than fishing, shooting, and hunting ? 
 Certainly. These can only be indulged in at certain
 
 THE PRAISE OF GOLF. 5 
 
 seasons. They let you die of dyspepsia durin^j^ 
 the rest of the year. Besides, hunting, you are 
 dependent on horses and foxes for sport ; shooting, 
 on birds ; fishing, on the hunger of a scaly but 
 fastidious animal. The pleasures of sport are 
 extracted from the sufferings of dumb animals. If 
 horses, grouse, or fish could squeal, sports would 
 be distressful rather than amusing. 
 
 Golf has some drawbacks. It is possible, by too 
 much of it, to destroy the mind ; a man with a 
 Roman nose and a high forehead may play away 
 his profile. That peculiar mental condition called 
 ' Fifish ' probably had its origin in the east of 
 the Kinedom. For the crolfer. Nature loses her 
 significance. Larks, the casts of worms, the 
 buzzinof of bees, and even children, are hateful to 
 him. I have seen a golfer very angry at getting 
 into a bunker by killing a bird, and rewards of 
 as much as ten shillino-s have been offered for 
 boys maimed on the links. Rain comes to be 
 regarded solely in its relation to the putting 
 greens ; the daisy is detested, botanical specimens 
 are but 'hazards,' twigs 'break clubs.' Winds 
 cease to be east, south, west, or north. They are 
 ahead, behind, or sideways, and the sky is bright 
 or dark, according to the state of the game. 
 
 A cause of the comparative obscurity of golf is
 
 6 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 that the subject cannot easily be treated by the 
 novelist. Golf has no Hawley Smart. Its Whyte 
 Melville did not write, but played. You can ride 
 at a stone wall for love and the lady, but what part 
 can she take in driving at a bunker ? It is natural 
 that Lady Diana should fall in love with Nimrod 
 when she finds him in the plough, stunned, broken- 
 leo'o'ed, the brush, which he had wrested from the 
 fox as he fell, firm in his lifeless grasp. But if 
 beauty found us prone on the putting green, a 27^ 
 imbedded in our gory locks, she might send us 
 home to be trepanned ; but nothing could come of 
 it, a red coat notwithstanding. No ! at golf ladies 
 are simply in the road. Riding to hounds and 
 opening five-barred gates, soft nothings may be 
 whispered, but it is impossible at the same moment 
 to putt and to cast languishing glances. If the 
 dear one be near you at the tee. she may get her 
 teeth knocked out, and even between the s/iois arms 
 dare not steal round waists, lest the party behind 
 should call out ' fore ! ' I have seen a golfing novel 
 indeed ; but it was in manuscript, the publishers 
 having rejected it. The scene was St. Andrews. 
 He was a soldier, a statesman, an orator, but only 
 a seventh-class ofolfer. She. bein<'" St. Andrews 
 born, naturally preferred a rising player. W hich- 
 ever of the two made the best medal score was to
 
 (i 
 
 THE PRAISK OF GOLF. 7 
 
 have her hand. The soldier employed a lad to kick 
 his adversary's ball into bunkers, to tramp it into 
 mud, to lose it, and he won ; but the lady would not 
 give her hand to a score of 1 30. Six months passed, 
 durinor which the soldier studied the orame morninQ^, 
 noon, and night, but to little purpose. Next medal- 
 day arrived, and he was face to face with the fact 
 that his golf, unbacked by his statesmanship, would 
 avail him nothing. He hired and disguised a pro- 
 fessional in his own clothes. The ruse was success- 
 ful ; but, alas ! the professional broke down. The 
 soldier, disguised as a marker, however, cheated, 
 and brought him in with "^^i- ^ three for the long 
 hole roused suspicion, and led to inquiry. He was 
 found out, dismissed from the club, rejected by the 
 lady (who afterwards made an unhappy marriage 
 with a left-handed player), and sent back in disgrace 
 to his statesmanship and oratory. It was as good 
 a romance as could be made on the subject, but 
 very improbable. 
 
 Although unsuited to the novelist, golf lends 
 itself readily to the dreaming of scenes of which 
 the dreamer is the hero. Unless he is an excep- 
 tionally good rider, or can afford 300 guinea 
 mounts, a man cannot expect to be the hero of the 
 hunting-field. The sportsman knows what sort of 
 shot he is, and the fisher has no illusions ; but
 
 8 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 every moderately good golfer, on the morning of 
 the medal-day, may lie abed and count up a 
 perfect score for himself. He easily recalls how at 
 different times and often he has done each hole in 
 par figures. Why not this day, and all the holes 
 consecutively? It seems so easy. The more he 
 thinks of it the easier it seems, even allowing for a 
 few mistakes. Every competitor who is awake 
 soon enough sees the necessity for preparing a 
 speech against the contingency of the medal being 
 presented to him in the evening. Nor is any one 
 much crushed when all is over, and he has not won. 
 If he does well, it was but that putt, that bad lie, 
 that bunker. If his score is bad, what of it ? Even 
 the best are off their game occasionally. Next 
 time it will be different. Meanwhile his score will 
 be taken as a criterion of his game, and he is sure 
 to win many half-crowns from unwary adversaries 
 who underrate him. 
 
 The o^ame of ofolf is full of consolation. The 
 long driver who is beaten feels that he has a soul 
 above putting. All those who cannot drive thirty 
 yards suppose themselves to be good putters. 
 Your hashy player piques himself on his power of 
 recovery. The duffer is a duffer merely because 
 every second shot is missed. Time or care will 
 eliminate the misses, and then ! Or perhaps there
 
 THE I'RAISE 01" GOLF. 9 
 
 is something persistently wrong in driving, putting, 
 or approaching, lie will discover the fault, and 
 then ! Golf is not one of those occupations in 
 which you soon learn your level. There is no shape 
 nor size of body, no awkwardness nor ungainli- 
 ness, which puts good golf beyond one's reach. 
 There are good golfers with spectacles, with one 
 eye, with one leg, even with one arm. None but 
 the absolutely blind need despair. It is not the 
 youthful tyro alone who has cause to hope. Be- 
 ginners in middle age have become great, and, 
 more wonderful still, after years of patient duffering, 
 there may be a rift in the clouds. Some pet vice 
 which has been clung to as a virtue may be aban- 
 doned, and the fifth-class player burst upon the 
 world as a medal- winner. In golf, whilst there is 
 life there is hope. 
 
 It is generally agreed that the keenest pleasure 
 of the game is derived from long driving. When 
 the golfer is preparing to hit a far clean straight 
 shot, he feels the joy of the strong man that 
 rejoiceth to run a race ; that is to say, the joy we 
 have authority for believing that the Jewish runner 
 felt. The modern sprinter experiences none. On 
 the contrary, there is the anticipation, through 
 fatigue, of as much pain as if he were ringing the 
 dentist's door-bell. For the golfer in the exercise 
 
 b
 
 lO THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 of his Strength there is neither pain nor fatio-ue. 
 He has the combined pleasures of an onlooker and 
 a performer. The blow once delivered, he can 
 stand at ease and be admired whilst the ball makes 
 the running. 
 
 There is no such being as a golfer uninterested 
 in his driving. The really strong player seems to 
 value his least; but this is merely because so many 
 of his shots are good that they do not surprise him. 
 Let it, however, be suggested that some other is 
 a longer driver than he, and the mask of apathy 
 will at once fall from his face, his tongue will be 
 loosened, and he will proceed to boast. Even 
 when a man cannot feel that he drives quite as far 
 as the best, his pride in his own frame is not 
 necessarily destroyed, as by most other sports. 
 The runner, the jumper, the lifter of weights, even 
 the oarsman, is crushed down into his true place by 
 the brutal rudeness of competitive facts. Not so 
 the golfer. A. says, ' I drive with a very light club, 
 therefore admire my strength.' B. smiles com- 
 placently, whilst you marvel at the heaviness of his 
 — a brawny muscular smile. Little C.'s club is 
 nearly as long as himself. The inference is that 
 little C.'s garments cover the limbs of a pocket 
 Hercules. D. can drive as far with a cleek as 
 common men with a club. I), is evidently a
 
 ■nil'; I'RAISK OF GOLF. I I 
 
 Goliath. The inferences may be all wiong. A. 
 may be a scrag", C. a weed, D. merely beefy. On 
 the other hand, each may be what he supposes 
 himself. This is one of the glorious uncertainties 
 of the game. 
 
 To some minds the great held which golf 
 opens up for exaggeration is its chief attrac- 
 tion. Lying about the length of one's drives has 
 this advantage over most forms of falsehood, that 
 it can scarcely be detected. Your audience may 
 doubt your veracity, but they cannot prove your 
 falsity. Even when some rude person proves your 
 shot to be impossibly long, you are not cornered. 
 You admit to an exceptional loft, to a skid off a 
 paling, or, as a last appeal to the father of lies, you 
 may rather think that a dog lifted your ball. 'Any- 
 how,' you add conclusively, ' that is where we found 
 it when we came up to it.'
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE ORIGIN OF GOLF. 
 
 Golf, besides being a royal game, is also a very 
 ancient one. Although it cannot be determined 
 when it was first played, there seems little doubt 
 that it had its origin in the present geological 
 period, golf links being, we are informed, of Pleisto- 
 cene formation. 
 
 Confining ourselves to Scotland, no golfer can 
 fail to be struck with the resemblance to a niblick 
 of the so-called spectacle ornament of our sculptured 
 stones. 
 
 Many antiquarians are of opinion that the game 
 did not become popular till about the middle of the 
 T :5th century. This seems extremely probable, as 
 in earlier and more lawless times a journey so far 
 from home as the far hole at St. Andrews would 
 have been exceedingly dangerous for an unarmed 
 man. 
 
 It is not likely that future research will unearth 
 the discoverer of golf Most probably a game so
 
 Tin; ORIGIN OF GOLF. I 3 
 
 simple and natural in its essentials suggested itself 
 gradually and spontaneously to the bucolic mind. 
 A shepherd tending his sheep would often chance 
 upon a round pebble, and, having his crook in his 
 hand, he would strike it away ; for it is as inevit- 
 able that a man with a stick in his hand should 
 aim a blow at any loose object lying in his path 
 as that he should breathe. 
 
 On pastures green this led to nothing : but once 
 on a time (probably) a shepherd, feeding his sheep 
 on a links — perhaps those of St. Andrews — rolled 
 one of these stones into a rabbit scrape. ' Marry,' he 
 quoth, * I could not do that if I tried ' — a thought 
 (so instinctive is ambition) which nerved him to the 
 attempt. But man cannot long persevere alone in 
 any arduous undertaking, so our shepherd hailed 
 another, who was hard by, to witness his endeavour. 
 ' Forsooth, that is easy,' said the friend, and trying 
 failed. They now searched in the gorse for as 
 round stones as possible, and, to their surprise, each 
 found an old golf ball, which, as the reader knows, 
 are to be found there in considerable quantit}' even 
 to this day. Having deepened the rabbit scrape so 
 that the balls might not jump out of it, they set 
 themselves to practising putting. The stronger 
 but less skilful shepherd, finding himself worsted at 
 this amusement, protested that it was a fairer test
 
 14 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 of skill to play for the hole from a considerable 
 distance. This beino- arranged, the oame was found 
 to be much more varied and interesting. They had 
 at first called it ' putty,' because the immediate object 
 was to putt or put the ball into the hole or scrape, but 
 at the longer distance what we call driving was the 
 chief interest, so the name was changed to ' go off,* 
 or ' golf.' The sheep having meantime strayed, our 
 shepherds had to go after them. This proving an 
 exceedingly irksome interruption, they hit upon the 
 inofenious device of makinsf a circular course of 
 holes, which enabled them to play and herd at the 
 same time. The holes being now many and far 
 apart, it became necessary to mark their where- 
 abouts, which was easily done by means of a tag of 
 wool from a sheep, attached to a stick, a primitive 
 kind of flag still used on many greens almost in its 
 orio-inal form. 
 
 Since these early days the essentials of the game 
 have altered but little. Even the styme must have 
 been of early invention. It would naturally occur 
 as a quibble to a golfer who was having the worst 
 of the match, and the adversary, in the confidence of 
 three or four up, would not strenuously oppose it. 
 
 That golf was taken up with keen interest by 
 the Scottish people from an early day is evidenced 
 by laws directed against those who preferred it
 
 THE ORIGIN OF GOLF. I 5 
 
 to archery and church-going. Tliis state of feel- 
 ing has changed but Httlc. Some historians are, 
 however, of opinion that during the seventeenth 
 century golf lost some of its popularity. We know 
 that the great Montrose was at one time devoted to 
 it, and that he gave it up for what would now be 
 considered the inferior sport of Covenanter-hunting. 
 It is also an historical Hict that Charles i. actually 
 stopped in the middle of a game on Leith Links, 
 because, forsooth, he learned that a rebellion had 
 broken out in Ireland. Some, however, are of 
 opinion that he acted on this occasion with his 
 usual cunning — that at the time the news arrived he 
 was being beaten, and that he hurried away to save 
 his half-crown rather than his crown. Whatever the 
 truth may be, it is certain that any one who in the 
 present day abandoned a game because the stakes 
 were not sufficiently high would be considered 
 unworthy of the name of a golfer. 
 
 The rest of the history of the game, is it not 
 written in Mr. Clark's book ?
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE NATURE OF THE GAME. 
 
 Golf belon^fs to that laro^e class of human o-ames 
 in which a ball plays the principal part. Balls of 
 all sorts and sizes amuse men — hard ones, soft ones, 
 large ones, small ones. These are treated in a 
 variety of ways. They are struck, used to strike 
 with, pushed against each other, knocked into holes, 
 rolled as close as possible to things, battered against 
 walls, knocked over nets, cuffed with the hand, 
 jerked with the linger and thumb, struck with an 
 instrument, kicked with the feet, etc. In some 
 eames the ball is buffeted whilst in motion, in 
 others whilst at rest. In some, one player's aim is 
 to make it go whilst others try to stop it, or both 
 ma)' want to keep it moving, each hoping that the 
 other will fail to do so. In games where it is the 
 adversary's object to stop the ball, he keeps his face 
 towards it and catches it with his hands ; when he 
 loses by doing so his back is turned, and he runs 
 (except in war, in which the adversary does not wish
 
 TIIK NATURE OF TIIK GAMK. I 7 
 
 to be Struck, but should iicvcrLhcless have his face 
 to the ball). In some games there is but one ball, 
 about which there is a continual struggle ; in others, 
 each has it alternately. There is a common element 
 in them all — rivalr)-. 
 
 Now golf is a game in which each player has 
 a small hard ball of his own, which he strikes with 
 a stick whilst it is quiescent, with the intention of 
 putting it into a hole. Abstractly he wishes to do 
 this with as few blows as possible, concretely in 
 fewer than his opponent. A round of the green is 
 called a match. A match is the best of nine, 
 twelve, or eighteen games. Each game is called a 
 hole, because it ends at the bottom thereof. The 
 tee is not, as in many other games, the object 
 aimed at, but the point started from. It consists 
 of a small pile of sand placed on the ground, 
 and solidified by the palm of the hand. On this 
 the ball is placed. Each blow or miss is called 
 a stroke, that is to say— a stroke is constituted 
 purely by intention. A stroke is not the same 
 thing as a rub. which is usually a blow received 
 by a third party, but it is nearly identical with a 
 shot. The latter, however, does not include a 
 miss in the same impartial way as the former. 
 
 The distance between the tees and the holes is 
 from a hundred to five hundred yards. After leaving
 
 I 8 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 the tee, you are not allowed to do anything to the 
 ball except strike it or swear at it until you have 
 either given up the hole or got to the bottom of it. 
 In each hole there is a flag, so that its whereabouts 
 may be seen from a distance. This is temporarily 
 removed when the player gets near it. The flags 
 are little bits of cloth or a bunch of wool at the end 
 of a stick or wire ; but on greens where they are 
 not habitually stolen, the whole flag is of iron, with 
 the name and number of the hole printed on the 
 top. These names are for the most part either geo- 
 graphical, personal, gastronomical, or arithmetical. 
 The geographical names are suggested by peculi- 
 arities of the ground around or in front of the hole. 
 If there are none, a wall or a bathing-machine in 
 the neighbourhood may suggest a name. Holes 
 called after people have usually been planned, laid 
 out, and added to the course by their godfathers, who 
 for the first ten years earn anything but gratitude, 
 as these new holes are for a long time very rough 
 and bad ; a public-house or a refreshment-stall in 
 the neighbourhood of a hole is always recognised 
 as its most important feature, and it is christened 
 accordingly. The last hole is called the last, the 
 one at the extremity of the links the far-hole, unless 
 a public-house be there to make such a consideration 
 unimportant ; for it is admitted on all hands that
 
 THE NATURK OK TIIK CAMi:. 19 
 
 the State of a man's stomach has much to do with 
 his game. 
 
 The grounds on wliich goh' is played are called 
 links, being the barren sandy soil from which the 
 sea has retired in recent geological times. In their 
 natural state links are covered with long, rank benty 
 grass and gorse. These get worn awa)' by sheep 
 and golfers, and short springy sandy turf is disclosed. 
 The part of the links thus worn is the course. 
 Links are too barren for cultivation ; but sheep, 
 rabbits, geese, and professionals pick up a pre- 
 carious livelihood on them. A ofood course ou^ht 
 to be from 50 to 100 yards wide, the ground un- 
 dulating or even hilly. The finer the turf is the 
 better ; but it is never perfect, because golfers are 
 always slicing bits of it out with their clubs, quicker 
 than the green-keeper can replace them, which is 
 not saying much. When you find your ball lying on 
 one of these scrapes, you bemoan ; but it is onl)- when 
 breaks in the turf are found within twenty yards 
 of the hole that the green-keeper is inexcusable. 
 
 On every course there ought to be plenty of 
 hazards — that is, places where a shot is lost unless 
 the drivinor be far enouijh, straight, or hioh. Off 
 the course there are rabbit-holes, gorse bushes, rail- 
 v/ays, ploughed fields, gardens, and green-houses for 
 crooked drivers ; on it, bunkers or sand-holes for
 
 20 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 topped and short balls. The best kind of bunkers 
 are natural. Those which are often visited usually 
 have names, being' called some man's nose or grave, 
 or merely his bunker. To have a bunker named 
 after you is a vioiuiiucutuni aerc pcrciiniiis. People 
 like being godfathers to bunkers, although it is 
 not usually complimentary to their driving. Where 
 there is a lack of natural bunkers, artificial ones are 
 dug. Walls, roads, ditches, and cops serve as 
 hazards on the course, but these are not recognised 
 as so desirable as bunkers.
 
 CHAPTin^ IV. 
 
 OF SETS OK CLUBS AND OTHER GOLFING 
 AI'PURTENANCES. 
 
 A SET of clubs may be defined as that assort- 
 ment which the player's caddy carries in a cover 
 on wet days. On fine days the player carries one 
 club himself, either that which he has just used or 
 the one he is about to employ, 
 
 I propose here to give a descriptive list of all 
 the clubs which may or may not be in a set. 
 
 Nearly every one carries a play club, an instru- 
 ment consisting of many parts. It has no legs, but 
 a shaft instead. It has, however, a toe. Its toe 
 is at the end of its face, close to its nose, which is 
 not on its face. Although it has no body, it has a 
 sole. It has a neck, a head, and clubs also have 
 horns. They always have a whipping, but this 
 has nothing to do directly with striking the ball. 
 There is little expression in the face of a club. It 
 is usually wooden ; sometimes, however, it has a 
 leather face. Clubs, without being clothed, occa- 
 sionally have lead buttons, but never any button-
 
 22 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 holes. Clubs' heads are some black, some yellow, 
 but colour is not clue to any racial difference. 
 From this description it will be easy to understand, 
 without a diagram, what a club is like. 
 
 Spoons in most respects resemble clubs. Their 
 faces are somewhat more open. There are long, 
 short, and mid spoons, so called according to the 
 length of the spoon. 
 
 Brassies differ from spoons and play clubs in that 
 they have brass bottoms which are screwed on. 
 
 Irons and cleeks have no sole. Their toes and 
 noses are one and the same thing. They have 
 iron faces. They are never whipped. They have 
 sockets instead of necks. Their mode of locomotion 
 is called ' approaching.' This is a short swinging 
 gait. Sometimes, like play clubs, they drive, but no 
 kind of club ever walks. There are different kinds 
 of irons. A driving iron is used when it is too far 
 to Q-Q without doinor so. Loftino- irons are more 
 light-headed ; they look like their work, but do 
 not always do it. Cleeks are cleeks ; they are not 
 marked out from their creation for special uses. 
 You may carry a driving and an approaching cleek, 
 and a cleek for putting ; but if some one steals your 
 set, or if you die, your putting cleek may be used 
 for driving, etc. etc. 
 
 Then there are putters. A good one ought to
 
 OF SETS OF CLU15S AND OTHER Al'l'URTENANCES, 23 
 
 have the name ' Philp ' stamped on II \)y somebody 
 who must not tell you that he did it himself, or it 
 must have belonged to some one else Ijefore you 
 got it— either an old golfer who is dead (no matter 
 whether he was a good holer-out or not) or else to 
 a professional. No golfer with any self-respect 
 uses a putter which he has bought new out of a 
 shop for four shillings. 
 
 The niblick is too vulgar-looking for descrip- 
 tion in a polite treatise like this. He is a good 
 fellow, however, ever ready to get you out of a 
 hole. 
 
 These are the ordinary clubs, but there are many 
 more. There are clubs with vulcanite heads, with 
 german silver faces, with horn faces, clubs with 
 bamboo shafts, clubs with cork grips. Old gentle- 
 men use baffy spoons. 
 
 The * President ' is a niblick with a hole in it, 
 which might be a very good niblick if it were not 
 a president. It is called a president because the 
 hole makes it clear-headed. 
 
 There are putting irons which are not irons but 
 putters. People who putt badly use these, and are 
 happy, although they only put it out of their power 
 ever to putt well. There are putters made like 
 croquet mallets, and there are perfectly upright 
 ones. The latter are of no use to corpulent
 
 24 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 persons, as they cannot see the ball. Even the 
 emaciated hole-out better without them. 
 
 Old-fashioned irons look like the missing link 
 between a meat cleaver and a kitchen spoon. 
 They all originally belonged to somebody's grand- 
 father, and are only now to be found in glass cases 
 or in the sets of very bad players, who, according 
 to whether they had a golfing grandfather or not, 
 expiscate or purchase them. The player, when 
 getting this instrument from his caddy, does not ask 
 for an iron in the usual way. He says ' Give me 
 my heavy iron,' in a tone which causes the inex- 
 perienced adversary to despair. In reality, using 
 an old-fashioned iron is the last expedient of those 
 who cannot loft a ball with anything else. Even 
 this expedient often fails, but defeat is at least 
 avenged by the destruction of the green. 
 
 In addition to ordinary and extraordinary, there 
 are special clubs (most of my own invention), few 
 of which have as yet come into general use. 
 
 The automatic self-adjusting tee is a simple little 
 contrivance whose name explains it. It prevents 
 toeing, heeling, and topping, correcting errors in the 
 swing of the club, acting somewhat in the same way 
 as the compensating balance of a watch. It is a 
 convenience to attach the automatic tee to your 
 button-hole by a string which can be used to lift it
 
 OF SETS OF CLUBS AND OTHER AITURTENANCES. 25 
 
 to your hand after each shot, just as the organ-man 
 jerks up his monkey when about to move on. 
 
 The portable platform for the feet, when the 
 stance is bad, cannot be recommended. A spade to 
 level the ground is more easily carried, and equally 
 efficacious. 
 
 The 'Dynamite' is a very powerful weapon. It 
 is a club in the face of which is inserted a small 
 cartridge which explodes when the ball strikes it. 
 With this club a good driver has been known to 
 get past the long hole at St. Andrews in one shot. 
 Loading for each drive is, however, so inconvenient 
 that the dynamite has not come into general use. 
 Besides, the trouble, the expense, and danger con- 
 nected with it are so considerable as to make it 
 unpopular. It would be rash to start on a round 
 without a surgeon to carry the clubs, and surgeons 
 of course charge more than ordinary caddies. If 
 dynamites came into general use the rules of golf 
 would require to be slightly altered. As they stand 
 at present, holes would occasionally be lost be- 
 cause the player could not come up to time. Ten 
 minutes is scarcely enough to allow for trepanning, 
 which would often be necessary, as the cartridge 
 frequently fails to go off till the club has reached 
 the level of the head. With a dynamite it is safer to 
 jerk than to take a full swing. The author does not 
 
 d
 
 26 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 recommend the dynamite. It reduces golf too nearly 
 to the level of grouse driving or covert shooting. 
 
 The putter scale is a light iron tripod, into which 
 you adjust an ordinary putter, placing the tripod so 
 that the head of the putter rests behind the ball. 
 On the tripod there is a scale showing the distance 
 the putter is to be drawn back and let fall for each 
 length of putt. Of course the player has to guess 
 the said length for himself. 
 
 We now come to the subject of golf balls, of 
 which, as of clubs, there are many kinds — not, 
 however, like the clubs, to be used for different 
 shots. There are twenty-sixes to twenty-nines, 
 guttas, eclipses, black, white, and red balls, and the 
 magnet ball. The numbers twenty-six to twenty- 
 nine are purely sentimental, W' hite balls are used 
 when there is neither snow nor daisies, red ones 
 when there is either, black ones by the poor and 
 the stingy. Black eclipses are less objectionable 
 than black guttas, for at least they are round. 
 With a black eclipse one is allowed to pretend that 
 tlic love of money is not the root of the evil. The 
 magnetic ball is one of my own many inventions. 
 It is simply an ordinary ball containing a small 
 magnet which enables the player to hole-out with 
 great precision, the iron in the hole (the 'tin,' it is 
 called) attracting the magnet. For driving north
 
 OF SETS OF CLUBS AND OTIIKR Al'I'L" RTI;NANCI-;s. 27 
 
 the mac^net ball is very good, but in driving east or 
 west some allowance must be made for the skid of 
 attraction. During a thunderstorm the carry of 
 these balls is really astonishing. 
 
 ' But,' cries the beginner despondingly, ' must 
 I buy all these things ? ' He certainly may if he 
 choose. Like some patent medicines, if they do no 
 good, they will do no harm. The usual course, how- 
 ever, for the tyro is reluctantly to be persuaded to 
 buy a cleek and a driver, and to get the loan of a ball. 
 This is sure to decide- him to go in for the game, 
 and he buys a full set — namely a driver, a long 
 spoon, a mid spoon, a short spoon, a cleek, an 
 iron niblick, a putter, if he goes to a club-maker. 
 If he buys a friend's spare clubs, they will be 
 a more necessitous-looking lot, the shafts either 
 twisted or too thick to twist. This docs not much 
 matter, as the whole set will be broken several times 
 over before the tyro begins to develop notions of 
 his own. With an old coat, nailed boots, and some 
 balls, he is ready to start. Gloves for blistered 
 hands, pitch to make the gloves grip, sticking-plaster 
 for frayed fingers, a knife for sharp nails, elastic 
 wristlets for started sinews, may be purchased either 
 at once or as the necessity for them arises. As 
 soon as the tyro is admitted to a club, it is his duty 
 to buy a golfing umbrella for the use of the members.
 
 28 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 Bad players always carry a very large set, but 
 the converse of this proposition is not true, many 
 good ones doing the same. Still, there are certain 
 inferences to be drawn from sets of clubs. One 
 need never be afraid to give a shade of odds to a 
 player who carries three spoons. It is safer not to 
 bet with a man who has none. Why bad players 
 carry all these spoons I have never been able to 
 make out. Perhaps it is to encourage themselves 
 with — to use and discard as each in rotation proves 
 itself ineffectual. It is certain that one or other be- 
 comes for the time being favourite. It is the best club 
 he ever had ; he can drive further with it than with 
 a play club (a doubtful advantage, one would think. 
 Would a man praise a putter which sent a two-yard 
 putt three past the hole ?). The largeness of a bad 
 player's set is usually due to excess of wooden clubs. 
 Approaching, being all a fluke, he leaves to chance. 
 The good player with notions, on the other hand, 
 runs riot in irons and cleeks, mashies, niblicks, and 
 putters, each of which is supposed to have specialties 
 in the way of loft, length of carry, etc. etc. That 
 constantly changing does not ruin his play is be- 
 cause of the extra care needed to hit accurately. 
 The man of one iron is apt now and then to miss 
 from too implicit trust in the familiar face which has 
 never deceived him for many a round.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OF CADDIES. 
 
 Caddies are persons employed to carry golfers' 
 clubs. Some people call them ' candies,' others try 
 to do without them ; but experience teaches that a 
 bad one is better than none. 
 
 On the older greens, where carrying is estab- 
 lished as a free trade, there is a very miscellaneous 
 selection of caddies — boys, ragamuffins just out of 
 prison, workmen out of a job, and professional 
 carriers. All but the last ought to be avoided. 
 
 A good boy to carry is not a bad thing in its 
 way. From him too much must not be expected. 
 If the tees he makes are not over two inches in 
 diameter, if each time a club is required he is not 
 further than three minutes' walk from his master, if 
 he knows the names of the clubs, he is a good boy. 
 But on free greens, where there are professionals, 
 the boys do not come up to this standard. They 
 are, however, cheaper than professionals. The 
 workman out of a job is not cheaper, besides being 
 more inefficient than a boy.
 
 30 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 From men who have adopted carrying as a trade, 
 the golfer is entitled to expect the highest standard 
 of efficiency. If he carries for you regularly, the 
 professional ought to know what club you intend to 
 take, and to give it without being asked. When 
 you are in doubt about how to play your shot, he 
 ought to confirm you in the opinion you have 
 formed reeardine it. He must never show the 
 just contempt he has for your oame. 
 
 Carrying clubs is one of the most agreeable 
 trades open to the lower orders. In it an amount 
 of drunkenness is tolerated which in any other would 
 land the men in the workhouse. A very low 
 standard of efficiency and very little work will secure 
 a man a decent livelihood. If he is civil, willing to 
 carry for three or four hours a day, and not apt to 
 drink to excess before his work is done, he will earn 
 a fair wage, and yet be able to lie abed till nine in the 
 morning like a lord. If he does not drink (this is a 
 hard condition, as he has little else to do), he is posi- 
 tively well-off ; if he makes balls, and can play a good 
 game himself, he may become rich. A caddy who, 
 in addition, employs his leisure (of which there will 
 still remain a great deal) in acquiring the elements 
 of an education, may rise to be a green-keeper or a 
 club-master, and after his death be better known to 
 fame than man\- a defunct statesman or orator.
 
 OF CADDIES. 3 I 
 
 As a rule, however, the professional caddy is a 
 contented being, spending what he gets as soon as 
 he gets it, a Conservative in politics, a heathen in 
 religion. He is a Conservative because he likes 
 and admires gentlemen, who, according to his idea, 
 are the class which plays golf and overpays him. 
 He is a heathen, churches being to his mind as 
 sacred to (gentlemen as clubs. 
 
 A caddy's occupation being connected with a 
 sport, he hates anything which would tend to 
 make it a steady, regular wage-earning business. 
 Accordingly badges, tariffs, and benefit societies 
 he abominates. Clubs or eating-houses got up 
 for his advantage he will have nothing to do with, 
 if conditioned with the payment of a periodical 
 sum, however small. A coffee-house erected for him 
 unconditionally is well enough. It can do no more 
 harm than the gift of a suit of old clothes too 
 ragged to wear. A caddy is always grateful for, 
 and solicitous of, suits of old tweeds. If you 
 offer him a frock-coat, he suspects you of quizzing. 
 The sumptuary laws in his set make the wearing 
 of frock-coats or knickerbockers impossible. Nor 
 is a gift of shirts appreciated by caddies. Our 
 shirts are too light in colour for their fashion of 
 wearing one till it is only fit to send to the paper- 
 maker.
 
 32 THE ART OF GOLF, 
 
 On free greens the question of paying caddies 
 is rather a troublesome one. There is usually an 
 understood tariff. But as ragged children, miners 
 out of work, discharged coachmen and butlers, 
 drunkards who have spent their all, and ex-criminals 
 are entitled to be paid on this scale for very inferior 
 work, the professional carriers naturally expect more. 
 What this more ought to be no man knows. It is 
 useless to ask a friend what he pays, for he will 
 not tell the truth. He will understate the amount. 
 He dare not admit to having overpaid his caddy. 
 Since John Stuart Mill and others made the law of 
 supply and demand popular, the morality of stingi- 
 ness, except where your name is to appear in a 
 subscription list, has been fully admitted. There- 
 fore to pay a caddy as much as will be accepted 
 without grumbling, and to announce it, will lead you 
 into an argument. Here is a specimen of the kind 
 of thing I myself have gone through : — 
 
 ' How much did you give your caddy ? ' 
 
 (Rather ashamed) ' Four shillings ' (having given 
 five). 
 
 ' What nonsense ! Three shillings are more than 
 enough. 
 
 ' Perhaps' (rather mildly, but feeling right). 
 
 'Just spoiling the market. Three shillings for 
 three hours' work ! — more than any skilled work-
 
 OF CADDIES. 33 
 
 man can earn. Besides, it does no orood — they 
 just spend it.' 
 
 1 submit; but alone in the evening I have it out 
 with my hard-headed friend. 1 say : — 
 
 ' Sir, when you accuse me of spoihng the market 
 you are merely degrading free-trade principles to 
 the position of handmaids of your selfish avarice. 
 Free trade can live alongside of charity. If not, I 
 go for charity. You seem to have heard of Adam 
 Smith's Wealth of Nations, but not of his treatise 
 on the Moral Scnti]]icuts. You have evidently read 
 neither; or, if you will argue on the selfish prin- 
 ciple, it is politic to overpay caddies. Cheapening 
 golf is debasing golf. I wish it were compulsory 
 to pay a sovereign a round. These school-boys 
 and mechanics, and pot-hat golfers with a club and 
 a cleek, are a nuisance. I wish gutta-percha balls 
 had never been invented, and, as for eclipses, they 
 are simple communism. They rob wealth of its 
 advantages. 
 
 ' " The caddies will only drink the more if over- 
 paid," you say. Indeed ! and to what good purpose 
 do you apply the money you grudge to the poor ? 
 Is there something nobler in your gout and dys- 
 pepsia than in my caddy's red nose ? Or no ! I 
 do not despise your gout (I feel a twitch myself), 
 but your incapacity for taking pleasure in giving it 
 
 c
 
 34 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 (cheaply) to others is what I contemn. An Epi- 
 curean with the vices of a Stoic, and none of his 
 virtues ! I shall grossly overpay my caddy in future.' 
 On the newer greens, private ones, and those far 
 from a town— in short, where it has been possible to 
 reduce the carrying proletariat to subjection — the 
 player will find a crowd of boys, with a sprinkling of 
 meek men, near the club-house, from whom to choose 
 a caddy. Under these circumstances a boy should 
 be chosen. The men are no better than they, and, 
 being grown up, not so scoldable. T rom boys, as I 
 have said, the same standard of carrying cannot be 
 expected as from professionals, but a well-chosen boy 
 is satisfactory enough. He must not be too big. 
 The big ones are usually louts wdio cannot stay the 
 distance. He must not be too intelligent-looking. 
 The bright-eyed, eager boy is apt to be admiring 
 Nature whilst you are w^aiting for a club, and his 
 interest in the game being awakened by a sharp 
 word, it becomes for the moment too intense. He 
 arranges the clubs whilst you are putting, or 
 wanders into inconvenient situations to see you hole- 
 out. The intelligent boy is sometimes himself a 
 golfer. For the first half-round, whilst studying 
 your game, he is a perfect treasure. After that, 
 with the arrogance of youth, he assumes that he 
 knows more than you do, and clubs are offered be-
 
 OF CADDIES. 35 
 
 fore asked, advice given in re<;ard to distances, etc. 
 Another kind of boy is chatty, and iiis anecdotes, 
 autobiographical and local, which at lirst amuse, be- 
 come intolerable as the match closes in darker and 
 darker each hole. An embryo village plumber or 
 carpenter, neither clever nor stupid, will carr\' best. 
 On his home green the golfer soon settles upon 
 a professional or a boy to his mind, according as 
 his is a free or a controlled green. On the latter, 
 when he is merely on a visit, there is not much 
 trouble either. Any person has the moral courage 
 to pay off a child at the end of the day if he 
 does not suit, and to try another. It is different 
 when you have once employed a man. Steam- 
 ing, say to St. Andrews, the player is filled with 
 anxious thought regarding caddies. He makes 
 up his mind what manner of man to employ ; but 
 scarcely does he set foot in the station before he is 
 bewildered by a dozen clamouring volunteers, unless 
 he has had the forethouoht to disguise himself as a 
 commercial traveller or as a tourist. Even disguise 
 will only delay the inevitable for a few moments ; 
 when the tell-tale club box comes out of the van he 
 is discovered. It is of course possible to flee before 
 it is laid on the platform, leaving secret instructions 
 with a trusty porter. But if the player has ever 
 visited St. Andrews before, disguise and flight are
 
 .36 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 of no avail. Years may have elapsed since his last 
 visit, nevertheless he will be greeted by name. 
 Several will assert that they carried for him before. 
 He must either be more than humanly firm, or else 
 be diplomatic, asserting, for instance, that he has a 
 sprained wrist and does not intend to play, or 
 before he has got to his lodgings he will find him- 
 self the thrall of perhaps the same being who 
 poisoned his last visit. It might seem that the 
 simplest course was to employ a boy so small that 
 the weakest of men could dismiss him if unsatis- 
 factory. But somehow there are none such at 
 St. Andrews. There are carrying persons with the 
 outward semblance of boys, but these chew, smoke, 
 and drink. It seems as if education or something 
 brido-ed the space between childhood and manhood. 
 Should the player escape to his lodgings un- 
 pledged, his best plan is to get down to the club as 
 unobtrusively as possible, and make a selection from 
 the window with an opera-glass. A caddy once 
 eneaeed, most men make the best of him. Should 
 he disappear for a day or two, having gone on the 
 spree, you are not necessarily free from him. You 
 have probably furnished the means for the debauch 
 by paying some days' wages in advance, and it seems 
 hard to sacrifice the money entirely, more especially 
 as the miscreant will return humble and apologetic.
 
 OK CADDIES. 37 
 
 Yet it is not so dilhcult as it seems, even lor a man 
 of average will, to dismiss a caddy who is not to his 
 taste. The best plan is to pay him at the end of 
 the day, and say nothing about it, making some 
 excuse for taking your set into the club-liouse 
 instead of leaving them in his charge. Next day 
 you take on a fresh caddy by simply handing the 
 clubs to him, and it is astonishing how little demur 
 the old one will make. Caddies are a race as proud 
 as they are improvident, and, however sycophantic 
 under ordinary circumstances, they will take no other 
 revenue for this insultino- sort of dismissal than to 
 assert that they left because underpaid, and because 
 it is too wearisome to carry for such a bad golfer. 
 
 To summarise my advice in regard to caddies 
 on greens to which the golfer is a temporary 
 visitor, I advise him, where there is a corps of 
 badged and licensed caddies, to choose the smallest 
 boy who seems capable of getting round, and to 
 keep him, if he stands still during play, and is 
 generally within earshot when a club is required. 
 It is necessary that he should not leave the ball 
 in the hole, nor lose clubs on the way round. On 
 free greens, persons having the outward semblance 
 of boys are to be avoided, and a professional 
 chosen if a good one be known to the player. If, 
 however, he is a complete stranger to the green,
 
 THE ART OF GOLF, 
 
 his safest course is to select a decrepit old man. 
 His age proves him not to be an inconveniently 
 excessive drinker, whilst being steady and still a 
 carrier of clubs further proves that he is a meek, 
 mild, mindless creature, who will trudge round 
 without interfering.
 
 PART II. 
 OF PLAYING THE GAME.
 
 ADDRESSING FOR A DRIVE.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF DRIVING IN GENERAL. 
 
 It is a common complaint that, with so many 
 things to be thought of at golf, accuracy is almost 
 impossible. This is not the way to state the case. 
 It should rather stand : If points of style are 
 thought about and trusted to, bad shots will be 
 frequent. That there is some secret which, if 
 discovered, would make our driving infallible is a 
 belief which dies hard. Nostrum after nostrum is 
 tried day after day, Hope is quickly followed by a 
 despairing desire to break the whole set or spite- 
 fully to present them to a friend, so that he too may 
 suffer. Time after time the golfer thinks he has 
 discovered what he was doing wrong. He gushes 
 about it, or gives half-a-cro\vn to the professional 
 who has found it out. Alas ! there is no side road 
 to golf. It can never be certain. With careful 
 aiming for each shot, it may become pretty steady, 
 but even with this there will be better and worse 
 drives. It would be going too far to say dog- 
 
 /
 
 42 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 matically that nothing but aim must have a place 
 in the golfer's thought, although it is perhaps best 
 so ; but certainly if stance, or swing, or address are 
 dwelt upon it must be as subsidiary points. ' There 
 is something wrong about my style,' says the golfer, 
 ' which is causing me to drive so short.' ' Not at 
 all,' say I ; ' aim more accurately.' Hand and eye 
 and body must concentrate themselves on, restrain 
 themselves to, hitting cleanly, fairly, firmly ; not 
 greedily, wildly, gaily. The golfer cannot afford to 
 allow a favourite muscle to disport itself. The eye 
 is officer, the muscles liners, each doing the duty 
 required of tliem and no more. The tongue only 
 may wag as it will without doing harm or good. 
 
 There is no alternative. It is of no use to say 
 to the ball, ' I will make thee magnificent gifts if 
 thou wilt yield thy secret. I am ready to wrench 
 and thump for thee, to stand nearer or further from 
 thee, to bend the knee. I will imitate the swing of 
 a Morris to conciliate thee.' The ball wants none 
 of these self-glorifying gifts. Abandon body and 
 will to hitting, and the hidden secret of the mystic 
 27 J shall be revealed. 
 
 Still, the amateur golfer must be allowed to theo- 
 rise to some extent. It is a necessary concession 
 to him as a thinkino- animal. Within the indicated 
 limits, it will do little or no harm ; but because he
 
 OF DRIVING IX GliNERAL. 43 
 
 does not think the professional is better than the 
 amateur, the uncultivated beats the educated player. 
 The former finds enough intellectual pabulum for 
 his duller brain in the prosy principles of simply 
 slogging-. To grasp the idea of doing so, sufficiently 
 occupies his thoughts. For an educated man to 
 confine himself to so narrow a range is irksome. 
 The professional's theorising does not go beyond 
 T hit lazy — I heeled — I topped — I sclafTed — I toed.' 
 To perceive so much is an effort of observation. 
 The amateur must consciously exclude thought, if 
 he is to confine himself to such elementary facts. It 
 is noticeable that he {in distinction from the pro- 
 fessional) asks, ' Why did I heel — top — sclaff— toe ?' 
 — and if golf is to be a pleasure, not a business, he 
 must be allowed to ask these thinos. The amateur, 
 if keen, is inductive, deductive, inventive. If not, 
 he is apt to give up the game as too simple. On 
 the other hand, if he does not recognise ' hitting 
 the ball ' as his business, theory as his recreation, 
 he becomes so bad a player that he nearly gives 
 up. 
 
 ' Keep your eye on the ball,' is the categorical 
 imperative of the golfing world ; below which 
 there is room for much harmless digression. Say 
 that I am playing very well, but that there is some 
 irrational difference between my style with short
 
 44 THE ART OF COLF. 
 
 Spoon and driver. A professional would not know 
 this of himself, or, if told, would not care. It is 
 outside the range of his ideas. ' Im driving fine,' he 
 would say. But your amateur cannot rest till he 
 has corrected one of the styles into uniformity with 
 the other, or found a rational cause for the difference. 
 If A. drives high, B. low, is it possible that A. with 
 a university education, can rest satisfied with merely 
 observing this fact ? No. He will try to find out 
 why, and, having done so, will either modify his 
 style, or register to himself the conclusion that he 
 prefers to drive high. The amateur ought to think. 
 The man who buys a baffy because he can't drive 
 with a clcek has not a cultivated mind. If he carry 
 both — if his set is composed of a lot of preposterous 
 inventions of his own, all of which he uses in turn, 
 he increases the difficulties of the game indeed, but 
 is nevertheless noble in not accepting defeat at the 
 hands of any club. 
 
 Experiment, so long as the major premise is not 
 lost sight of, is the recreation which may be allowed 
 to the orolfer whilst attending- to his business. It 
 is a necessary concession to human nature ; it is 
 the spoonful of jelly with the Gregory's mixture; it 
 is the working man's half holiday, and a great 
 many other analogous things. By all means let 
 us have our clubs long or short, heavy or light,
 
 OF I)R1VIN(; IN GKNERAL. 45 
 
 upright or flat. The goiter may be trustcxl in th(! 
 long-run to give up anything which is too fanciful, 
 although for a time he may spoil his play with a 
 fad. It is harmless to buy clubs from professionals 
 for gold, no better than what arc for sale in the 
 shops for four shillings. 
 
 The player may experiment about his swing, 
 his grip, his stance. It is only when he begins 
 asking his caddy's advice that he is getting on 
 dangerous ground. A professional can play. It 
 does not follow that he can teach others. He can 
 comfortably assimilate foods and drinks (more par- 
 ticularly the latter) which would prostrate those he 
 carries for on a bed of sickness. Is he therefore 
 an authority on dietetics ? But being constantly 
 asked for advice, the professional has a few stock 
 prescriptions which he gives recklessly, doing more 
 harm than orood. So anxious is the t^olfer to learn 
 without plodding that he uses these eagerly. The 
 truth is, your caddy is a good judge of distance and 
 direction. He can advise well what club to take, 
 but as to how to use it, he may show, but ought 
 not to be asked to advise. For instance, the player 
 is persistently driving to the right or to the left of 
 the line he wishes to follow. Let him correct his 
 stand, but let him do so accepting the fact that he 
 is standing wrong because his eye is at fault. Let
 
 46 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 him tr\' to see straight. He ought to come away 
 from his ball, and take up his position afresh with 
 careful reference to his intended direction. I^ut 
 the usual thing is to accept the caddy's dictum 
 (stand "more behind' or stand 'more in front') 
 blindly, and, without looking up, to scuffle about 
 with the feet. When told, ' That will do," the 
 player either misses, being stiff and twisted ; or — 
 what is more common — he scuffles back to where 
 he was at first, like a sitting hen moved from her 
 eofofs, and drives off the line. Havino^ done this 
 latter a dozen times, it seems that the position the 
 caddy advises must be the solution of the difficulty. 
 He, who has been driving persistently to the right, 
 has got into the position shown in diagram No. i ; 
 \ in other words, his left foot has 
 
 : o got nearer the ball than the right, 
 
 which it has a strong natural in- 
 clination to do, and the tendency 
 is to drive in the direction of the 
 arrow, and not of the dots. What 
 j J ought really to be done is that the 
 player stand up naturally and aim 
 carefully. The result of applying 
 a correction such as ' stand behind ' will not make 
 the ball go straight until the awkward position of 
 diagram No. 2 is reached.
 
 OF DRIVING IX GENERAL. 47 
 
 It may seem that if the advice, instead ot being, 
 as it always is, * Stand more behind.' were ' Change 
 the position of one of your feet,' o 
 the result would not be to produce 
 the style of Fig. 2. I>ut this 
 would alter the player's distance 
 from the ball, and, instead of being 
 the beginning of a cycle of fatal / / /\ 
 
 and deceptive good driving, would (y 
 
 inaugurate a round of tops, heels, i.,r.. 2. 
 
 or pulls, to the immediate discredit of the caddy. 
 If I wished to be cynical, 1 should say, therefore, 
 ' Change one foot ' is the better advice. But no ! 
 the proper thing to do is to try again. Anything 
 else is absurd. Were a caddy to say, ' You would 
 drive better with my arms,' or were he to offer the 
 loan of any other limb, the nonsense would be 
 evident. Yet the absurdity of using his eyes does 
 not seem apparent. The player allows himself to 
 be put in position like a lay figure. Even suppose 
 he understands the orders, and does pose as the 
 caddy intends, a lay figure cannot hit a ball. One 
 man's mind cannot work another man's body. 
 
 The following is a specimen of what may be 
 expected if a player hopes to drive by taking 
 advice instead of aiming at the ball with his own 
 eyes.
 
 48 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 Player (ist shot).—* Why did I heel that ? ' 
 
 Caddy. — ' Drawing- in your arms.' 
 
 Player (2d shot). — ' Why did I pull that } ' 
 
 Caddy. — ' Drawing in your arms.' 
 
 Player (heeling again).—' There ! I did not draw 
 in my arms that time.' 
 
 Caddy. — ' No, sir, ye cut it.' 
 
 Player (4th shot). — ' There 's that confounded 
 heel again.' 
 
 Caddy. — 'Ye didna cut it. Ye hit it clean 
 enough that time ; but ye were stanin' that way.' 
 
 Player (examining his club face after a vicious 
 top). — ' Right off the heel too. What on earth is 
 the meaning of it ? ' 
 
 Caddy. — 'Ye 're fallin' in on the ball.' 
 
 Player (6th shot). — ' Another top.' 
 
 Caddy. — ' Ay, ye fell right back.' 
 
 Player. — ' Oh, hang it ! with so many things to 
 be thought of all at once, steady play is almost 
 impossible.' 
 
 Having heard all that passed I here remark 
 with a sniile — meaning sardonic and oracular — ' Not 
 almost, but quite impossible.' 
 
 Another error, nearly as bad as to take advice 
 blindly, is for a player, when standing wrongly, to try 
 to pull or push the ball according to the correction 
 for direction desired. Let him rather correct his
 
 PLATE II. 
 
 TOM MORRIS DRIVING ( 1 ).
 
 PLATE III. 
 
 TOM MORRIS DRIVING ( -2 ). 
 {'It's cof/n'/i^'-.')
 
 PLATE (V. 
 
 TOM MORRIS DRIVING (3).
 
 OF DRIVING IN (iKN I'.RA L. 49 
 
 Stance. T^aults covered by faults do not cancel each 
 other. The second fault only gives the ball an ad- 
 ditional chance of escape from the way it should go. 
 Far the wisest course is to apply a direct remedy. 
 The pla)^er whose driving" is feeble should hit 
 harder, unless it is because he is nipping, or not 
 hitting off the middle of the club, in which cases he 
 ought not to nip. or should aim for the centre of 
 the head. It must be admitted, however, that it is 
 much easier, for the moment, to apply indirect 
 corrections, and few indeed are the formed golfers 
 on whose style the cicatrices of early patchings are 
 not visible. Some of these are almost harmless ; 
 but others may cripple the player permanently, 
 although at the time, like new brooms, they sweep 
 away the ball clean. For instance, there is a class 
 of stereotyped faults whose origin is traceable to 
 a miserable time when every ball was hopelessly 
 heeled. If the wretched man (oh, how despondent 
 he was then !) had only attributed his misery to the 
 true cause — namely, that he was heeling — the fault 
 would have corrected itself. But he found a royal 
 road to the middle of his club. You see the former 
 victims of heeling either standing nine feet from 
 their ball and taking a header at it, or so crouching 
 on their haunches that you are astonished, when the 
 stroke is made, to imd player and ball are not both 
 
 g
 
 50 THE ART (3F GOLF. 
 
 left seated. If yoti see a golfer draw his club so 
 slowly back that ten is easily counted before it 
 begins to return, as a tyro he has been one of 
 those who fervently wished that balls had no top. 
 Again, there are men who face the east when they 
 mean to cro north. The sole ambition of these has 
 been to drive a very long ball. They are victims to 
 the truth that a ball so struck will sometimes go 
 further north than one aimed to that part of the 
 compass. But what does it profit when it as often 
 eoes east or west ? Such fill men's o-ardens with 
 golf-balls, and lose many more in the waves of the 
 sea. 
 
 Do I maintain, then, the reader may ask, that 
 every one ought to have the same style ? By no 
 means ; on the contrary, for you or me to model 
 ourselves on a champion is about as profitless as to 
 copy out Hamlet in the hope of becoming Shake- 
 speare. If we have a neat style, so be it ; and if we 
 began before our hair was grey or gone, it probably 
 so is. But for a fat man to model hinself on a 
 swank youth is frivolous. We cannot ignore our 
 deformities. Our shoulders are heavy, our fore-arm 
 puny ; it is useless to rebel. A very easy long 
 swing is impossible with such a configuration. We 
 may play well — beat the swank youth very likely, — 
 but only if we are content with a stiff style. Are
 
 OFDRIVIXC I\ fJl-.NKKAr,. 5I 
 
 we lank and loosc-linibcd ? - So will our drivin*;- be, 
 if left to develop naturally. 
 
 On the other hand, there is no more fruitful 
 source of bad j^olf than to suppose that there; is 
 some best style for each individual which must be 
 searched out by him if he is to o'et the best results 
 out of himself In a broad and general \va)', each 
 player ought to have, and has, a style which is the 
 reflection of himself— his build, his mind, the age at 
 which he began, and his previous habits. The ex- 
 cricketer reflects cricket. The rowing-man has a 
 straight back, and there are characteristics in each 
 golfer the history of which it is more or less difficult 
 to trace. This is his style ; and however much he 
 may feel he modifies it, to an onlooker it will remain 
 the same — because it is the same. It is not the 
 general principles that a man has before him (of 
 these he is seldom conscious) when trying to find 
 out his absolutely best. It is some minor detail of 
 which he exaggerates the importance — some parti- 
 cular twitch, which has arrested his attention after 
 a very satisfactory drive. This will be stubbornly 
 pursued till it is exaggerated into a mannerism to 
 which it is secretly believed everything good in his 
 driving is due. If golfers could only become con- 
 vinced that no mannerism is of the slightest value, 
 that there are fifty different styles (by style I mean
 
 52 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 here the petty variables of which alone we are 
 conscious) in which a good shot can be made, that 
 it is not indispensable to repeat in the next the 
 same movements felt in one good shot, bad ones 
 w^ould be less frequent. There is, I repeat, a cate- 
 gorical imperative in golf — ' Hit the ball ; ' but there 
 are no minor absolutes. There is no best shape, 
 or w^eight, or lie of clubs — no best stance, grip, or 
 swing. From the nature of the case, one does not 
 change his driver during the round ; but the other 
 things may vary every shot — nay, will, unless one 
 makes a point of preventing them, sacrificing ease 
 and accuracy to a consistency which, if stubbornly 
 insisted on, may permanently cramp driving. 
 There is no better proof of this argument than 
 to watch a boy of about twelve, who hits every 
 ball clean and (for his strength) far, of w^hom 
 there are very many. At this age even the 
 broad features of style are imsettled. At one 
 moment he swings round his neck, at the next 
 round his shoulder, his feet near together or wide 
 apart, according to the unconscious fancy of the 
 moment. And yet each ball ilies away with un- 
 erring certainty. This should teach us that when 
 w^e think we see what we are doing wTong, or 
 w^hat we are doing right, that when we cling to this 
 bit of style or avoid that, w^e are merely distracting 
 our attention from the main issue.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OF STVLK IX DRIVING. 
 
 For the purpose of analysis the swing of the golfer 
 may be divided into three parts: ist. Position; 
 2d, Address ; 3d, Swing proper. 
 
 Position. — Some treatises on the game tell us 
 in feet and inches the distance the player ought to 
 stand from the ball ; in decrrees, the ansfle at w^hich 
 it ought to be placed between his feet. Such 
 information, whether true or not, is unpractical. 
 Arithmetic is required to count the shots, but 
 cannot assist us in making them ; and as for 
 mensuration— well ! a six-inch scale marked on the 
 putter shaft often prevents disputes. Roughly 
 speaking, however, it may be laid down that one 
 ought to stand what professionals call square to the 
 ball — that is to say, facing at right angles to the 
 direction it is meant to drive in. An}' decided 
 deviation from this position is a mistake, although 
 scarcely any one adheres to it absolutely. Many 
 place the left foot nearer the ball than the right,
 
 54 TIIK ART OF GOLF. 
 
 commonly called standino- ' in front' (thoiio-h differ- 
 ent from the fault of doing- so illustrated in ¥lg. i, 
 o p. 46), and lean more weight on the 
 
 former than on the latter. This is 
 because the left leg of most men is 
 the stronger. Some of the finest 
 players stand to their ball in this 
 way ; but on the whol-e it is to be 
 avoided, because it tends to produce 
 
 Standing ' in front. 
 
 Ftp '^ 
 
 wildness and uncertainty of driving. 
 
 Obviously the position offers facili- 
 ties for a long swing back, and those who are lured 
 on by the charms of an occasional raker will adopt 
 it. Why occasional ? The reason seems to be that 
 when the heel of the left foot leaves the ground 
 most of the weight of the body is supported on its 
 toes, which unsteadies the players balance, and 
 consequently his driving. The remedy is scarcely 
 to let the heel leave the ground at all — a correction 
 made by all steady drivers who have acquired this 
 style. The segment of swing thus chopped off is, 
 however, lost entirely. It cannot be added to the 
 other end, as, of course, the stance which takes the 
 right shoulder out of the road brings the other more 
 forward. The result is shorter driving if steady 
 off the tee, but not from bad lies ; for this stance, 
 by enabling the player to get ' his shoulders well
 
 OF STVLK IN DRININC. 55 
 
 into it,' is very cominanding-. On the whole, liuw- 
 ever, it is better to stand square or open as in i'v^. 
 4 or 5. This gives freer scope for o 
 
 a full second half to the swing-, 
 which, I shall insist further on, is of 
 more importance than the first half. 
 Exaggeration, even conscious pos- 
 ing, in either direction, will produce, 
 in the first case, pulling, wildness, 
 topping; in the second, heeling, .9,^4"' '^^"-r.' 
 skying, or at best feebleness. 
 
 If we observe a player who stands 'square' 
 about to strike, it will be apparent that his ball is at 
 a more obtuse angle to his left than to his right 
 foot. If the player stands 'in front' (Fig. 3), as it 
 is called, the ball is more nearly still in a line wath 
 the left, the opposite being true when the stance 
 is ' open.' But in practice he ought o 
 
 not to attempt to measure this angle, 
 for the all-sufficient reason that his 
 measurement wall be wrong. To 
 prove this, we have but to ask 
 an experienced player who stands 
 ' square,' at what angle he poses to 
 his ball. He will say at an equal sM.r'oj^a.r 
 anele from each foot. We have but to watch him 
 play to be convinced that he is mistaken. That
 
 56 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 he cannot measure it will be made evident by a 
 little experiment reg-arding another point. Some 
 players turn their toes in, some out. (Which is 
 right ? Either, provided the position be not 
 strained.) Now, if you place yourself opposite a 
 ball, at what some books call the proper angle, 
 it will be found that by pivoting on the heels, 
 although your place, or its, is in no way changed, 
 a drive would be impossible without lifting one 
 foot and putting it down somewhere else. 
 
 As the angle at which the player ought to stand 
 can only be determined by instinct, as a com- 
 prehensive glance at feet and ball will give no 
 information even to engineers accustomed to men- 
 suration, so there is no measurable proper distance 
 at which we ouQ^ht to be from the ball. Much 
 depends on the lie of the club, its length, that of 
 the man, and his style. Yet the varying of it is 
 a common cause of bad driving. Quite suddenly, 
 from unconsciously changing it, a player goes off 
 his game : without knowing it, he begins to hold 
 his hands too far reached out, or to stoop forward 
 with his body. It is useless for him to note his 
 proper distance some time when he is driving well, 
 for he may maintain that and yet be all wrong. 
 For instance, he may be cancelling his overreach by 
 standing very upright, or stooping and tucking in
 
 OK STVI.K IN JJRIXING. 57 
 
 his arms. Always to take a natural pose towards 
 the ball must be the result of habit. Even the best 
 players go wrong occasionally from getting into the 
 way of standing at the wrong distance. The worst 
 of it is, stooping or overreaching soon feels natural, 
 and the bad driving is ascribed to some other cause. 
 In its proper place, I will point out a few of the 
 results as regards the ball, which ought to awaken 
 suspicion that our position has got wrong. 
 
 How far apart the feet ought to be is the next 
 point. About this, as about so many other things, 
 there is no hard and fast rule. It is sufficient to 
 point out that the closer they are, the freer will be 
 your swing ; but when they get too near together 
 your driving will become feeble and uncertain 
 in direction. On the other hand, a wide stride 
 stiffens the player, thus shortening his driving, 
 although it gives him power. In a bunker, or in 
 a bad lie, it is politic to straddle more than usual, 
 if you remember at the same time to swing short. 
 
 Address. — After taking their stance, most 
 players are in the habit of making some preliminary 
 motions with their club before proceeding to drive. 
 In some cases these flourishes are slight, in others 
 more free : but, whichever they be, they are only 
 reasonable and advantageous, if made to waken up 
 the muscles and to let the hands settle to their grip. 
 
 h
 
 58 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 With two many players, addressing the ball is 
 merely an excuse for other thoughts. One will take 
 this opportunit}- to scuffle round his ball, another to 
 get nearer it or further from it, another to lift his 
 toes and assure himself that his heels are well on the 
 ground, another to look at his feet or the position of 
 his hands, another to hunch up a shoulder, another 
 to turn in a toe. In other words, the time durinof 
 which the player should be getting concentrated on 
 the work of hitting, many waste in thinking of the 
 quackeries which they hope will take the responsi- 
 bility of aiming off their shoulders. Some of those 
 who thus waste the precious moments make no 
 pretence of shaking themselves together. They 
 stand stock-still. What are they thinking of ? Are 
 they bidding a fond adieu to the ball, shrewdly sus- 
 pecting that the club head may not be passing that 
 way on its return journey. Slowly and reluctantly 
 at last club and ball part, when suddenly whack! 
 From others there are storm warnings. The club 
 rises, and returns solemnly — Once ! twice ! thrice ! 
 The player seems to say, ' I warn you, look out. 
 Look out once ! twice ! thrice ! Very well, take that, 
 and off you go ! ' Then there is the elbow twitch, 
 which seems to say, ' I am just shaking my clothes 
 loose to go for you, and getting my arms free to 
 follow you.' It is a bragging kind of address,.
 
 OF STVLK IN DRIVING. 59 
 
 which threatens a strong- blow, aiul is rcall}- pre- 
 liminary to a weak one;. 'Vhr conficlL-nt twiddle 
 which makes no pretence of aiming, Ijut conimand- 
 ingly points out to the ball tlie direction of the hole, 
 and is followed by an angry quick swing, such as 
 comes unawares behind a disobedient child, is not 
 so sure to strike home as the blow it is compared to. 
 Some twiddles are complimentary to faults which 
 the player proposes to avoid. A long, slow straight 
 motion over the ball foreshadows a determination 
 to follow it well. A stiff small one means that the 
 player is bent on gripping tight. A quick jerky one 
 betrays the intention of driving a screamer. There 
 is the sanguine, the phlegmatic, the healthy, the 
 headachy flourish, and a thousand more. None of 
 these, except in so far as they suggest that the 
 player has a right or a wrong idea as to how the 
 fact of a palpable hit is to be accomplished, are 
 essential. But placing the club behind the ball for 
 an instant after them is essential, if the shot is not 
 to be more or less bad. Although the address is 
 usually a shadow of things to come, it is no guaran- 
 tee of them. h>ee preliminaries are quite compatible 
 with a cramped performance, and z'wc zrrsa. ... It 
 may be said, then. Why not abandon them alto- 
 gether ? Why not place the club beliind the ball, 
 and strike at once ? In these cases, where address-
 
 6o THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 ing the ball consists in merely making ornamental 
 flourishes, or when they are gone through to give 
 the player time to speculate on the chances of a 
 miss, or to call up before his imagination a view of 
 the bunker in front which he has just taken a last 
 glance at, they would be better dispensed with. 
 But, properly apprehended, they have their uses, 
 some of which we have indicated : the chief one, I 
 wish now to insist upon. 
 
 ' How ought I to grip my club?' is a question 
 which causes lifelong trouble to, and bars the pro- 
 gress of, many players. Addressing the ball means 
 working their hands into some cramped position. 
 They arrange the left hand tight, the right loose or 
 tight, in the palm or in the fingers, under the club, 
 over it, or with the knuckles pointing in some pre- 
 scribed direction, according to whose disciple they 
 are. There is scarcely a modification of holding 
 with two hands which some one has not adopted as 
 his grip, each giving its owner a sense of command 
 over the club, so long as it is at rest, behind the ball. 
 That a player should give attention to this impor- 
 tant matter is right enough ; but the mistake usually 
 made is to get the hands into the most efficient 
 position for dealing a heavy, instead of a swift blow, 
 without reference to the most essential point in a 
 t^rip— namely, that it be so arranged as to prevent
 
 OF STVI.K IN 1)IU\IN(J. 6 I 
 
 the club either shpping or iwisliiiL;- in the jjahns 
 during any part of the swing. If a player gets his 
 hands under the clu])-handle (see I'igs. 8 and 9) it 
 is impossible to take more than a half swing with 
 out letting go. If (see Fig. lo) he have the right 
 more under than the left, and tight (a grip one is 
 apt to adopt when a ' screamer ' is contemplated), 
 anything but a swing round the waist must luring 
 the club-head back to the ball turned in (whicli is 
 the secret of the screamer when It comes oft, and 
 also the cause of its failing so often). 
 
 If any one by chance has read this last para- 
 graph carefully, he wall feel pretty certain that 1 am 
 about to describe the proper position and tightness 
 of each hand. But he will be wrong. On the 
 contrary, my view is that pla)ers may take great 
 liberties with their grip, — at least with that of their 
 ri^ht hand, — without affectino^ drivini>-. The club 
 may be sunk in the palm, to save a sore finger, or 
 held in the fingers if the palm be painfully horny, 
 without prejudice to play, so long as it is so held 
 as not to slip or turn one hair's-breadth through- 
 out the shot. Nay! in the right it may be even 
 allowed to turn. In fact, if a player grip as in 
 Fig. lO, he must hold loose witli the right, and 
 allow the club to slip round if his swing Ix^ perfect, 
 otherwise his wrist becomes locked. Of this a trial
 
 62 
 
 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 swing will convince any one. It is only possible 
 with a grip as in Figs. 6 and 7 for the right hand 
 to remain glued to the club throughout a perfect 
 swing. ' How is the grip to be tested for adherence 
 
 ]'"IG. 6. — Proper Gri/', hands ^ OTcr'' or ^ above' 
 
 during the swing ? ' is the real (|uestion, which the 
 address ought to solve thus : — Having placed him- 
 self opposite the ball, let the player take hold of 
 his club loosely, but so that, if held short, the 
 end of the shaft would pass under th(; wrist bones
 
 OF STVI.K IN l)KI\I.\(i. 
 
 (somcwhcit as in iMgs. and 7). Let him swing 
 it backwards and forwards freely o\'cr tlic ball, 
 describing an elongated eight, whose length is 
 limited b)- the locking-point of the wrist joints. 
 
 Fig. "].— Proper Grip, hands ^ over'' or ^ above. ^ 
 
 After two or three such continuous figures have 
 been described, the hands, still holding loosely, 
 will settle themselves into a proper relation to 
 each other, and to the shot. The club will then
 
 64 THE ART OP^ GOLF. 
 
 be placed behind the ball, the grasp tightened just 
 as it is, and the blow delivered. Whether both 
 should be tightened, or only the left — whether it is 
 into the fingers, or the palm, these movements are 
 to adjust the club — are immaterial points, which 
 may be left to individual taste. Nor ought the 
 amount of tightening to be treated as important. 
 Some only tighten a little, some as much as they 
 can ; all that can be said is, that the limit of per- 
 missible looseness is overstepped when, in the 
 course of sweeping away the ball, there is any 
 slipping or turning in the left hand at the very 
 least. The preliminary flourish under discussion 
 will be detected in the driving of the best and 
 freest players. Should an elongated eight be 
 found on any ancient Egyptian monument, it is 
 certainly the symbol for golf, and will prove that 
 venerable nation to have played the game. I say 
 this flourish can be ' detected ' in a good style ; but 
 a practised player does not require to pass over 
 his ball more than once, or he may even pretermit 
 all, except the merest rudiment. He has a proper 
 hold at once, without searching for it, and can at 
 once proceed unhesitatingly to strike. There is no 
 pause, after the club has been placed behind the 
 ball, to allow a final and fatal alteration to be made. 
 It is interesting confirmation of the soundness of
 
 PLATE V. 
 
 JIM MORRIS DRIVING ( 1 ).
 
 ()V STVI.K IN DRIVINC. 65 
 
 what 1 am advanciiiL;, thai tine phiycrs, many of 
 whom are proverbial lor the instantaneousness of 
 their address, are often more elaborate in a big 
 match. Whereas a mere rudiment of a floin'ish is 
 all they ordinarily indulL^e in, this ])ecomes one or 
 more complete eights, wlien a single mistake might 
 be fatal. It is as if they said, ' I am almost certain 
 to grip rightly ; but it is as well to test it.' 
 
 Whether this plan of preliminary flourish is or 
 is not the best, there is no doubt the grip should be 
 found by some sort of trial swing, not by placing 
 the club behind the ball, and settling down as 
 comfortably as possible. The true grip is that 
 which accommodates itself to a free swing, not to 
 a commanding stance. Indeed players may be 
 divided into two classes, according as they act 
 upon or ignore this principle. The one arrives at 
 the position of the hands typified in Figs. 6 and 7, 
 and perhaps Fig. 10; the other is prone to the 
 fault shown in Figs. 8 and 9. The one makes its 
 flourishes, places its club for an instant belli nd the 
 ball, and without hesitation strikes. If they allow 
 it to dwell longer, it is not comfortable perhaps. 
 Nor need it be. Fase whilst swinging, not whilst 
 at rest, is the essential thing. The other finds its 
 grip whilst the club is at rest, and then proceeds 
 to flourishes. Take the case of a player of 
 
 t
 
 66 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 this class who makes the orthodox figure -eight 
 gyration. He takes his grip, makes a motion over 
 the bah, and, unless by chance it is a true one, 
 disturbs it by so doing. You may see him pause 
 a moment to rearrange it ; the other accepts the 
 disturbance as a proper correction. Whatever the 
 prowess of the player, his class in this respect can 
 be detected by watching whether, after putting his 
 club finally behind the ball, he hesitates or strikes 
 at once. Nearly all bad players belong to the class 
 which does not arrive at its grip by experiment but 
 dogmatically ; not that all in it are bad, however. 
 Their grip may by chance be good, or they ma)' 
 have the tact to accommodate their swing to the 
 conditions they have imposed upon it. But as- 
 suredly this common error of taking hold of the 
 club in the most comfortable way for aiming at the 
 ball, rather than for the blow, has to answer for 
 many monstrous styles, efficient and otherwise. 
 
 Swi7io\ — 'My swing' is a constant theme for 
 conversation with the young golfer. He is for 
 ever making it quicker or slower, longer or shorter, 
 some skilful player being in his mind's eye, whom 
 he fancies he is imitating — or rather, whom he 
 is imitating in every way except one — the only 
 one which will give him a true style — not 
 thinking about it when playing, which the good
 
 OF STYLE IN DRIVIXC. 67 
 
 player never does. His one problem is U) sweep 
 the ball away with speed. I'his is done by his 
 body remaining a firm fulcrum for the le\er com- 
 posed of his arms and club. His swing- back ends 
 when the contact of his left biceps with his chest 
 prevents it going further, his wrists remaining as 
 taut as he can keep them. Not that he thinks of 
 this, or of anything but sweeping the ball away. 
 Let the beginner devote himself to the same pro- 
 blem. For a lono- time he w^ill have a short swinQ^ ; 
 but it will lengthen quickly enough. There is not 
 the slightest danger of its not doing so, unless he 
 fall into the error of supposing that the more gently 
 he hits the surer he is. 
 
 Many begin in (juite another way. They see 
 the professional's club swishing round his back, and 
 they determine, at all costs, to get theirs as far 
 round. By a variety of schemes they accomplish this, 
 and become the proud possessors of a concatena- 
 tion of contortions, in which no one but themselves 
 recognises the resemblance to a full swing. Some 
 swing naturally to a certain point, then, letting their 
 wrists bend, drop the thing down their backs, draw 
 it up again, and proceed to drive the ball. In 
 the meantime their position has almost certainly 
 changed in some way, so that the club head does 
 not return to the ball along the same imaginary
 
 68 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 line it went from it. Others avoid the natural 
 check of the biceps against the body by sticking out 
 the left elbow and passing the arm round the neck, 
 which, beino;- thinner, allows the hands to eet as far 
 as the back of the head. To play in this way it is 
 usual, or at least better (if I may be allowed to use an 
 approbatory adjective at all in reference to such a 
 matter), to employ upright clubs, although they will 
 not overcome the inevitable uncertainty of direction. 
 To get the club to the back of the neck, it must be 
 drawn away at a tangent to the direction the ball is 
 to be driven in. To prevent it going to the left, the 
 l^layer has to resort to some counter modification. 
 He must, after impact, let his arms away to the right. 
 Should he be lucky enough to catch the ball at the 
 exact instant when his curve is practically parallel 
 to the direction it is meant to q-o in althouQ^h ' cut ' 
 the shot will be straight ; if he reaches it a hair 
 earlier, it will be ' pulled ' — a hair later, it will be 
 ' heeled.' These are the terms the player would 
 use. It would be more exact to describe the three 
 drives as a cut to the right, a cut to the left, and a 
 straight cut. Some who drive in this way stand 
 well in front of the ball, and thus reduce their curve 
 more nearly to a straight line ; but I have seen none 
 get rid of the cut entirely, which they might do l)y 
 turnincr their back altoeether to the line of fire.
 
 OF STNI.l, IN I)R1\1NC;. 69 
 
 The left elbow-joint, as a joint, has no part in 
 a true swing. But it is a prevalent habit to close 
 it a little after the club has circled back as far as it 
 naturally should, lliis is not quite so silly a way 
 of giving one's-self the sensation of swinging far 
 as is dropping the club over the shoulder b)- means 
 of the wrist joints. But it is foolish enough, 
 particularly if the player begins his swing with 
 straight instead of slightly bent arms, in order to 
 have more elbow-bending to do afterwards. i\ny 
 one can see, when it is pointed out, that this joint 
 work is merely a break which has to be mended 
 before the sweep forward commences. Yet good 
 players often take to it for a time if their driving 
 is not satisfactory, feeling, in spite of common- 
 sense, that they are lengthening their reach. 
 
 It would be profitless to describe more of the 
 endless twists and twiddles with wrists and elbows 
 which golfers acquire, seeking for a long swing in 
 the wrong way, which is the same thing as seeking 
 for it at all. Hundreds of balls are daily ' foozled' 
 which would be struck but for these little spasms 
 after the club has reach(;d its proper goal. One 
 sees them all over the links. They remind us 
 sometimes of hairs which have grown too long and 
 split at the ends ; sometimes they suggest blind 
 men groping their wa)'.
 
 yo THE ART OK GOLF. 
 
 It must strike any one who thinks of it, as curious 
 that so many slioukl wander so far from the main 
 road in search of a swino-. One reason is, as already 
 indicated, that swings are among the things which, 
 according to Longfellow, ' are not what they seem.' 
 Hence the errors of imitators. The professional 
 appears to wind his club round his back. It is not 
 so. It is the club which winds round him, not 
 because he wishes it to do so, but because his 
 muscles, though knit, have their natural elasticity. 
 The player is in the centre of a circle, at a point in 
 the circumference of wdiich is the ball. The more 
 nearly his club head describes a perfect segment 
 whilst driving, the better. But it is not possible 
 to make a true circle swiftly with a springy wnre, 
 which the player is. or a springy club shaft, if )'ou 
 will. He is even a bad shaft, weak in some places 
 — for example, at the wrists. Let a player look 
 upon his left arm as a part of a club. He can see 
 at once that it will not lengthen his driving to 
 have a break in it somewhere. He might as well 
 expect to lengthen his swing by putting joints in 
 the actual wooden shaft, strengthened (say) with 
 strong india-rubber bands, spliced over them, to 
 imitate human joints. In other words, every joint 
 of the line driver's left arm below the shoulder is 
 as taut as the extensor muscles (I rather think these
 
 OF s r\ 1.1-; IN DRi\iN(;. 71 
 
 are the ones) keep it without undue attention to 
 the point. I have said the left arm, I should sa)' 
 nothing' about the right, were it not that I might be 
 supposed to mean that it too was to be treated as 
 part of the shaft, and that I was advocating that 
 stiff dunch from the shoulder with arms not natur- 
 ally bent but rigidly straight, by which many late 
 beginners remove their ball from the tee. In true 
 »^^^ driving, the left?arm has to accommodate itself in 
 the swing back. It is loose and obedient. Its 
 elbow joint has to Ilex, and it is not until it is 
 brouorht back to within a foot of the ball that it 
 joins with the other in the work of driving — not 
 till after i mpac t that it becomes master, the other 
 slave. 
 
 Fine players are not only apt to lead others astray 
 by appearing, to the superficial observer, loose and 
 flexible in every joint, but knotless contortionists, 
 Avho are really so, look stiff and ponderous. Learners 
 are thus doubly impressed with the idea that a free 
 and a flabby swing are one and the same thing. 
 Nor is it easy for them to be disabused of their 
 error. No man can see himself strike, and thus 
 learn that the swing he has adopted, the flexibility 
 he feels, is visible not as ease but as awkwardness. 
 Nor is there much chance of finding out his errors 
 by comparing his sensations with those of good
 
 72 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 players, who, as a rule, pay no attention to such 
 matters. Curiously enough, if pressed to say some- 
 thing, it will often be (I have got this answer from 
 many professionals), ' My longest balls are when 
 I feel I 've got my wrists into it.' This misleads 
 the tyro terribly, although it is true. The pro- 
 fessional gets this sensation from a full, taut, india- 
 rubbery swing. It is the result of his determination 
 to get back to the ball as soon as possible. The 
 other takes it to mean that he ought to get as far 
 from it as he can by allowing the club to master his 
 wrists. One day an adversary sought my praise 
 for the way in which he was driving with his iron. 
 I said (which was apparent), ' You have a fuller 
 swing with it than with the play club.' ' You mean 
 the opposite,' he answered. I repeated my com- 
 mentary, and he rejoined, ' That is curious. I 've 
 been off my iron play, and am getting into it again 
 by taking a half swing.' But I was right, which 
 he admitted after experimenting in the matter. In 
 driving from the tee this player had a long — a very 
 long — swing, if by that is meant the distance the 
 club head meandered away from the ball before 
 coniing back to it. In addressing, his arms, instead 
 of having the natural bend, were straight as loars. 
 They took the club a long way off, flexion of the 
 left elbow took it further, flexion of the wrists
 
 (JF .ST\1.I. l.\ 1)K1\I.\(;. 
 
 /.•) 
 
 another foot. Bystretching, over-reaching, relaxing, 
 his journey was the longest possible ; l)ut travelling 
 far and swineinQf Ion''- are different matters. With 
 his iron he described a true seijment of a circle, 
 every muscle as stiff and taut all the time as when 
 the ball was struck. 
 
 In short, then, a good swing seems to the on- 
 looker swift and flexible ; but if the player feels 
 supple, he exhibits an awkward, stiff, straggling 
 movement. The player ought to be, in his own 
 hands, a stiff bow which he bends and shoots with. 
 Of course, by practice, he learns to bend this bow 
 with ease, and to shoot with accuracy. But when 
 he goes off his driving the remedy is not to lengthen 
 and loosen the string, but rather to tighten and 
 shorten it. 
 
 Hitherto I have spoken chiefly of errors in 
 swinging developed in the region between the 
 shoulders and the point of the club. Those that 
 can be made with the rest of the body are of a 
 simpler nature, because, in regard to them, swings 
 for the most part are what they seem. It is without 
 dispute that the shoulder joints are to be used 
 with perfect freedom and ilexibillty. If a man is 
 reaching too far with them lie does not need to be 
 told. He feels his neck sink into his body. He 
 knows that the more freely his trimk oscillates on
 
 74 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 its supports, the better. He knows that, his position 
 once taken, his body ought not to sway to the right 
 nor to the left, forward nor l^ackward. Not that 
 he can count upon its never doing so. We often 
 o-et into tricks of falhng backwards, swaying away 
 to the right, etc., but we are conscious of them. 
 Every one knows that whether he play with straight 
 or bent knees, they must remain straight or bent 
 throughout the shot. The necessity for standing 
 firm on the feet, however, although admitted^ is not 
 universally appreciated. There is a prevalent dis- 
 position so to plant them as to make sure that the 
 left heel will come away from the ground, as if this 
 were of as much importance as a firm foundation. 
 Indeed, I am inclined to think that it is of none at 
 all. That the heel of good players does come away 
 from the ground, there is no doubt ; but, in the case 
 of many of the very best, how reluctantly ! — and 
 merely as if torn from it by the force of the swing. 
 As I have said before, most fine players (I might 
 say all who began young) have no theory, and can 
 give but scant advice. One of the very best, when 
 pressed for answer as to a certain peculiarity in his 
 stance, said, ' Do I stand so ? I didn't know (said 
 as if it meant, ' I don't care '). The only thing to 
 think about is planting your feet in the ground — it 
 doesn't matter where, so long as they are glued
 
 (»!•■ STVI.I'; 1\ 1)K1\ 1\G. 75 
 
 down.' I said. ' lUil your heel leaves the erouiul 
 when you swino-.' ' Does it ? Are you sure ? I 
 don't think so.' 
 
 A chapter on .Vti.'///;' would be incomplete with- , 
 out some reference to the maxim ' Slow back.' 
 Every one acknowledges and feels that it is a 
 sound one ; but many fail to put it in practice, par- 
 ticularly those who have a slow, ponderous style. \ 
 This seems to be a contradiction in terms, but it 
 is true nevertheless. The fact is, ' slow back ' is 
 not an accurate term for what is meant. Those 
 learning the game get puzzled. The professional 
 does not appear to practise what he preaches. He 
 seems to swing, and does swing, swiftly. What is 
 really demanded by ' slow back ' is not absolute 
 but relative slowness. If we compare the true 
 swing to an india-rubber band, 'slow back' means 
 that it is to be stretched more slowly than it will 
 recoil. By practice, men learn to set the spring 
 quickly, and the rate is of no importance provided 
 there be nothing approaching to a jerk or wrench 
 back. You must not be able to hear the club 
 swish through the air as on the return journey. 
 ' Stiff back,' ' taut back,' or '■ sway back,' would be 
 a more explicit ])hrase. Whatever it be called, 
 the thing itself is a s/'/n- (jita nan of fine driving. 
 When a player is merely pushing his hands round
 
 76 TIIK ART OK COLF. 
 
 his neck instead of swinging,^however slowly, and 
 twitching them forward again, his caddy will be 
 tempted to tell him he is too quick back, as much 
 as if he is jerking it up round his shoulder. A 
 good player who has temporarily fallen into any 
 form of (to invent an ugly word) unpendulum- 
 ness, on being warned that he is too quick back, 
 will understand that he is not tiijhtenincr all the 
 muscles properly used in swinging equally — that 
 he is merely flopping at the ball with his arms. 
 A bad pla)er, who has never learned what a true 
 swing is, may only be made worse with 'slow back.' 
 It may induce him to lift the club up softly and 
 gingerly, with the kind of slowness necessary to 
 grab a fly on his right ear, but which has nothing 
 to do with drivino- a ball. A true swinor [^ not like 
 flashing a sword through the air, but as if forcing it 
 through a strongly resisting medium. 
 
 Whilst the minds of golfers are, for the most part, 
 unduly exercised about their swing before impact, 
 tricks, jerks, and false curves in the other segment 
 of their circle are scarcely thought about or observed. 
 We wonder that A., with a short, spasmodic twiddle, 
 should dri\e further and more steadily than B., w^ho 
 gets credit for quite a professional style. lUit if we 
 look (not a natural thing to do, because the eyes in- 
 stincti\'ely wink when clul^ and ball click together).
 
 PLATE VII. 
 
 'HmmiSiJk lilt- -:.- -. -^^^ ■ a s -w^v,' ji>^,-.^i rw^«-:L*;v''&g^»T^^ ' ».'. , .wtf'teM'K i 
 
 SAVERS drivim; ( 1 ).
 
 PLATE VIII. 
 
 I 
 
 ■tripiirMi^fv ■/: '^yfiw,.*i-^r?rvri. -■.-.t. 
 
 ^v K:..-i't\ rT i.-'it^.- :■:tartirl^Att^.*^'«^S>5*>frf: 
 
 k^ 
 
 SAYKRS DRIVING (2).
 
 OF STVLK IX Dkl\ IXG. " 
 
 B. will be seen 'to follow.' whilst A. pulls up short. 
 Of the two evils, crampedness after striking is per- 
 haps more fatal than before it, or rather it would 
 be more accurate to say that no one is contented 
 to swing short back as many habitually do forward. 
 It is unnecessary to enlarge upon this part of the 
 swing. What has been already said applies equally 
 to both halves of it. The second part ought to 
 be, as far as possible, a reflection of the first. In 
 the case of good players who stand square to the 
 ball, it is so in every respect, being a little shorter 
 or longer proportionately according as a man stands 
 ' in front' or ' open.' Falling in, falling back, etc., 
 are as apt to occur in one half as in the other. 
 Swaying the whole body forward after the ball is as 
 likely to cripple driving as swaying away from it 
 when taking the club back. It is not so common 
 to let the ricrht heel leave the ofround too much at 
 the end of a stroke, as it is to rise too much on the 
 left toe. Nor do men need to keep a tight hold of 
 themselves lest the club wander away by itself in 
 search of a long swing. Loose-jointedness here 
 rather betrays itself by a check a foot past the tee 
 and a finishing twitch witli the wrists.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ADVICE TO BEGINNERS. 
 
 The beginner who has read the foregoing chapters 
 will be apt to re-read the first sentence, and to agree 
 with those who complain that accuracy is almost 
 impossible with so many things to remember ; or, if 
 he sees that it is not intended he should think 
 of them all, he will still be puzzled to under- 
 stand which are the elementary, which the more 
 advanced, instructions. Accordingly I propose in 
 this chapter (even at the risk of some repetition) 
 to write a little sermon for the young player. 
 
 Let the beginner shake himself down naturally 
 before the ball, and hit. Till he has done this for a 
 good many days, no advice has either use or mean- 
 ing. During this first stage it is probable that he 
 will be quite delighted with his driving, and with 
 good reason. His attention being entirely directed 
 to hitting — his curiosity about how to hit not being 
 so far aroused — he makes good shots. In many re- 
 spects a man naturally attacks the ball in the proper
 
 ADVUK T(; IJKGIN NKKS. 79 
 
 wa)'. He stands up, stands firm, docs not force ; and 
 although his swing is of course stiff, it is not artificial. 
 From the very first some players, however, make 
 the mistake of treating the ball as a heavy object, 
 whilst in reality it has, for practical purposes, no 
 weight, and ought to be swept away, not jerked. 
 In a bunker or a hard hole it becomes heavy, and 
 nothing will do but a jerk ; but from th(^ turf the 
 problem is to shave it cleanly off. Again, early 
 cricket, and many other games with balls, start most 
 beginners on their golfing career with a wrong grip. 
 The handle of the club is opposite the third waist- 
 coat button instead of being as low as the length 
 of the arms naturally let it go. They wish to drive 
 as much in cricket form as the shape of the club 
 will allow. Not that any one thinks of literally 
 golfing with a straight bat. They are freed from 
 that restraint, and enjoy swiping across the wicket. 
 But this cannot be allowed. A bad cricketing style 
 is not a eood Qfolfinof one. The beofinner must learn 
 that golf is the very opposite of cricket, that he 
 must get his hands as much down at it as up at the 
 other. He must use his club like a scythe ; must 
 sweep, not strike the ball. In my opinion the extent 
 to which the player gets his hands over the club 
 cannot be exaggerated. To have them well over is 
 a sine qua non of an eas)' style. Beginners and
 
 8o 
 
 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 Others do not like the position until they have 
 proved it, until patience and experience convince 
 them that the grip \vhich is most convenient for 
 catchinof the ball a hammer-like thud is not the best 
 either for far or sure. 
 
 Vie. 8. — Hands too far ' 7-outiiV or ' under.' 
 
 I say, 'until they have proved it' Lucky for 
 them, if they ever do. A very large percentage 
 of players live and play and die with their knuckles 
 pointing too much towards the groimd, with their
 
 ADVICK TO liKCilXNERS. 
 
 8i 
 
 club at too obtuse an angle with iheir arms, 
 and consequently without the possibility of ever 
 having a perfect swing (Figs. 8 and 9). Seen 
 from the front, a perfect pla)-er's arms and club 
 
 Fig, 9. — Hands too far ' joidk/' or ' under. 
 
 appear at the angle to each other shown in Fig 6. 
 Imperfection lies between that and a straight line 
 from shoulder to club head. Why getting the 
 knuckles too far round is so common, so almost 
 
 /
 
 82 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 universal (see Figs. 8 and 9), is (besides that it gives 
 the hammering power already referred to) that it 
 prevents the wrists being used, and leads quickly to 
 fairly steady driving, whilst the true position enables 
 them to be employed, with consequent feeble and 
 uncertain hitting. I would therefore strongly im- 
 press upon beginners the advisability of having 
 their hands well over the club — of becoming steady 
 by keeping their wrists taut, rather than by so 
 gripping the club that their joints cannot bend. I 
 say ' hands.' It should rather be ' hand ' — the left 
 hand. The right will look after itself. If the tyro 
 acquires a grip which prevents him seeing his left 
 knuckles, and which shows him instead more than 
 the first joints of his fingers (compare Figs. 7 and 
 9), if his club handle point to his waistcoat instead 
 of well below that o-arment, there is no reason 
 why he should not become an effective, but he 
 never will be a pretty, driver — a true, full style of 
 the orthodox sort is impossible. The fault must 
 be compensated by either a short, a broken, an 
 overhead swing, or by some other modification, 
 pronounced or slight in proportion to the cause. 
 Let any one grip in this way, swing a club back to 
 his shoulder, examine the constrained position of 
 his right wrist, and he will see that one of these 
 things is inevitable.
 
 A I) V I C E TO 15 K( ; I N N K R S . 83 
 
 11 he accjuire a grip as in i'ig. lo, it would Ijt; 
 hypercritical to interfere. As I have said, o-reat 
 latitude may be allowed to the right hand in this 
 matter, particularly if it grasp loosely. But should 
 any one be so misguided as to hold disproportion- 
 ately in the opposite way that is, with ihe right 
 hand over and the left under — farewell to all chance 
 of even passable driving. 
 
 It is not generally till after the first week that 
 the ofolfer becfins to think about his ^ame — to wish 
 to know how it is done, in order that he may im- 
 prove. With these inquiries his troubles begin, 
 and let us hope that, with patience and common- 
 sense, he will get through them without crippling 
 his style, 
 
 He will soon hear on all sides. ' Keep )'Our eye 
 on the ball.' Of course one must see the thing 
 which is to be struck ; but it is a mistake to insist 
 upon it as if it were very difficult. If the beginner 
 glares at the ball too determinedly it will mesmerise 
 him, so that the hammering will be a distraction, 
 and cuts from former tops appear to be fatuous 
 mouths smiling derisively. 
 
 Then it comes to be a question with the beginner 
 whether he ouQ^ht to gro in for a full or for a half 
 sv/ing. If he must have an answer — if he must have 
 a name for, and an ideal on which to mould, his
 
 84 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 blow, let it be a half swing'. It will be some time 
 before his unpretending thump can be classed at all ; 
 but no matter. It ouo^ht to be more like a half 
 swing than anything- else ; it will grow into that, and 
 from that into a full one, unconsciously, as the fetters 
 of awkwardness fall from his limbs ; but if he try 
 for a full swing at once, he will not get it, — he will 
 merely acquire the habit (difficult to correct later 
 on) of allowing his club to wander aimlessly about 
 his back and shoulders. 
 
 In the laudable endeavour to drive far (and no 
 man should ever accept the position of a weak 
 player), the beginner has to stumble through many 
 errors before mastering the secret of where and how 
 to apply his force. There is one the beginner is 
 certain to fall into. In order to get a good sweep 
 at the ball, instead of causing his trunk to revolve 
 on its own axis, he sways it backover his right leg. 
 One feels as if tremendous force were acquired in 
 this way. So there is, but of the wrong sort — slow, 
 ponderous, clumsy. Even a ball clean hit, and 
 getting the full result of this swaying motion, does 
 not go far. But it seldom is hit, and no more won- 
 der than that it should be missed if struck at whilst 
 the player is walking. Swaying thus is a standing 
 walk, a term which may be objected to, although it 
 ought to be as intelligible as the accepted phrase, a
 
 ADVK i; TO lUXJINNKRS. 8^ 
 
 ' standiiiL; jump.' It is perhaps as well to advise 
 young golfers to have both hands close together : at 
 all events, it is ])ut fair to warn them that every 
 inch which separates them takes ten yards off the 
 length of their shot. 
 
 These few hints are ample theoretical c;quipment 
 for many months. But the beginner will get many 
 more, to which I advise him to turn a deaf ear. 
 Every old hand will be anxious to persuade him 
 that his own last crotchet is the one thingf needful. 
 He will be told that the great point is to keep 
 his hands tight, or not to keep them tight, or one 
 slack, his elbow in, or his elbow out, to let the club 
 follow the ball, or his arms follow the ball, etc. etc. 
 Naturally he thinks these people know. He tries 
 one and all, getting as confused as if he were select- 
 ing a new religion. The fact is, there are more bad 
 teachers than good, and if the beginner must have 
 advice, let him consult a really first-class player, 
 who will probably tell him he knows nothing about 
 grips, or elbows, or following, and that all he has to 
 do is to stand firm and smite hard. 
 
 If the beginner is liable to be confused by his 
 friends, his danger is much greater from his caddy. 
 The former only give advice when it is asked, 
 the latter volunteers it, and insists. There are 
 such things as good professional coaches. On
 
 86 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 the whole, it is better not to allow your caddy 
 to interfere. Most of them advise a thousand 
 and one things within the hour. They feed babes 
 with strong- meat, and expect to, or at least try 
 to, make them full-Q^rown g-olfers within an hour. 
 Besides things good enough in themselves if they 
 could be digested, two pieces of advice which 
 they mostly insist upon are positive poison. One, 
 already spoken of in the last chapter, is that the 
 player should rise upon his left toe. The swing not 
 yet being so full and free as to tear the heel from 
 the ground, by acting on this advice the beginner 
 is simply left with a few spare inches of leg which 
 he does not know what to do with. He may 
 double them under him out of the road, but most 
 likely he will use them to sway his body awa)' back 
 over the right leg, his caddy thus actually encourag- 
 inor him to commit this common and fatal mistake 
 of beginners. The other is, insistinc: on the ri^ht 
 thumb being over, not on, the club. If (which is 
 likely enough, as we have seen) the beginner is 
 holding his club as uprightly as possible, both hands 
 too much under the club, it is absolutely impossible 
 for him to strike at all if he obeys. His grip well 
 over, he may do it ; but ought not to unless it is 
 natural — perhaps not even then, as at this early 
 staore it foreshadows an intention of drivino^ with the
 
 AnXTCK TO l;i,(,l.\\KUS. 
 
 ^7 
 
 wrists, and opens the \va\- lo th(;s(,' \vandcrin<rs of 
 the club round tlie back — these so-called lonL,^ swin^rs 
 of which I have already said a good dc-al. Leave 
 
 Fig. io. — Unequal Gri/', rij^/il Iiaud ' under.'' 
 
 the thumb where it is. By degrees, if the pla)er 
 allows himself to acquire his art without prejudice, 
 it will slip into its proper place, getting out of the; 
 way to allow a fuller swing. But at first it is
 
 88 THE ART OF GOLF, 
 
 needed to guide the stroke, and if not allowed to be 
 used, the beginner will effect his purpose by some 
 other means, perhaps burying his club in his palm so 
 as to work with the end of the second joint instead 
 of with the point of the thumb. This inevitably 
 ' turns in the nose ' of the club, and it breaks. His 
 faith in his caddy costs many a beginner much money 
 and many sad rounds, in which his set gets reduced 
 to some irons and some headless shafts. It is lucky 
 for his golf if in the end he rebels against the oracle. 
 If he does not, his grip with the right hand is a 
 difficulty ever after. It remains twisted, and to do 
 an)- work at all, the body and legs have to twist too. 
 For some time the beginner (I am speaking of 
 men, not boys) makes marked and regular pro- 
 gress, until suddenly one day there is a break-down, 
 which crushes his sanguine hope that his march 
 towards perfection was to be smooth and rapid. It 
 is the first of many which will occur from time to 
 time so long as he is able to hold a club. To avoid 
 them altogether is impossible, but their number 
 may be lessened, their severity checked, by wisdom 
 and care. When the beginner is getting on swim- 
 mingl)', let him not be carelessl)' confident, for 
 pride goes before a fall. Nor when his driving is 
 very satisfactory ought he to attempt to note what 
 he is doing, so as to be able to return to it if a
 
 ADVICi; TO niXilNXKRS. 89 
 
 relapse occurs. This in itself is the beyiniiini^ of 
 backsliding. Golf refuses to be preserved like dead 
 meat in tins. It is living, human, and free, ready 
 to fly away at the least sign of an attempt to catch 
 and cage it. It will confute your logic if you, as it 
 were, stand aside and try to produce it by causes. 
 With patient attention to hitting, not relaxed even 
 when we are in the full pride of good play, our 
 relapses will be fewer and less severe ; but there 
 is no means by which we can secure uniform 
 progress. In proportion as the wave of advance 
 is ofreat, so will be the back draught. Let not the 
 learner be discouraged by it, and begin to doubt 
 lest the tide has turned. Golfers often speak of 
 their game. The best the learner has ever placed 
 is his game, even supposing it is a third better 
 than what he has relapsed to. It will come again 
 soon, unless, indeed, he begin to ask. ' What am I 
 doing wrong ? ' ' How did I stand ? ' 'I low did I 
 swing then ? ' 
 
 It is impossible to say how good a pla\cr a man 
 may become ; but every beginner ought, as mucli 
 as possible, to play with better golfers than himself. 
 He will unconsciously by that means aim higher. 
 It should be his ambition to beat somebod)-. and, 
 having done so, to attack a still stronger adver- 
 sary. Many half-crowns will be lost in the process, 
 
 ;//
 
 90 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 but what of that? It is cheaper and pleasanter 
 than to employ a professional coach. 
 
 In the early manhood of his golfing- life, the 
 earnest and promising player's mind is apt to be 
 much exercised as to the weight, length, lie, and 
 spring of his club. He will feel sure that a best 
 club for his style is to be found, and to find it 
 will for some time appear a matter of the last im- 
 portance. After many experiments, he will be in 
 possession of a mass of conflicting evidence, and 
 a box full of clubs more remarkable than useful. 
 From extreme hope and faith he will fall back into 
 a condition of dogmatic unbelief. He will try to 
 use any club — even the rubbish accumulated in 
 his days of faith. Truth lies between these two 
 extremes. 
 
 In the matter of lie, a tall player's club ought to 
 be upright, a short man's flat. The reason is that 
 for all sorts and sizes of men about 3 feet 6 inches 
 is the proper length. That a longer club will not 
 drive further, that a shorter one drives as far, is 
 proved to be true. Theoretically, the long club 
 reaches the ball with greater velocity, but as each 
 inch adds to the difficulty of being accurate, it has 
 to be taken easier. It is not your strong man 
 who can wield a long club ; on the contrary, 
 it is your pocket Apollo, whose long driving is
 
 ADVICE TO ih;gi\m;rs. 91 
 
 due to precision and neatness. An exceijllonall)' 
 short club, on the other hand, can l)e. and in- 
 stinctively is, swuno- with much more force. Tlu- 
 objection to their general use is that they break a 
 man down, not so much frc^m tlu; fatiiL^ue of over- 
 exertion as from the loss of self-control which 
 results from it. 
 
 As for weight, so long as the specific gravity 
 and the absolute weight of the head are both greater 
 than these qualities in the ball, the carry will not be 
 affected. Within these limits the lightest club will 
 drive the longest ball, because it can be swung more 
 swiftly than a heavy one (with what lightning accu- 
 racy one sweeps off daisy heads with a walking- 
 stick !). The danger with a very light club is that 
 muscles having so little strain are apt to grow frisky 
 and wanton. Theoretically, therefore, a heavy club 
 ought to steady a wild, pressing player. It does 
 not do so. It ought to act as a bit in his moutli. 
 He takes it in his teeth. Practically, the golfer 
 with an ambition for lead handicaps himself ter- 
 ribly. He cannot play easily in proportion to the 
 weight of his weapon, for part of his ambition is 
 sure to be to drive a long ball. This he will do 
 occasionally ; but he must hit perfectl)- clean, or 
 else make an egregious foozle. There is no reserve 
 force in him if he sclaffs. His club sticks in the
 
 92 TliK ART OF GOLF. 
 
 mud, or is twisted out of his hand. To avoid the 
 ground he is apt to top. Sometimes, when he does 
 hit clean, the club runs away with him to the right 
 or left. And all this on account of a crude, errone- 
 ous idea that the heavier the club the further it will 
 drive. It is a mistaken idea, otherwise the man 
 who could swing a i6-lb. hammer would beat the 
 record. It is evident that even Goliath would have 
 made a very feeble shot with such a club or with 
 his own ; but with a Philp he might have out- 
 driven the champion. 
 
 The spring of a club has more to do with com- 
 fort than with carry. Nobody likes stiff shafts. 
 Many charges are laid at their door ; the only just 
 one is that they jar the hands. Each man will 
 drive, not further, but better, with the club he likes 
 best. A ' fozy ' handle will do very well if you 
 have a sweeping, scythe-like swing. If your style 
 is jerky, such a shaft, or one with the spring under 
 the rind, will prove itself useless to you at once ; 
 the club or the jerking must be abandoned. Tor 
 all kinds of forcing players (those who let in when 
 they get to the ball), the spring must be confined to 
 the neighbourhood of the skeer. If you wish to 
 compel yourself to drive easily, buy a ' wabbly ' 
 club ; it will either teach you or top your ball. It 
 is })](;asanter, however, to play without a master.
 
 ADVICK TO i;i;(,IN\KRS. 93 
 
 In short, my advice is — use a slitT club, whatever 
 your style, with just enoucrh elasticity to make tlie 
 ball go off sweetly, and give up all idea that spring 
 here or spring there will make you drive further. 
 If you don't want to abandon this notion, no matter. 
 Your club w'ith an ideal spring may drive further 
 on account of your confidence in it.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OF PECULIARITIES AND FAULTS. 
 
 There is a general — I mig-ht say universal — tend- 
 ency among golfers to exaggerate the importance 
 of style. From the best to the worst, when off 
 their driving, they begin at once to alter something, 
 assuming that the cause is to be found in a wrong 
 stance, grip, or what not. And yet the experienced 
 know well enough that their driving" will never 
 come back so long as they pursue this line of 
 research. Style, in other words, is not nearly of 
 so much importance as accurate hitting. Take a 
 batch of first-class players, and we find that they 
 all drive practically about tlic same distance, not- 
 withstanding infinite variety in their way of doing 
 so, and even greater differences in physique. It is 
 usual to attribute the powerful driving of small 
 men to the excellence of their st}'lc ; if this be the 
 cause of it, how does it happen that there are big 
 men twice as strong, and with as easy swings as 
 their little rivals, who as often play the odds after
 
 OF T'K( Ul.IAIUTIKS AM) 1 AULTS. 95 
 
 the tee shot as not ? A hatch of second-class pki)ers 
 drives, on an average, some ten yards shorter thcin 
 those who can give them a shade of odds (I do not 
 include those who are second-class because they are 
 beginners, or incurably careless). The same slight 
 superiority exists in the approaching of first over 
 second-class players ; and I am inclined to believe 
 that this is also true in regard to putting, although 
 it is the fashion to credit many bad drivers with skill 
 in this department. Where are those fine putters 
 on the ladies' green ? How is it, when there are 
 prizes there for men, it is some golfer known to 
 fame who usually wins ? No. Strength and style 
 are of minor importance compared with accurac)-. 
 I do not mean that the first is of no value at all ; 
 but to ordinary physiques of five feet six inches up 
 to gianthood it gives no advantage, except from 
 bunkers and bad lies. Even from these a Hercules 
 is not necessarily the best. Precision is the main 
 thing. When a man's eye is in he may address the 
 ball in a dozen different ways with the same result ; 
 when it is out, no shifting of position will mend 
 matters. First-class play is compatible with ugly 
 style. A third-rate biceps may drive a long ball ; 
 but a second-class combination of hand and eye 
 will prevent a man being both far and sure. To be 
 a steady player, a man who finds he cannot hit a
 
 90 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 screamer every time must either play more easily 
 or more coarsely, the latter preferable. Men learn 
 their position instinctively. Watch an eminent 
 golfer in the prime of youth, a prudent liver, or not 
 old enough to be affected by imprudence, driving 
 against, perhaps, a stronger man, who either never 
 did aim exactly, or whose more delicate machinery 
 is a little shaken by the wear and tear of life. How 
 coarse and sclaffy the latter's shots are by compari- 
 son ! One drives like a new hansom, the other 
 rattles like an ill-built or old four-wheeler. 
 
 As we are accustomed to see dissimilar swings 
 producing about the same result, so, on the other 
 hand, cases of the exact converse are not uncommon 
 — cases of two men with apparently the same style, 
 one a powerful driver, the other incapable of sending 
 the ball a hundred yards. Here comes a player who 
 ofets his hands under the club, swinofs it over his 
 head, stands with the ball close to him, and yet sends 
 it flying. Behind is another, his exact counterpart, 
 except in the matter of results. Why is this ? Why 
 is the one a good player, the other not ? If we 
 take up a club of the first man, it is found to l)e 
 very upright. Why he adopted this lie, whether by 
 accident or on purpose, matters not. There it is, 
 and he plays well, because his style is a natural 
 product of a single-minded concentration on hitting
 
 ()V I'KCUI.IAklTIKS AND lAULTS. 97 
 
 clean. The duffer i^^ot his swing in another way, 
 namely, by mimicry. The copy is fairly good, but 
 not quite exact. The hands are I'^sau's, but not the 
 club, which, being flat, compels him to add some 
 movements not indulged in by his master. He has 
 to bend down to adjust its head behind the ball, to 
 rise during the swing, and subside again at hitting- 
 time. Not that this omission in the copy of externals 
 matters much. His play would be no better with 
 his ideal's club, because they differ utterly in their 
 thoughts. The one thinks of hitting, the other 
 about his manner of threatening to do so. Here 
 is another good driver coming up to the hole where 
 we critics are standing — another with an ugly style, 
 as anything with peculiarities is called. He stands 
 with his feet far apart — stands ' open ' — and swings 
 round his biceps, not his neck. Why is he driv- 
 ing well, and his partner and reflection so badly ? 
 Again a flaw in the copy gives a hint as to the 
 origin of the leader's peculiarities. He has his hands 
 very much under the club and at the same time 
 exceptionally near the ground, whilst the other 
 is evidently proud of his ' proper ' grip. The 
 intelligent onlooker (if i may be allowed so to 
 speak of myself) retires a little off the course to 
 drive imaginary balls, to discover that, given this 
 particular grip, the rest follows as a natural con- 
 
 n
 
 98 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 sequence, and to speculate that probably the leader 
 accidentally took this grip when he began to play, 
 and thought no more about it. 
 
 The most natural manner in which to address 
 a ball is, of course, to stand with legs straight and 
 firm, and with no more stoop of the body than is 
 absolutely necessary to enable the player to see it 
 with straight eyes. But golfers, good ones, in the 
 laudable endeavour to stand well away from the 
 ball, acquire in great numbers the habit of stooping 
 forward more than is necessary. These instinctively 
 apply a corrective. For instance, some bend their 
 knees. There are extremists who even stoop so 
 far forward, and have cancelled the effect of doing 
 so to such an extent by bending their knees, that 
 they would fit a chair if placed behind them when 
 driving. Some of the stupid imitators of these 
 think the secret lies in the stooping, some in the 
 knee-bending, with bad golf as a result in either 
 case. Other good players, who stoop over their 
 work, keep their bodies steady and their grip of the 
 ground firm by placing the left foot nearer the line 
 of fire than the right. They stand as in Fig. 3 
 exaggerated. Some of the stability given in the 
 line of fire by keeping the feet apart is thus used to 
 prevent falling in. One of the best — if not the 
 best — players in the world at the present moment, in
 
 OF PECULIAKITIKS AND lAULTS. 99 
 
 this way cancels iIk.' bail cffccls of his stoopiiiL^ 
 forward to liis work, and, as might be expected, at 
 the sacrifice of a httlc of the straightness which a 
 'square' stand gives. At this moment his miser- 
 able imitators swarm on every golf green in the 
 Lothians. They all copy his peculiar stance, some 
 have grasped some other point ; not one has im- 
 proved his game. They have a little of Pygma- 
 lion's art ; not one of them can animate their work. 
 The ass of fable dressed like a lion they address 
 like one. When the beast brayed he was betrayed ; 
 so it is when they swing. 
 
 Some day we may have a great player who has 
 fallen into the habit of cancelling his stoop by 
 placing his right foot near the ball, his left back 
 (why not ?), and then there will be a revolution 
 among the mimics. 
 
 The examples of mimicry I have taken are 
 of imitators of eccentric styles. Those who make 
 copies of the orthodox swing are not so common, 
 although there are pretty players who miss as often 
 as not. Most who try it make an unrecognisable 
 caricature, which is not to be wondered at, as cari- 
 cature of persons with no salient feature is very 
 difficult. Some again, who try to learn golf on 
 imitative principles, have merely an imaginary ideal. 
 In their case one can only infer from their exceed-
 
 lOO THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 ing- bad pla)' that they aim at a style instead of at 
 a ball. Under this head come those who secretly 
 determine to jerk instead of sweep the ball away, 
 either through ignorance or stubbornness, or both. 
 The ignorant flounder on, misdirecting their energy 
 because they never have tried to strike in the right 
 way ; the stubborn, because they often jerk a long 
 ball, and prefer the sensation to the gentler joy of 
 feeling it slip away almost by itself, which a proper 
 shot gives. The latter are hopeless. Golf is not a 
 game for men who find more pleasure in brute force 
 than in the exercise of skill. 
 
 It is usual to attribute peculiarities, whether of 
 good or bad players, to their only having taken to 
 the game late in life ; but this neither explains them, 
 nor is it quite in accordance with the facts. It is 
 true that there are more artlessly artful players 
 amongst those who have been on the green more or 
 less since they could handle a leadless club two feet 
 long, but it is quite a mistake to suppose that a man 
 who takes his first lesson after his beard has grown, 
 or even when the hair has all flitted from the top of 
 his head to his chin, is too old or too set or too 
 something ever to swing easily. Why it is more 
 exceptional for him than for the other to do so, is 
 due to another cause. The boy begins differently 
 from the man. He lets fly, indifferent as to a hit
 
 OF ri:cuLiARiTii:s aM' fali.ts. ioi 
 
 or a miss ; or, rather, lie means a clean, swishing, 
 smashing blow. All others, from a glober to a fair 
 shot, are merely misses, to which he [ydys no atten- 
 tion. They do not put him out ; he; expects them, 
 and does not count the proportion of them to good 
 shots. The bad ones do not matter, for his pleasure 
 is to drive balls, not to play holes. Hence his style is 
 quite free. A man has not patience for this. Just as 
 the boy finds a round monotonous, so the man aims 
 at striking steadily, leaving the rest to develop later. 
 It thus appears that the chances in favour of the 
 former having a free style when he grows up almost 
 amount to certainty, and yet, except that he has 
 acquired a certain amount of skill, the boy beginner, 
 as soon as he is old enough in mind to settle of his 
 own accord to match-playing (I do not include those 
 little boys who are forced into double harness with 
 their fathers) is in the same position as a grown-up 
 beginner. The man playing his first shot, and the 
 golfer of (say) twenty-one, are equally ignorant of 
 how much or how little it is safe to play consciously. 
 The former thinks of what he is doing from the 
 first, the latter be"-ins to do so about this time of 
 
 o 
 
 life. Either may go astray, or either may discover 
 the golden mean before becoming set in the tricks 
 they have excogitated. If this were not so, there 
 would be fewer of those boy players, who arc
 
 I02 THE ART OP^ GOLF. 
 
 expected to do wonders in two or three years, who 
 at eighteen can beat any one, and who at one-and- 
 twenty disappear, either for ever, or to come to the 
 front after an interval, with or without peculiarities, 
 according as they used or abused their new-born 
 consciousness, A perfectly unconscious style in a 
 grown man is very rare. It will oftenest be found 
 among professionals whose education does not tempt 
 them to think. There is one illustrious and vener- 
 able champion of whom it is proverbial that not even 
 a whole round of bad shots can tempt him to con- 
 sider his position. ' I 've missed the ba',' is all he 
 says. To hit it again, is all he tries. It is wonderful 
 how soon he succeeds, too — much sooner than if he 
 were to begin asking why. 
 
 When a man first attempts to play, he is stiff and 
 awkward indeed, but he has no mannerisms. They 
 begin to show after his first breakdown, and after 
 each succeeding one a mark is apt to be left on his 
 game. When that is full-grown and set, the cica- 
 trices of old wounds remain as excrescences, which, 
 unless inconvenient, are better not excised. There 
 is a risk of hurting the constitution of our golf if the 
 operation is attempted. But as when an ankle has 
 once been sprained, it is inclined to give way occa- 
 sionally, so people with ' wonderful ' styles are apt 
 to crack unexpectedly, and when out of practice they
 
 OF IM-XULIAIUTIKS \M> FAl I TS. I 0;> 
 
 take ti loner time to come into their 'j'ciiiu-. Some 
 people are lucky enough to have cle\el()i)e(l their 
 abnormalities on non vital spots. Though UL;ly. the 
 ball )ields as readily to their st\'lc as to somcthinL; 
 more elegant. You strike your shoukUr, \our thuinl > 
 or thumbs are down the shall, \ou l)end )'our knees, 
 shuffle with your feet, get your hands so far under 
 the club that a full swing is impossible, etc. etc. 
 These things will give no trouble. lUit if b)- [>la)ing 
 for a pull, by gripping the club in a way that, although 
 become natural, was acquired at a time when there 
 was a wrong conception of how to make a ball fly, 
 etc., you are wild and uncertain, there is nothing for 
 it but to begin again. It is of no use to attempt 
 patching ; other faults have grown up alongside of 
 the original one. They w^ere necessary to put life 
 into it at all. Say, for instance, )ou have a nipping- 
 style. You realise that, in consequence, your driving 
 is short. It is useless to force yourself to follow the 
 ball ; you will only top. Stance, grip, and attitude 
 have adapted themselves to the conditions originally 
 imposed. There is nothing for it but contentment 
 or a fresh start. For the latter, experience gives 
 you an advantage over the real beginner. \'ou 
 know the true theory, viz., to stand opposite the 
 ball and sweep it away by describing a true radius, 
 on which it is a point. At first you .will tlounder,
 
 I04 I'HE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 miss, and be uncertain ; but a new and better game 
 will grow to its full strength at last. 
 
 If we consider the plausible and insidious means 
 by which these tricks insinuate themselves into a 
 o-olfer's affections, it is not so much to be wondered 
 at that he is conquered. By their aid he finds 
 himself suddenly steady, able to beat adversaries 
 previously dreaded, and to win handicap electro- 
 plate with strokes to spare. At first they do not 
 even shorten driving, the diseases taking some 
 time to get into the system and cripple the other 
 members. By the time they have done so, it is 
 too late to get rid of them. The player works 
 through stages of foozling, and, after as long a 
 period as it would have taken to be a pretty golfer, 
 he comes out a robust cripple, ungainly, although 
 perhaps strong. This is the prognosis in the most 
 favourable cases, but some would-be golfers are 
 restless in the use of remedies. They employ 
 device after device, add fault to fault. No sooner 
 is their driving weakened by assimilating one, 
 than another, and yet another, infallible ' steadier ' 
 presents itself, and is accepted, till at last there is 
 not a chance of their cleanest-hit ball going more 
 than fifty yards. These call themselves the steady 
 old players. Steady, indeed ! They top and puff 
 just as often, if not oftener, than those who have
 
 OV I'lXX'LIAKITlKS AND KAUl.TS. I 05 
 
 acquired their j^ame with less prejudice. '1 hey are 
 steady only because il does not matter to their 
 partners whether they hit or miss, and straight, 
 because wildness is not appreciable in very short 
 distances. Any morninLj;^ we can see mcMi out 
 aiming at a style instead of at a ball. A trial 
 swing now and then, especially before starting, 
 may do no harm. There are even good players 
 who indulge a good deal in the amusement. 
 Them one can distinguish from the deluded 
 creatures Avho are teaching themselves styles by 
 the free thoughtless way in which they let out. The 
 others — earnest, careful, apparently concentrated on 
 the blade of grass in front of them— do not hear 
 ' Fore — stop that — hurry up,' shouted behind them ; 
 for their mind is busy committing to memory their 
 last patent gyration. If the fools would but reflect 
 on a certain passage of Scripture they might learn 
 that neither leopard nor golf spotting can be man- 
 aged by taking thought, and that thought will not 
 add cubits either to their stature or to their driving. 
 From the latter it will take some off. 
 
 These remarks do not apply to the petty varia- 
 tions in their style which many, or most, golfers are 
 conscious of from day to day. Little vagaries are 
 not part of us. Our knowing of them proves them 
 external. If not made a serious point of, they do 
 

 
 I06 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 no harm. One of them will amuse for a round or 
 so, and being the only thing which, for the moment, 
 divides our attention with the essential of aiming, 
 it may even improve our driving, and then be 
 forgotten, modified, or smoothed out. The points 
 under discussion are so superficial, or even imagi- 
 nary, that no one notices them but ourselves. They 
 are quite another thing from playing in the Morris, 
 or the Fergusson, or the Fernie manner, which is 
 amusing as tomfoolery, but, taken seriously, bob as 
 he will, can never make a man a golfer. 
 
 Even minor sensations, too earnestly attended 
 to, may, however, do a great deal of harm. When, 
 by patiently keeping his attention fixed on hitting, 
 the eolfer has crot into his best drivino- form, he 
 is tempted to luxuriate in the sweet balls ; to note 
 how he sfets his shoulders into the work ; or how 
 he feels like a whipcord, from the point of his toe 
 to the head of his club ; or, how, without effort, 
 his palms feel glued to the rind of the club ; and to 
 determine that in future these joys shall be repeated 
 every shot. Fool! he might as well expect to repeat 
 the pleasure of appeased hunger by a second dinner, 
 or make a pleasant dream more vivid by wakening. 
 Pursuing these agreeable sensations he will lose 
 them, and go off his game besides. Disappointed, 
 he will return to the drudgery of hitting the ball.
 
 OF I'ECUI.l AKiril.S ANK lAULTS. iOJ 
 
 when lo! some, or all of ihem conn; back too. 
 Again he will be off in pursuit of the willo' the- 
 wisp, and again break clown. It takes long, long 
 experience to convince a golfer that he must give 
 up all the pleasures arising from a shot, except that 
 caused by results, if he is tcj drive far and sure. 
 Imitating one's own style is only less bad thaii 
 copying a neighbour's. ' Know thyself may be good 
 philosophy ; it is bad golf. Some players remain 
 with the marks of sensation-hunting on their style 
 for life. For instance, A. makes himself knock- 
 kneed when he addresses the ball. Once, long 
 ago, when he drove a beauty, there was a feeling 
 of gripping the ground with the balls of his big 
 toes. If you question him warily, he will tell you 
 the year in which, and the hole at which, the sweet 
 shot was made, that he has grown knock-kneed in 
 endeavouring to repeat. B. sits down, because 
 once, when he had a habit of falling forward (very 
 likely he now falls back), it restored his game. 
 C. turns in his toes because it cured him of swaying 
 his body. Of course, it was stopping swaying, not 
 standing like a crab, which restored his driving ; 
 but he did not know at the time what he was 
 doing wrong, and so he has made a fetich of his 
 tee, which, he thinks, is the god of driving. I 
 know a golfer who does all these things, and a
 
 I08 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 good many more. In his case they have long 
 ceased to have any meaning or effect upon his 
 play. They are like labels left adhering to our 
 travelling-bags — records of former trips. 
 
 Besides the innumerable kinds of missinof to 
 which we are liable, certain players get into a way 
 of driving exceptionally high or unusually low. 
 Those who have acquired the latter peculiarity are 
 not, like their opposites, dissatisfied, although they 
 ought to be ; for, of the two, they are likely to be 
 the worse players. The high driver is inclined 
 to be impatient at finding himself always playing 
 the odd ; but the other, although never steady, is 
 reluctant to part with his reputation for length from 
 the tee, and therefore seldom reforms. Nor is it 
 so easy for him to do so as for the other, whose 
 fault is due to simpler causes. 
 
 High driving is the result of too upright a swing. 
 I do not mean that the onlooker sees the club go 
 over the player's head, or anything of that sort ; 
 but he may detect that the club reaches, and also 
 follows the ball at too steep a gradient. The 
 typical high driver has a neat style — a little too 
 easy, perhaps. He stands open, and with the ball 
 too much opposite the right foot, on which he very 
 decidedly leans his weight. The position makes it 
 difficult for him to take a sweep back near the
 
 OF rECULIARlTIKS AND lAlI.TS. 1 09 
 
 ground, and his easy, tlippinL; swing tends to make 
 the departure more abrupt still. Of course, many 
 a skier does not stand in this \va)'. So much tlu- 
 better for him ; he will have less troubU; in describ- 
 ing a full segment of a circle, and of a larger one. 
 It is not the position, but the way of coming down 
 on the ball wdiich skies it. A man standing for a 
 pull, and pressing, often skies. If he asks his 
 caddy how that was, he will sa)-. ' You swung too 
 c[uick.' So he did, but in this case quickness was 
 the result of lifting the club too straight up. in his 
 hurry to be back. I have often noticed that when 
 a long, pulling shot is intended, the sky can be 
 foretold if the player place himself with the ball 
 less opposite the left foot than it should be for a 
 bow-shaped raker. 
 
 In driving low% it is essential that the weight 
 of the body rest more on the left than on the right 
 leg, and that the hands pass over an imaginary 
 line between the eye and the ball, in advance 
 of the club head. If he is in the habit of standing 
 square to the line he is going, it will be observed 
 that a low driver has his ball more nearly opposite 
 his left foot than is orthodox. This manner of 
 address is not the cause of his abnormal trajec- 
 tory, but a correction necessary to make his scheme 
 of hitting succeed ; as his hands are to pass over
 
 1 lO THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 the ball before the club head (not at the same 
 instant, as in the case of a true driver), he must 
 thus stand behind, because if he did not, there would 
 be no room between his grip and the ground for 
 the club to continue its course after impact. By 
 standing behind, the limit of arm's reach is touched 
 immediately the ball is struck, and the hands sweep 
 up to the level of the shoulder, leaving room 
 between them and the ground for the club to 
 follow. There would be no objection to this mode 
 of driving, so efficient when it comes off, were it 
 not bristling with difficulties. For one thing, a 
 hook must be expected from time to time. The 
 ball is too near the extreme point to which it is 
 possible to sweep the club along the line of fire, 
 the point at which the hands must do one of three 
 things — stop altogether, rise towards the level of 
 the shoulder, or sweep round the body. The first 
 contingency has nothing to do with golf. If the 
 hands are at the rise before the ball is reached, so 
 is the club, and we have a skimmer off the horn, or 
 a top. If they are kept down to prevent it, the 
 club must sweep round and hook the ball. To see 
 that this must be so, take an exaggerated case. 
 Let the player stand normally — that is, parallel to 
 the line of fire ; but let the ball be placed as far in 
 front of the left foot as it ought properly to be
 
 OK ri;CULIAKITIKS AM) lALT/rS. I I I 
 
 behind it. By Icanino well on to that ley, it may be 
 driven straight, but it would be easier to drive it at 
 right angles. Low driving is prone to deride its 
 votaries in another way. For them, a topped, or a 
 heeled, or a toed ball is the same thing as for 
 others; but woe betide the low driver if he take it 
 thick! His adversary's 'sclaff will send as far 
 anything else, provided he has his grip firm. A 
 little grass and earth no more checks a club than a 
 little skin a razor. Let the other touch ground, 
 and his ball will spout into the air, and land twenty 
 yards from the tee ; or he may give a wrench, turn 
 his club, and drive away to cover point. His 
 hands being in advance of it, they are nearer to the 
 ground than the club's length, so that it jams, 
 stops, and jerks the ball up feebly ; or else it 
 carves out a new course for itself away to the 
 right, round the gate the hands have closed, and 
 there is a raker to whatever country lies in that 
 direction. With a hook to begin with, aiul a shot 
 like this to follow, the player, after two long shots, 
 may find himself again at the tee. Instead of stand- 
 ing parallel to their intended direction, low drivers, 
 and those who are so foolish as to try to be against 
 wind, sometimes get rid of the risk of sticking in 
 the ground by standing for a pull. They sweep 
 the ball round, the club passing over the ground
 
 I 12 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 as does a scythe, instead of straight over it. 
 The great disadvantage of this expedient is its 
 wildness. The ball must go off at a tangent from 
 the circular sweep, and there is only one which is 
 straight. P'or low driving an upright club is best. 
 It is easier to stand over it — an essential. If you 
 play for a pull, the arc of the circle described over 
 the ground is larger, and the tangents at which the 
 ball flics off more nearly coincident with it. The 
 lowest driving club is the putter, because it is so 
 upright ; but of course it is too short to carry far. 
 
 Getting both hands well under the club also 
 produces a low carry, and fairly long shots against 
 wind, or where the ground is favourable. But 
 players in this style are not long drivers under 
 ordinary circumstances. Indeed, but for their balls 
 flying low they would be short, this grip, as already 
 shown, making a free, full swing impossible. 
 
 Although short drivers are scarcely a class by 
 themselves, it is convenient now to treat consecu- 
 tively some of the causes of shortness not already 
 incidentally mentioned. Amongst those who are 
 born late into the golfing world (whose period 
 of gestation has endured, say thirty years), many 
 deliberately confine themselves to a half swing. 
 Very properly beginning with this, they put a 
 check upon their growing suppleness, and trust
 
 OK I'ECULIAUITIi:s AND FAULTS. II3 
 
 to powerful clubs and clean liiiiinL^. There is 
 much to be said in favour of such procedure. 
 They sooner arrive at maturit)-, and they escape 
 (by keeping back from them) all llie man-traps 
 laid for the lonn:-swinix hunter. A half swingr 
 will never enable a man to say that he has driven 
 the longest ball on record — at least truthfully, 
 which is doubtless different — but it is effective, and 
 will last. What a sloggcr loses in carry by short- 
 ness of sweep, he nearly regains by tautness of 
 muscle. The slogger has a great advantage in 
 this, too, that he is never tempted to press through 
 wounded vanity. If he is outdriven a little, what 
 of it ? Is it not wonderful that he should get so 
 far? How stron<y he feels. Better still, how strongs 
 he is admitted to be. It is a simple proportion 
 sum. A. drives 200 yards with one shot, B. 190 
 with half a shot ; how much stronger is B. than A. ? 
 Whilst his biceps is being admired, A.'s, which is, 
 perhaps, bigger, must remain in its sleeve; or if pro- 
 duced, what is it ? Bad meat, evidently, to judge by 
 the driving. A. may indeed, perhaps, be evidently 
 a clumsy player, and his reputation for strength 
 will, in consequence, be saved ; but it is a poor 
 alternative to choose between being an awkward 
 Samson and a puny fellow. Of all short drivers 
 the slogger is the happiest ; whilst his converse — he 
 
 P
 
 I 14 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 whose swing Is short after impact — is the most 
 contemptible in the matter of strength. As I have 
 before pointed out, no one notices where a man's 
 club sfoes after hitting^ the ball. The reversed 
 slogger is merely written down a fraud if he has 
 broad shoulders. The onlooker will conclude that 
 they are tailor-made. To make it worse, his driv- 
 ing is even shorter than the slogger's. For some 
 reason, which I do not know, the second part of a 
 swinor is the more tellinof of the two. 
 
 We have seen that if a man has not a first-class 
 combination of hand and eye, he will not have a 
 game at all if he aims at very long driving. At 
 the same time, many err on the side of hitting too 
 easily, especially at first. Both mind and muscle 
 accustom themselves to a conception of how the 
 thing is to be done, of which they never get rid. 
 Once formed, it is of no use for them to hit harder, 
 unless they make a fresh start altogether. These 
 are usually neat players, who stand too near the 
 ball. But it is no use to get further away. Their 
 muscles have accustomed themselves to work in a 
 certain way. 
 
 A common cause of short driving, apart from eye 
 (of course, in these paragraphs I am speaking of 
 players, not duffers), is a loose grip. There is con- 
 fusion of opinion as to how tight one ought to hold.
 
 OF TECULIAKITIKS AND 1 ATLTS, I I 5 
 
 One fine driver will tell )oii that he grasps his club 
 lightly ; another, that he clings as firmly as possible. 
 The difference of opinion arises from (jiialii)- of 
 hands, and it may be assumed that ncMther lets the 
 club move in the least degfree from the becfinniiiLr 
 to the end of a stroke. A soft, well-padded hand, 
 or a strong one, is tlrm unconsciously ; a bony one 
 must hold tight ; a weak, bony hand, no matter 
 what its owner is otherwise, conduces to short 
 driving. If it holds tight, other muscles become 
 sympathetically too rigid, and the ball is nipped. 
 If it holds naturally, the swing must either be easy, 
 or else the club slips a little. All three conditions 
 of matters produce short driving. The golfer with 
 weak hands must learn to hold tight without tele- 
 graphing the exertion to other muscles — a very 
 difficult feat — or accept shortish driving as his lot. 
 If he does this, the second alternative — to hold 
 naturally and swing easy — is the best to adopt. 
 To the first he cannot settle, the third will rub and 
 blister his hands.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OF TEMPORARY FAULTS. 
 
 A man's golf, like the rest of him, is subject to 
 many temporary ailments. By simply living as 
 usual, his body will recover ; by golfing, his golf 
 will. For colds, golf, and biliousness, the less 
 doctor's stuff we can do with, the better. Yet 
 prescriptions used in moderation may hasten the 
 restoration of health or game, if it is the right 
 medicine. That is the danger. 
 
 Young golfers have often a sad time of it from 
 hitting hard in the wrong way. The common 
 phrase, ' Putting your back into it,' misleads them. 
 The experienced player understands by this that 
 from his foot to his hand he is to be one springy, 
 supple sapling — that he is to be all of a piece — 
 the stronger muscles accommodating themselves to 
 do the same work as the weak, the greatest power 
 of the weakest being the limit of force required 
 of the strong. The young player misapprehends 
 what is meant, and puts his back into it as the
 
 OF TEMrOKARV 1 AL'LTS. II7 
 
 blacksmith does \vielding" liis hcunincr, or the athlete 
 putting- a weight. In consecjuence. he commits 
 many fatal mistakes — falling forward towards the 
 ball, back from it, or swaying sideways over the 
 riy^ht Ie<j in swinmnof back. These thing's are done 
 
 0000 o 
 
 in order to catch the ball a terrible thud. One 
 has seen (or even felt) boys flicking peas off the 
 backs of their hands. The peas would not fly as 
 far if driven from the shoulder. A golf ball is 
 indeed, too heavy to flick ; but it is equally too 
 light to putt like a 16 lb. cannon-ball, I have 
 already warned the beginner against swaying side- 
 ways ; no more need be said about that. The 
 second time he is bitten with the desire to squeeze, 
 there will be an epidemic of falling forward. He will 
 not know what he is doing, but the consequences 
 will be apparent — hitting off the heel, club-break- 
 ing, ground-thudding — particularly the first. Most 
 likely his caddy will make things worse by bad 
 advice ; attacking the symptoms, not the cause of 
 the disease. His caddy will say, ' Stand further 
 away.' This sounds like common-sense, but it is 
 not, any more than taking a foot-rule to measure 
 the height of a mountain would be. The player 
 tries it, falls in more, and heels as much. De- 
 sperately, he stands so that the ball is two feet 
 beyond his reach whilst addressing it. The result
 
 I 1 8 TIIK ART OF GOLF. 
 
 is the same. Evidently lie is not too near. Cynically 
 he gets quite close, and lo! there is an epidemic of 
 toeino- and more club-breaking. Now he thinks 
 he has discovered a secret, viz., that toeing is to be 
 cured by standing further away, heeling by getting 
 nearer. With this valuable piece of knowledge he 
 expects, in no time, to find a stance which will 
 compel the middle of his club and the ball to meet. 
 But he does not, and never will, until, after long 
 grief and pain, he comes back humbly to the point 
 from which he began to go wrong. The worst of 
 thumping at a ball with the weight of the body is 
 that now and then — ^just often enough to lure on its 
 victim — there will be a long wild shot ; occasionally, 
 even a long straight one — longer than any he has 
 driven before, the ball happening to be caught with 
 a sweep which has been quickened to reach it 
 before the player has quite lost his balance. 
 
 A ball hit off the toe is usually pulled, and one 
 off the heel skids to the right. When an ex- 
 perienced player hits in either of these ways, it is 
 to be hoped that he will recognise them as accidents 
 due to faulty aim, instead of asking, ' What am I 
 doing wrong ? ' It is as foolish to attribute these 
 occasional shots to style, as it would be were they 
 complete globers. But all pulled balls are not off 
 the toe, nor heeled ones off the heel. You may have
 
 OF TKMI'OUAKV FAULTS. I I 9 
 
 an epidemic ot eitiier unsLnuL;IUiU'ss wiiiunil WcUicler- 
 ing from the middle of the ckib. PuIHiil; in this \va) 
 is due to the grip of the iiands having got out of 
 proportion. The right may have got too much above 
 the chib, or the left too much below it. Nature, i.e. a 
 free address and careful aim, will provide a remed)-, 
 if the matter is left in her hands. If not, the 
 disease grows worse, till the player finds his elbow 
 sticking up before him so much that he can scarcel\- 
 see the ball if the left hand is at fault, whilst there 
 will be symptoms of cramp in that wrist if it be the 
 right. Sometimes heeling (I still mean skidding 
 to the right off the middle of the club) may arise 
 from too timid a care not to pull, consequent 
 checking of the swing by pulling in the arms, or 
 by throwing one's-self back. If the golfer has done 
 one of these last two things, he will be conscious 
 of it after the shot. Not so if his heel is due to 
 another cause — placing the ball too nearly opposite 
 the right foot, and catching it, consequently, before 
 the club head has got into the straight. 
 
 It is true that skidding to right or to left, 
 hitting off the toe or off the heel, may come from 
 actually being too near or too far from the ball ; 
 but if it is discovered that either is the case, it is. 
 nevertheless, dangerous to get further away or 
 nearer. Rather, for the next shot, one should
 
 1 20 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 shake himself loose, and address the ball without 
 prejudice. To i^rf nearer or further away, is 
 almost certain to demoralise driving altogether. 
 The former stiffens the player, till he feels like the 
 poker swinging the tongs ; the latter tempts him 
 to crouch over his work, so that he cannot do it 
 for fear of toppling forward. 
 
 Although getting nearer, or further away, are 
 useless as devices for making the ball go straight, 
 they are mistakes that one is constantly falling into. 
 It is within most golfers' experience that suddenly, 
 and unaccountably, they go off their game entirely. 
 They become feeble, uncertain, and, above all, 
 uncomfortable in their address. When such a 
 breakdown occurs, the cause of it is often standing 
 at a wTong distance. Tbe player does not feel 
 that he is wrong. The error has crept gradually 
 and insidiously into his style. He has been un- 
 consciously varying his distance, inch by inch. 
 Not that a foot nearer or further than ordinary 
 affects play. In fact, everybody varies at each shot 
 in this respect ; but there is a point at which one's 
 game suddenly collapses. If the breakdown be 
 complete, it is not easy to detect the cause of it, for 
 the feeling that one is going to foozle is so paralys- 
 ing that one is likely to go entirely to ruin beyond 
 hope of recovery — for that day, at least. But there
 
 0|- TF:M^OKAR^• IAULTS. 121 
 
 may be nothing more than an evident incapacity tu 
 make the ball go a respectable distance, however 
 cleanly hit. If this is the result of standing- too near, 
 the player will presently notice that he is inclined to 
 do one of several things in addition to driving feebly. 
 For instance, swinging back, there is a tendency to 
 strike the shoulder ; but it is more particularly 
 after impact that the consequences of a wrong 
 stance will reveal themselves. The player will be 
 inclined at one shot to throw himself back ; at 
 another, his swing may end with an uncomfortable 
 twiddle. Some shots he will jerk, stopping the club 
 altogether ; or, being quite determined not to do 
 this, I have seen a golfer actually break his shaft by 
 striking his left shoulder. These are the symptoms 
 if the player laudably persevere in hitting with the 
 middle of his club. Should he determine to let out 
 at the ball whatever happens, he will founder it off 
 the heel. If he has crept too far away, and is 
 covering the extra distance by stretching out his 
 arms, there wall be a tendency to swing over the 
 head rather than round the neck. If he is stoop- 
 ing to reach it, he will be inclined to fall forward, 
 to jerk into the ground, and fail to follow (which 
 may cause him to imagine that his fault is a loose 
 grip), or there will merely be a general sense of 
 decrepitude, proving itself not imaginary, by short, 
 
 '7
 
 122 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 puffy shots. If the player make up his mind to let 
 into it, he may hit off the heel, just as in the case 
 of being- too near, but with this difference, that he 
 may make a fair drive, either straight or hooked — 
 hooked, to his astonishment, off the heel. It is 
 quite true that, standing too far away, a player 
 may hit off the toe ; but this is usually an isolated 
 accident (caused by taking a careless stance), which 
 will not be repeated unless he is foolish enough to 
 apply a corrective next sh^bt. 
 
 Sensible golfers, either of experience, or who 
 have devoutly accepted my previous remarks upon 
 caddies' advice, know the folly of forcing themselves 
 to do, or not to do, these things when told they are 
 standing too much in front, not letting their arms 
 away, not getting their shoulders in, etc. They 
 (the sensible golfers of both sorts) know from ex- 
 perience, or from this book, that direct surgical 
 treatment is of no use, and that, although their 
 caddies' comments are quite just, they are better to 
 keep hamniering on, leaving the cure to nature, than 
 to attack the symptoms. If they are very sensible, 
 it is, however, no harm that they should know the 
 causes of these thino^s. We <:et too much front 
 (see Fig. i) when the sweep we picture ourselves 
 giving the ball is concave, like a scythe-cut, instead 
 of straight. It is very common to drift into this
 
 01 Tl-.Mr'OKARV FAULTS. I 23 
 
 mental attitude towards the stroke. Our clul) 
 describes a semicircle throuL;h the air. Why not 
 another over the ground ? \\'h\- not, indeed, when 
 there is a feeling of greater power, too ? There is 
 nothing to be said against this so long as all goes 
 well ; but sooner or later there will be a wild shot 
 or two, a consequent loss of confidence, exaggera- 
 tion of the position, and a general breakdown. 
 What the player should do under these circum- 
 stances, is to set himself to what ought never to 
 have been abandoned — the sweeping of his club 
 straight in the direction the ball is wanted to go. 
 Let him not think of his feet ; they will follow his 
 intention. 
 
 When we are not letting our arms away, it is 
 useless to begin pushing them out after the ball. 
 It is rather the time to nip it firmly, and, above all, 
 to remember that the best of our force must not be 
 expended in swinging the club back. At once 
 things will come right, unless one of the results 
 already spoken of reveal that we are too near 
 the ball. 
 
 We do not eet our shoulders in when it is the 
 idea to follow the ball upwards the instant it is 
 struck. There is nothing more tempting than to 
 do this. W^e feel that it is our place to lift it; that 
 otherwise it must grub along the ground, which of
 
 124 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 course it would, were it not for friction, or gravita- 
 tion, or some such thing which the golfer naturally 
 forgets about, if he ever knew. 
 
 It is extraordinary, but nevertheless true, that 
 the most serious, complete, and persistent break- 
 downs are due to elementary aberrations. Very 
 often a long run of exceptionally steady play will 
 force on us, in spite of previous experience, the 
 conviction that at last we have discovered that 
 will-o'-the-wisp, the secret of driving, and that, by 
 remembering it, we will be steady for ever. We 
 are temporary victims of the illusion which the bad 
 player never shakes off at all, with this difference, — 
 that by certain extraneous expedients he hopes to 
 play, and never does, whilst we, playing well, hope 
 to stereotype the means by which we are doing it. 
 Yesterday we were driving far and sure ; to-day we 
 are determined to play with hands and feet placed, 
 and club swung exactly in the same manner. We do 
 not quite get a hold of it ; search, and break down ; 
 search more, and break down worse. There are 
 few of us wise enough to learn, once and for all, 
 the lessons here taught, viz. : — ist, that as soon as 
 any point of style is allowed, during the shot, to 
 occupy the mind more than hitting the ball, a miss, 
 more or less complete, will result ; 2d (and this is 
 less obvious), that nobody can acquire complete
 
 OK TEMrORARV lAL'l.TS. I 25 
 
 uniformity. If wc arc driviiiL;- well, ilo nuL Ici us 
 trouble ourselves unduly about how ii is done. 
 Let us rather bear in mind that sliL;lu miaiiccs of 
 difference in grip, or stance, or swing, arc of no 
 importance. For instance, I am driving well, and 
 cannot help observing that I have my hands more 
 than usually over the club. Just because I have 
 noted the fact, there will be, next time I take my 
 stance, an inclination to alter this. It would be 
 a mistake to balk myself. If wc arc not thinking 
 of style at all, being too intent upon the match, 
 there will be little variation ; but if wc arc, let us 
 give way to it, saying to ourselves, ' All right, do 
 what you like about that — I am busy with the main 
 issue.' I do not mean that we can ovcr-swinir or 
 get into a constrained position with impunity ; but 
 there is no danger of extremes so long as differences 
 of attitude, mental or bodily, towards the ball, are 
 not expected to drive it. It will be within the 
 experience of many, that when an adversary, after 
 playing a few holes, explains that he feels he: is 
 going to drive well to-day, because he has hit upon 
 the proper something or other, he ends by being 
 an easy victim. But if he sa\'s, ' I feel that It does 
 not matter how I go up to the ball,' wc may be 
 sure that nothing but good pla)- will secure us the 
 \-ictory after a hard-fought battle.
 
 126 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 It does seem as if, when a breakdown takes 
 place from attempting to stereotype a successful 
 style, nothing- were simpler than to recover. But 
 this is not always, nor, indeed, usually, the case. 
 Of the best players it has often to be said for 
 months that So-and-so is not playing well. Nay, a 
 breakdown may last so long that a first-class player 
 becomes an acknowledged second, and remains so 
 for years or for ever. This is not a common case ; 
 but retrogression, more or less complete, of from a 
 day to three months is. It seems as if periods of 
 bad play ought never to last long. The player does 
 not anticipate it. Nothing seems easier than for 
 him to recollect the manner or manners in which he 
 hit when steady. He tries for them, one after the 
 other, and fails. 
 
 Although a shot is made in a moment, there are 
 many which remain green in the memory, and of 
 which the player can recall, long after the particular 
 sensation, how his shoulders seemed to get into 
 that one, his feet to grip the ground for another, 
 his hands to have held the club as if made for 
 it for another. A man has always a dozen pet 
 shots in stock, to the sensations of which he tries 
 (and fails) to return when a breakdown comes. 
 Then he says, ' Never mind ; perhaps I am thinking 
 too much of how to hit, and too little of hitting.
 
 OK TEMI'ORARV I ALI.TS. I 27 
 
 This is sure to be true; Ijut lu; still fails. During- 
 his spell of good play all the elements of ^lrivinL,^ 
 such as sweeping the ball away, placing the club 
 behind it, etc., became second nature. During his 
 period of style-hunting some vicious tricks have got 
 grafted on to them. The name of these is legion. 
 He may know, and be told by his cadd)-, that he is 
 swinorino- too fast, without knowine that it is so, 
 because he is lifting his club too straight up. A 
 lack of confidence may have twisted him into some 
 uneasy attitude, or (this is almost certain) he is hit- 
 ting too hard, which he was able to do successfully 
 when in form. It looks as if I were now admitting 
 (what has already been denied) that there are a 
 thousand and one things to remember at every shot. 
 This is not so. The very reason of the continuance 
 of the breakdown is that the player (although he 
 tells himself he has) has not purged himself of these 
 things. When playing well he swung swiftly and 
 stood firmly, but within the limits of ease ; now there 
 are quickness and stiffness without ease, and, above 
 all, impatience to recover. At last he will humble 
 himself utterly. He will give up mending his style. 
 To his feeline, his swinp- will be short and stiff, his 
 hitting weak and careful. The recovery will be 
 rapid, but not immediate, as all this time he has 
 been trying to make it. His lost confidence will
 
 128 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 cause many a miss ; but after a round, or even less, 
 there will be a recovery of fitness for freedom. He 
 will by degrees tighten his grip, and let them have 
 it. But let him take care. Let him beware of 
 noting his symptoms, so that the way to do it may 
 not escape him again. If he does so, another relapse 
 is certain. It is only when each shot is treated as 
 a separate act, in no way guaranteed by previous 
 ofood ones ; when each time he addresses the ball 
 his chief care is to hit it — not far, not in this way, 
 not in that, but hit it ; when how far it is to be 
 struck is scarcely thought of ; when, during the 
 swing, there is no consciousness of how he is swing- 
 ing- — that there will be an almost continuous record 
 of palpable hits. That nobody almost ever plays a 
 dozen shots equally clean, exactly as far as each 
 other, is because they cannot absolutely do this. 
 The experienced player knows that his last shot 
 was perfect because his mind was applied to it, and 
 to it alone ; and yet he cannot prevent himself from 
 trying to make the next as good, not in the same 
 way, but by repeating the last. One can watch 
 the process in any adversary who has played a 
 strong, steady game for (say) half a round. He is 
 thoroughly stretched, supple, confident, and con- 
 sequently out comes one of those extra long shots. 
 If you and he both leave him alone, he takes no
 
 Ol- TKMI'ORARV lAULTS. I 2(j 
 
 heed, and other extra ones follow at inicrxals. Hiil. 
 if )ou are a cunnin;^- player, llatter him about his 
 shot, point out that his next is as loni;. antl. if he- 
 takes the bait, the tliirtl ma\' be loii^' too ; but your 
 experienced eye will detect that he has stay^ered 
 and over-exerted himself to produce it. It is a 
 question of your tact against his sense, whether you 
 get him broken down altogether, or whether he 
 returns to hitting steadily and without prejudice. 
 
 In conclusion, I will summarise the times we are 
 in most danger of relapses. One is, as just ex- 
 plained, when we are in a particularly good vein of 
 play. Pride goes before a fall. The slightest shade 
 of retrogression from a perfection we have come to 
 consider normal may make us impatient, or lead to an 
 examination of the cause, and either impatience or 
 examination is fatal. To be beaten in an important 
 match, to be distinctly out-classed by a player not 
 considered our superior, when playing our best 
 game, is very trying. On the other hand, an unin- 
 teresting match, w'hich we can win as we choose, 
 may start us on a fatal course of experimenting. 
 Lastly, after a long absence from the green the risk 
 is great. There is a false axiom that a man can- 
 not play well under these circumstances, which is 
 often made true because it is accepted. We return 
 to work expecting to 'do ill. We play carelessK". 
 
 7'
 
 I 30 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 We hit hard, trusting- to Providence before our 
 muscles have got accustomed to their duties ; and, 
 in about three days, when our form ought to be 
 returning, it is further away than ever. No won- 
 der! for two days have been employed inacquiring 
 vices. When a man has had a holiday, let him 
 settle down to each shot as if a match or a medal 
 depended on it, and his game, or a better one than 
 he ever played before, will be his in no time. Men 
 often absent themselves from the oreen because 
 they have broken down. These usually recom- 
 mence humbly, and find their game restored. All 
 returning prodigals should do likewise. The folly 
 of sowing careless shots on fallow ground, in the 
 expectation of reaping good golf, is unspeakable.
 
 CHAPTI'.R \'I. 
 
 OF rLAVINc; TllROUCH THE GREEN. 
 
 After an accurate tee shot, the second has usually 
 (a grumbler would say, sometimes) to be played 
 from a light lie on soft sward, and is but a repetition 
 of the first. Some people, however, maintain that 
 you should hit as hard as possible from the tee, 
 and take it easy through the green. The wisdom 
 of this is doubtful. It seems to me to be better to 
 hit boldly and widi a will in both cases. To 
 attempt to strike harder than hard is, for most men, 
 to top, whilst softer than hard causes a heel or a 
 draw. What club should be used through the 
 green — driver, .brassy, or spoon — may be left to 
 individual sentiment. It is common to hear it said, 
 ' I cannot use my play club through the green.' 
 The answer to such nonsense is, ' Learn, then.' But 
 if a man says, ' I prefer my brassy,' then brass)- let 
 it be. He is probably the owner of one which 
 happens to suit him well. It is very likely that, in 
 six months, the fa\ouritc will be broken, three or
 
 132 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 four rejected copies will be lying in his box, a pet 
 driver rei^nine in their stead. Between a driver 
 and a brassy, or a long spoon, the difference is 
 practically fanciful. It is another matter if a short 
 spoon or a cleek is constantly used for full shots 
 from clean lies. You may be sure you have to do 
 with a poor player if he cannot use the proper club, 
 and does not try to learn. 
 
 But, alas ! the ball does not always lie well. 
 Then brassy, cleek, iron, and niblick sprawl them- 
 selves fanshaped, derisively, before the mental 
 vision, with a mark of interrogation after each. 
 On the border-land, between good and bad lies, is 
 the hanging ball. One of these with a face a yard 
 or two in front of it, is a bad ball, which can only 
 either be dunched along the ground a short distance 
 with a brassy, or popped equally far with an iron. 
 When there is no face in front, a hanoinor ball oueht 
 to go as far or further than another. \Vh)- it baffles 
 many golfers is that they try to raise it instead of 
 playing it downhill, leaving nature to raise it. A 
 caddy will say, ' Turn in the face.' This is good 
 advice if taken to mean that the club is to lie 
 naturally towards the slope it is to drive down. 
 If it is placed hopefully, in accordance with the 
 o;eneral lie of the orcen, a shot similar to what 
 results from turning up the face when the lie is
 
 OF TLAVIXG TIIRorCll TllK (iUKI.N. I 33 
 
 normal must follow. A yood i^-cMicral maxim for a 
 bad lie is, when in doubt bet\v(x:n two clubs, take 
 the meaner. The violent do not take the hok; b)' 
 force. It is the patient who ar(? re; warded. With a 
 bad lie there is more need than ever of a hrm grip 
 and an exact aim. These are the means by which 
 the ball can be forced. A violent swing and a 
 terrific blow may force a clean ball ; but a cupped 
 one derides such treatment. There are bad lies and 
 bad lies. Even a thick tuft of legitimate grass is 
 not so bad as it looks. It will scarcely do more than 
 leave a grreen mark on the club face. But these 
 little sandy patches, half-bred between a bunker and 
 a putting-green, are treacherous indeed. One little 
 teaspoonful of sand taken with the ball, and your 
 adversary gains half a shot. Beware of a cup, how- 
 ever small. If you expect to demolish it by means 
 of a little extra powder, you are mistaken. If the 
 higher side of this innocent little inch of slope is in 
 front of you, the chances of a clean drive are very 
 small — much less than if there is only a lump behind. 
 A careful aim will slip you in between the latter and 
 the ball. Clean balls, lying to you or from you ever 
 so little, must be allowed for, if you are to go straight. 
 These are very deceptive. Sometimes the declivity 
 is not even noticed, and something else is blamed 
 when we fly away otl the line. The worst of bad lies
 
 134 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 are caused by a few sparse shoots of long, wiry grass. 
 I do not know the botanical name of that diabolical 
 stuff; most likely it is christened in a way which it 
 would be impolite to write. These grasses, like 
 cholera, are more virulent in autumn. I say, beware 
 of a few of them. If there are many, the bad lie is 
 self-evident, and we humbly take a niblick. But 
 a few are just as fatal. They whip themselves 
 round the shaft and arrest its progress, like the 
 toasted cheese which clings to your feet in a night- 
 mare, when you are within a hundred yards of the 
 city of refuge, and the avenger at your heels. But 
 bad lies have their bright side. Sometimes, by 
 takino; thouijht, one makes a shot, even with a 
 niblick, which rejoices and surprises. They, more- 
 over, make one grateful for a clean-lying ball. Best 
 of all, the adversary may be the imfortunate. There 
 are few more restful, hopeful, happy moments at golf 
 than those in which he is hesitating about which 
 club to use, cursing his luck, consulting his caddy, 
 chantrinof his stand. It is better even than to see 
 him in a bunker or up against a fence. You know 
 that it is any odds to one that he will take the 
 wrong club, and that the loss of the hole will be 
 due to his own fault. Up against a fence, one's joy 
 is tempered by an uncomfortable feeling that Pro- 
 vidence is interferincr too much.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OF BUNKER I'LAV. 
 
 Before leaving that part of the game in which 
 sending the ball as far as possible is desirable, it is 
 necessary to consider for a moment a very painful 
 subject — Bunker Play. 
 
 The mere appearance of a niblick suggests 
 doubts and fear. Other clubs are <T:raceful, smilincr, 
 elegant things. The niblick is an angry-looking 
 little cad, coarse, bullet-headed, underbred. Its 
 face looks up as if to say, ' I will raise the ball 
 into the air.' Its smile is treacherous. It does 
 fulfil its promise sometimes ; but just as often it 
 smothers its laughter in the sand, leaving you and 
 the ball nonplussed. 
 
 No one is ever proud of his bunker play. Some 
 men of strong shoulders are more successful with 
 the niblick than others ; but they do not glory in 
 their strength. There are men who give up the 
 hole when they find themselves in sand, preferring 
 to pretend that they seldom get into any to more
 
 I 36 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 substantial advantages. So little is force exerted in 
 a bunker regarded, that men who act thus are not 
 credited with weak ph)sique. 
 
 There is at the best little pleasure in niblick 
 play. When you are compelled to ask for that 
 implement, it is under a sense of humiliation at 
 having put yourself into sand. Even if you get 
 out, you are an unprofitable servant, not quite so 
 far on with your work in two shots as you ought to 
 have been in one. Perhaps the feeling nearest 
 akin to pleasure derivable from a niblick shot is a 
 partner's sense of relief when you get the ball out. 
 This the player does not share. With the hopeful- 
 ness inherent in the true golfer, he expected to 
 succeed. Besides, the twenty yards or so the ball 
 has travelled seem a small result, considering the 
 extent to which his withers are wrung. 
 
 If there is small joy to be got from bunker play 
 there may be great sorrow. The ball may not be 
 got out in one shot. Indeed, after six it may be 
 worse in than at first. This may entail nothing 
 more than the giving up of the hole. But suppos- 
 ing )-our adversary to have played two or three 
 more before you got in, how sickening! In medal 
 play or a stroke match, in which )'ou have backed 
 your score against others, can anything be more 
 awful than to feel a sovereign vanishing at each
 
 UV ISLNKKR I'L.W. I 37 
 
 blow ? U is a providc-iuial arrani^cinciu that a 
 niblick is so coarse an implcMncnt. H ii were a 
 club that could scarcely hv. replaced, men would 
 often add shame lo woe by breaking;" it. Hut a 
 shaft which can infallibly be replaced for a few 
 shillings is useless as a safety-valve. On the other 
 hand, a niblick is a forniidcdjle weapon of offence, 
 and I have seen the life of an adversary, who 
 counted the oft-repeated shots aloud, in serious 
 danger. 
 
 It is worth)- of observation that bad players are 
 ceteris {i.e. musc\e.s) paribus as effective in a bunker 
 as the best. This is because nobody has any theorx' 
 about his swing or his stand, or this or that, when 
 addressing himself to a common ordinary bunkered 
 ball. Every one simply thuds at it. Men who, on 
 the sfreen, must needs shuffle, bob, and writhe, 
 each in their own manner, as much as if coming 
 into the presence of the Llama of Tibet, the ball 
 waiting for them as calm and stolid as he, will 
 hit freely and naturally with the niblick. Another 
 reason why one man is as good from an ordinar)" 
 sand cup as another, is that the ball is best dislodged 
 by a jerk. A lot of sand must l^e forced away with 
 the ball, so that it is really a heavy object for the 
 nonce. As we have seen, it is because it is not 
 always so — because it is so light — because hard 
 
 s
 
 138 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 thuddiiiL;' will smother it — that skill in driving is 
 an art, and not a mere question of strength. 
 
 Most bunkered balls, then, are best dislodged by 
 a good coarse jerk. It is usual to take a full swing 
 with a niblick ; but my own opinion is that a half 
 one is more effective, particularly if you use a light 
 club. Whether a heavy or a light one should be 
 carried may be left to individual fancy. The 
 weight of the former makes up for any loss of 
 applicable force. 
 
 Sometimes a bunkered ball presents peculiari- 
 ties which make it unadvisable to apply the common 
 thud. If there is a high face to loft, or if there is a 
 mound of sand close in front of the ball, the shot to 
 be described at page 153 is advisable. That minia- 
 ture face in front is particularly apt to cause dis- 
 appointment. If there is one behind as well, the 
 player grasps at once the horror of the situation, 
 but not if all is clear in that direction. Yet if the 
 ball be struck in the ordinary way, when there is 
 a face only in front, it is as unlikely to be treated 
 successfully as when entirely surrounded. A mound 
 behind, with flat sand in front, is not nearly so 
 serious. By getting in front, and chopping down 
 close to the ball, or simply by driving mound and 
 ball together, satisfactory results may be expected. 
 The above shot is also the only one that will do in
 
 OF I'.UNKKK I'L.W. I 39 
 
 a hard, deep, cla)-l)c)ttonicd IninkL-r. Ifilicnt is no 
 face to get ii[), il is different. The ball lies iIk n 
 as well as if on the L;reen, except (and it is a con- 
 siderable exception) that the club cannot be placed 
 behind it. Be cautious with a tee'd ball in a shallow 
 sand bunker, however. It is \ery nearl)- a mad 
 thing- to take a wooden club. I'^ven a clcek or an 
 iron must be selected with much solemnit)*. lUit if 
 there is a face to rise over !
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OF APPROACHING. 
 
 When the player's ball is within less than a 
 driver shot of the hole, approaching commences, 
 and new qualities — the sense of weight, how to 
 weigh it, appreciation of distance, etc., — are called 
 into requisition. The least amount of difference 
 between driving and approaching exists when the 
 distance is still so great that a full shot from a cleek 
 or an iron is advisable. Some players find it easier 
 to drive with wood than with iron ; but this is not 
 because the latter should be wielded in a different 
 way. The difficulty is either sentimental, or due to 
 some false attitude of mind. A feeling that an iron 
 club will sink into the ground, or the opposite view, 
 that it is more capable of cutting through it, may 
 incline a man on the one hand to top, on the other 
 to i)uff tlic ball. A man's iron shots may go too 
 high because he lays the club unnaturally back, or 
 because, looking upon it as more powerful than a 
 wooden club, he, intending" to hit harder, swing's too
 
 PLATE IX. 
 
 ADDRESSING FOR AN APPROACH SHOT.
 
 OF APPROACHING. I4I 
 
 quickly, therefore too straight up and down, there- 
 fore lofts too high. These results are not due to 
 the clubs, but to the player's treatment of them. 
 There is one real difference, however, between wood 
 and iron. A golfer who is inclined to cut the ball 
 will find his tendency to swerve to the left greater 
 with the latter, probably because of the more 
 polished face. Long driving with iron clubs is the 
 result of clean hitting, as with wood, except some- 
 times in the case of beginners, many of whom con- 
 gratulate themselves on what should be a cause of 
 regret and a hint that something is wrong — namely, 
 that they drive as far with a cleek as with a play 
 club. This something is the possibility of treating 
 the ball as a heavy object with a cleek, and so 
 treating it eftectively. A jerk with iron endows it 
 with something of the elasticity of wood. But a 
 jerker can never reach a first-class standard of 
 steadiness. This will dawn on the becrinner as he 
 improves, and his jerks wmII be reserved for cupped 
 balls. 
 
 The nomenclature of true approach shots — those 
 requiring less than a full swing — is somewhat in- 
 definite. Half, three-quarter, quarter, wrist shot, 
 etc., mean each something to players who employ 
 the terms, but they have no generally recognised 
 manner nor status. It cannot be laid down that if
 
 142 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 a full shot goes a hundred yards, a quarter shot 
 goes twenty-five, etc. Nor is there even an ap- 
 proximate law regarding the number of inches the 
 club ought to be drawn back in order to propel the 
 ball an equivalent distance in yards. All that can 
 be done is to give a few general hints as to how to 
 do it, and how not to do it. The sense of weight 
 must be exercised and cultivated by each player for 
 himself. 
 
 One rule, without exception, is that no ball, 
 however near the hole, should be played weakly. 
 Even the shortest of all approaches — styme lofting 
 — can only succeed if the ball is swept away, the 
 grip tight, the muscles taut. A weak tap, however 
 long or short the distance, wmII prove uncertain and 
 disappointing. The length of swing, not the firm- 
 ness of sweep, should regulate the carry. 
 
 The attempt to play an easy full shot is gener- 
 ally recognised as a mistake, and most men consider 
 it wiser to cover the distance with a drive from a 
 weaker club, or an approach shot from a stronger. 
 When it comes to these last, however, the folly of 
 attempting to ' spare ' is not equally acknowledged. 
 
 Longish approaches are sometimes attempted to 
 be made by means of a half shot. That is to say, 
 the player addresses the ball as in driving ; but 
 shortens his swing by getting his hands more
 
 OF APPROACHING. I 43 
 
 under the clul) than usual, and I)y kccpiiiL;- all the 
 joints above the chaphra^m rit^id. This mode of 
 play is scarcely worth cuhixatinq-. I do not m(;an 
 that those; who always drixc in this way and in no 
 other, or those who, beini;' bad at full slu)ts with 
 irons, have adopted this style with them, ouL^ht to 
 reform; but it is difficult to acquire as an occasional 
 means for limitino- the length of a drive. The 
 muscles are apt to assert themselves in their usual 
 routine, and a miss to result from the conflict of in- 
 tention and habit. Nevertheless, half shots of this 
 sort are frequently attempted with a cleek or an 
 iron ; but it is an indirect proof of their unsound- 
 ness, that no one ever seriously tries to play them 
 with a driver. 
 
 Unless under exceptional circumstances, to be 
 considered presently, there are thus only two proper 
 modes of approaching — by full drives from short 
 clubs, and by what are called wrist shots. It will be 
 found that the best players have no styles between 
 these two. According to length of swing for 
 various distances, they speak of quarter, half, three- 
 quarter, or full approach ; but these terms are used 
 for their own convenience, and refer merely to 
 longer or shorter shots played in the same style. 
 A half to them means a half wrist, not the half 
 spoken of in the last paragraph. Beginners and
 
 144 'T^^^ ^^"1' ^'^ GOLF. 
 
 Others ought clearly to understand that whilst they 
 ouo-ht to have one style for driviuQ-, whether with 
 wood or iron, successful wrist play is a new de- 
 parture, and that effective approaches cannot be 
 manufactured out of fraoments of a full swino^. 
 
 What, then, is a wrist shot ? For one thing, it is 
 a shot which ought not to be played with the wrists. 
 Their usual name misleads many a beginner, and 
 causes him to flounder hopelessly for years. To 
 use the wrists alone is so neat, comprehensible, and 
 compact an idea that he grasps it at once. He is 
 conscious that using one set of muscles and joints 
 alone, his sense of weight is more delicate. It will 
 not take him long to learn, although it may be 
 years before he is convinced that this is not the 
 way to do it. It would be less confusing if ap- 
 proaches were called ankle shots. The ancients 
 called them knee shots. It is to be deplored that, 
 for no obvious reason, a term so tutorial became 
 obsolete when baffys and feathers were superseded. 
 Properly these joints are brought more into play 
 than the wrists. 
 
 Without wishing to direct attention too empha- 
 tically to one point, it is nevertheless true that the left 
 wrist joint has no part to play in good approaching, 
 and must be rigidly restrained from taking any. 
 Men who are masters of the iron may say
 
 PLATE X. 
 
 •JUST \\T IHl.N A WRIST' (. 1 ).
 
 PLATE XI. 
 
 'JUST WI I'HIN A WRIST' ( -1 ).
 
 OF APPROACHING. I 45 
 
 this is nonsense, and of course they would 
 spoil their play by keeping that or any other 
 point too much in view ; but it may easily be 
 noticed that such persons do keep that joint rigid, 
 even although many of them give a preliminary 
 flourish. I say many ; but also it maybe noticed 
 that, contrary to what is the case in driving, most do 
 not. The rule is to put the club undemonstratively 
 behind the ball, and at once to strike. To the tyro, 
 then, if he is getting on well, I would say nothing ; 
 but if he is not, a perfectly stiff wrist will do much 
 to reveal the secrets of approaching. Of course, 
 too much attention to and misapprehension of this 
 point (as of most golf secrets) may lead to faults. 
 The player may make wrist-bending impossible by 
 getting his hand under the club, or by laying the 
 spare end of the shaft along his arm. He is also 
 apt to tuck his elbows into his sides, and play as if 
 they were strapped to his body, or, going to the 
 other extreme in order to give his left arm free play, 
 stick it out so far that the swing must be a slice. 
 The proper position is easy — the left hand well 
 over the club : there is to be no effort even if the 
 muscles fail to do the work of bone. Probably 
 an excised joint would not be missed. But it is 
 effort, not elasticity of wrist, which would give the 
 maimed man an actual advantage. 
 
 t
 
 146 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 As a rule, players talk and think more about 
 the position of the right than of the left hand in ap- 
 proaching. They discuss whether the thumb ought 
 to be down the shaft or over it, tight or loose. So 
 long as the elbow is close to the body, these things 
 do not seem to be matters of the slightest import- 
 ance. Approachers of equal skill indulge in all the 
 variations. Indeed, some are not constant to their 
 own fancy, sometimes having the thumb over, 
 sometimes down the shaft. As in driving, the 
 position of the right hand is a point too much, 
 attended to, that of the left too little. 
 
 Whilst, as we have seen, in driving a good deal 
 of licence is allowable in the matter of stance — some 
 players placing their feet parallel to the line of fire, 
 some with their back a little to it, some with their face 
 — the last is the only proper position for approach- 
 inof. One has but to take a club in hand, and the 
 necessity for this will make itself evident. Let the 
 experimenter actually pause after swinging back (say) 
 two feet. Standing in the proper way, there will be 
 no tendency on the part of the club to waver from 
 its line. But let him stand square, or in front, and 
 swing back the same distance : the position is stiff, 
 and it is difficult to avoid describing a loop at the 
 beginning of the return journey. 
 
 Assuming that the player has accepted the prin-
 
 OF Ari'ROACIIING. I47 
 
 ciple tliat the length of his aiti^roaclies is to be 
 regulated by distance of swing, he ought soon to 
 become pretty accurate for distances from twenty- 
 five to one hundred yards, one would think. Why 
 men remain so uncertain is due to many causes. 
 For one thing, they do not adhere to the principle. 
 At short distances they are inclined to swing easily, 
 which really means flabbily, and with a loose grip, 
 or else to swing too little, and apply more force. 
 At long distances they hit extra hard. Now, to 
 acquire accuracy, it must be realised that at all 
 distances the grip must be firm and the muscles 
 taut ; and that the ball will be reached with 
 more impetus, and therefore hit harder for every 
 inch the club is drawn back. The temptation to 
 over-stiffen one's-self, and force for a long approach, 
 can only be resisted by careful watching. There is 
 a natural tendency to cover a little more distance 
 by an ounce more of exertion — by quickening of the 
 swing, rather than by an inch more of it — leading, 
 if not checked, to a habit of jerking, which renders 
 the regulation of distance impossible. This is a 
 real difficulty ; others are either self-made or due to 
 iofnorance. One of the latter, almost universal with 
 tyros, is to attempt to scoop the ball up into the air. 
 Nothing is more common than to see the face of the 
 iron after the shot, held up as if for alms, whilst
 
 148 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 the ball is trundling along the ground. Let the 
 golfer ever remember that it is the lie of the club, 
 not a turn of the wrist, which is responsible for the 
 loft. Some men can never make up their minds 
 whether they intend to take the ball clean, or to 
 shave off a little turf with it. Having: made a orood 
 shot with turf, they regulate the swing accordingly, 
 till (a foozle must happen sometimes, however one 
 plays) they take too much, or make a good shot 
 clean. It matters very little whether a player takes 
 ground with him or not ; but it becomes serious if 
 he is hazy as to his intentions. Again, the custom 
 of using sometimes a heavy iron, sometimes a light 
 one, sometimes a cleek, sometimes trying to run the 
 ball, sometimes to loft it very high, postpones the 
 day when comparative certainty may be attained. 
 What the player ought to do is to decide what club 
 he will habitually use ; whether he will take turf or 
 not ; note the height of his loft when he hits as he 
 means to, and stick to this as his standard. This 
 done, there ought to be nothing to think of, in 
 nine shots out of ten, except the length of swing 
 necessary to cover the distance, and accurate 
 hitting. 
 
 The player who can make lofts from normal lies 
 to within a yard or so of where he means, even 
 although he foozles in complicated situations, over-
 
 PLATE XII. 
 
 SIXTY \Akl)S KKo.M (HI. HtilJ-: ( 1 ).
 
 t
 
 PLATE XIII. 
 
 SIXTY YARDS I- ROM IH]-. HOLE ( l' ).
 
 OF AI'l'KOACIIINC. I 49 
 
 runs ticklishly-placed flags, or fails to loft steep 
 hillocks, is more effective than he who has as man)- 
 styles, and as many irons, as there are holes in the 
 green. A show)- shot which comes oft should 
 be hailed as 'good tluke,' and its player ought to 
 thank Providence instead of smiling round com- 
 placently. Do I mean that one ought merely to 
 thwack at the ball despairingly whenever it is in a 
 difficulty ? Certainly not. But if it seems feasible 
 to play a fairish shot in a normal way, that is better 
 than to attempt anything gaudy. If something ex- 
 ceptional must be tried, let it be as slight a modi- 
 fication as possible of orthodox play — let it be a 
 deduction from it. Out of a cup one's natural 
 inclination is to try to spoon the ball, from long 
 ofrass to mow it, arainst wind to force it. The 
 golfer ought to ignore cups, grass, or wind as 
 natural features, reducing each to terms of yards. 
 There are very few^ lies which it is not the best 
 policy to treat in this way. So long as there is an 
 even chance of getting the ball to within twenty 
 yards of the hole by ordinary means, fancy shots 
 ought not to be undertaken, for there is little 
 doubt that the latter oftener fail than succeed. I 
 do not mean that proficiency in the showier kinds 
 of approaches is impossible. Many a player makes 
 himself the talk of the orreen for a season bv his
 
 150 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 marvellous power of lofting a ball so as to lie where 
 it alights ; but invariably the iron with which this 
 is clone breaks ; or, in some other way, the proud 
 owner of it loses his abnormal skill, and the last 
 state of that man is worse than the first. His prac- 
 tice of approaching in the simplest way has been 
 abandoned for this more fickle masterliness, and you 
 see him topping, puffing, missing, with cleeks, irons, 
 mashies, in the vain effort to strike out a new road 
 to glor)'. 
 
 It may seem unnecessary to insist so much upon 
 anything so self-evident as the necessity of adher- 
 ing to one simple mode of approaching ; but it is 
 requisite, unless preaching is vain. The temptation 
 to indulge in variations is almost irresistible. The 
 devil seems to hover over the golfer, and ever to 
 whisper in his ear, ' Try this,' or ' Try that.' He 
 listens to the tempter. It would be so nice if he 
 did chop it up in the air out of that hole, and lay it 
 dead. ' It may rise,' he thinks, 'whilst it will only 
 look like a fluke if it scuffles up within holing, 
 played in the ordinary wa).' He yields, tries, and 
 odds are it goes but a few yards, eliciting the well- 
 known cry of repentance, ' I ought not to have 
 tried ii.' 
 
 Take another case. The hole is just beyond a 
 bunker. Playing properly, you must run past. The
 
 OF AITROACIIINC. I 5 I 
 
 temptation to lay the iron back, or to put a s|)in on 
 from the heel, or to deaden the fall ])y hittinj^ off the 
 point, or to employ some new system lat(dy jjatented, 
 is very great. That it is not the game is proved by 
 the secret joy experienced when an adversary an- 
 nounces his intention of making one of these showy 
 attempts. Even in a score game, six shots behind 
 and three holes from home, the flames of hope begin 
 to flicker in your sulky bosom. 
 
 Although rarer than s^olft-^rs make them, there 
 are occasions when fancy shots are worth trying. 
 For instance, if a bunker is between us and the 
 hole, danger beyond it, and no chance of even a 
 half unless we are in in two, the ball must be lofted 
 high or else spun. Some players, in these circum- 
 stances, use a lofted iron in the usual way, others 
 try to lay back an ordinary one. Both shots are 
 difficult ; but, to my thinking, that with the specially 
 made club is the riskier. It must strike the ball 
 with absolute precision. If taken too thick, the 
 shape of the club makes it dive into the ground, 
 and pufl" the ball a )arcl ; too clean, it will skim it a 
 hundred yards with the force that would have lofted 
 it fifty. Laying back the iron is not so uncertain it 
 properly done. One way not to do it is to play an 
 ordinary approach shot, the face of the club pointing 
 upwards. A top is as certain as if, in th-i\ing ott
 
 152 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 the tee, you pose the lead instead of the sole of the 
 play-club on the grround. Properly, the laying back 
 is not done by rolling the club over on its heel, but 
 by putting it on the ground in advance of the hands, 
 and (this is the important point) drawing it back 
 almost along the ground. So low must the swing 
 be that if made full (which it never is for this shot), 
 it would be round the waist instead of over the 
 shoulder. In this shot the ball must be swept 
 away, not cut or nipped. There will be a spin on 
 the ball, but woe to the player who attempts to 
 increase this spin with a turn of the wrist ! There 
 is no reason why great certainty in this shot should 
 not be attained. Indeed, it is a favourite with many 
 at from fifty to twenty yards, but its application is 
 limited to clean lies, and lies in soft grass, as is the 
 use of the lofted iron. It is useless to try it on a 
 hard green, still more so from a bad lie. However 
 tightly the club be grasped, the attitude is not 
 adapted for forcing a ball. Attempted in a bunker, 
 the result is almost invariably disastrous. A table - 
 spoonful of sand is too much for the strongest arms. 
 There is another fancy shot which differs utterly 
 from the last except in respect of results. It may 
 be played at all times instead of the other, whilst 
 from a bad lie it is the only way I know of to loft 
 a ball. In this shot the club is lifted more nearly
 
 PLATE XIV. 
 
 kf>,„a , n-ta; ^^ a'M.t.tj.^Bat,;^, ,., a: *'\ J 
 
 -^' 
 
 Loi-Tixi; Hu;}i ( 1 ). 
 
 (,Scc page 152.)
 
 PLATE XV. 
 
 LOFTING HIGH ( ■_' ).
 
 OF ArpROAcniXG. 1 53 
 
 straight up tlum in a normal one, crashing,'' into the 
 turf behind the ball. But there is more to attend 
 to. Why many fail at this blow is that, when 
 mother earth interferes with the completion of the 
 seo^ment of their circle, thev submit. To succcied. 
 the player must follow the ball, not in the same 
 curve that he swept down on it, which is impossible, 
 but as best he can. This best will be an ellipse. 
 (See this shot illustrated, Plates xiv. and xv.) It 
 is wonderful how beautifully the enemy will spout 
 into the air. Amonsr all these shots, which are 
 loosely described as wrist-shots, this is the only one 
 in which the wrists legitimately come into play. To 
 get the club, as it were, round the corner, after the 
 ground is reached, there must be a twist from them. 
 The disadvantage of the shot is that, even from 
 good lies, the distance is extremely difficult to regu- 
 late. It will fail altOQfether if anvthinor but a strong 
 blow be struck. Still many will remember the 
 wonderful accuracy Jamie Anderson acquired in it 
 some years ago, hitting a full blow at all distances, 
 and regulating the length of his loft by the inches 
 of turf he took behind the ball. In a bunker this 
 shot is also useful (a niblick, or mashy, of course. 
 being the weapon employed), better perhaps than 
 the ordinary dig. By it a ball may, if necessary, be 
 lofted higher, and, what is still more to the point. 
 
 u
 
 I 54 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 it will often be got out of a deep cup, in which the 
 conimon thud would merely bury it. 
 
 Wlien the ball is close to a straight face, a shot 
 somewhat like this last may, in desperation, be 
 attempted. The club is lifted nearly straight up, 
 and brouo^ht down with a crash an inch or so behind 
 it, as if the only intention were to split open the 
 ground. There should be no attempt to follow. 
 Sometimes (I say emphatically sometimes) the ball 
 will spout up into the air in a marvellous manner. 
 This shot cannot come off except out of loose sand. 
 
 A style of approach often employed is running 
 the ball with the iron, either along the ground, or 
 very little above it. When this is attempted, it is 
 customary to turn in the club face. By so doing, 
 the player gets the sentiment of his intention ; 
 but that is all. The turning of the iron alone 
 will not run a ball. The essential thing is that 
 the plaver be well over the ball, and his hands 
 slightly in advance of it — in fact, just as far from 
 the ' J2i.ste milieu ' at one side, as they are at the 
 other when he attempts to * lay back ' the iron. 
 (See Plate xvi.) It is necessary to point out that 
 the position of the hands, not the turning in of the 
 club, is the essential thing in this shot, because, 
 although doing the latter inclines one to the former, 
 the one is quite possible without the other. (Let
 
 PLATE XVI. 
 
 I^Vi."*^ 
 
 
 
 It 
 
 J 
 
 RUNNING 11 Willi AN IKON ( 1 ).
 
 PLATE XVII. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 ^^m 
 
 r 
 
 ^^^^^^H^ 
 ^^^H 
 
 
 ^t 
 
 'p.*u 
 
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 _^ 
 
 RUNNING IT WITH AN IRON (-2).
 
 OF AITROACIIING. I 55 
 
 me observe parenthetically that iiKrelv turning 
 the toe of a club, in or out. is of no effect in any 
 shot, except to convert a properly made tool into 
 a bad one. Placing the club out of its |)roper 
 position is simple folly, unless it be part of the 
 result of the mode of address, not an isolated 
 contortion.) Our player, then, has taken his posi- 
 tion for a skimming approach. His hands are well 
 in front, the club face turned in — not to keep the 
 ball low, but partly because it now naturally lies that 
 way, partly because that way of resting it makes it 
 a more upright club for the nonce — and upright- 
 ness, we have seen, is conducive to low trajectory, 
 A common mistake is now to jerk — the thing, of all 
 others, which ought not to be done. Jerking raises 
 a ball. The club should rather be dragged, the 
 wrists rigid, the grip excessively firm. From rough 
 ground near the hole, or on a bad putting-green, 
 this shot is very useful. Many prefer it to an 
 ordinary loft at shortish distances, the latter being- 
 more difficult within, say, thirty yards than when 
 the player has further to carry. There are some 
 who employ it for all approaches, and with good 
 effect too. These you may recognise by their stance, 
 which is often square or even in front. 
 
 There are four clubs used for ordinary approach 
 work — the putter, the deck, the iron, and the mashy.
 
 156 THE ART OF GOLF, 
 
 The first, of course, can only be used on very 
 flat ground. Long putts, and the putters thereof, 
 are much despised. A putt of sixty yards laid dead 
 causes anger or laughter, according to the temper 
 of the adversary. But I am bound to say that 
 those who are well practised in ' skelping ' often 
 call forth the exhibition of one or other of these 
 forms of emotion. The w^orst of this mode of 
 approaching is that, sooner or later, it undermines 
 the constitution of the most delicate and valuable 
 club in the set ; whilst to carry two putters — one as 
 a whipping-boy — is unwise. They cannot be made 
 exactly alike, and, even if they are nearly so, hesi- 
 tating between the two at intermediate distances is 
 apt to put a player's putting powers out of gear. 
 
 Cleek approaches do not lay your respectability 
 open to doubts like long putts, which have the same 
 odour of meanness as the ' sneak ' of boys' cricket. 
 Although for the most part low, they are not 
 absolutely crawling things. They have one distinct 
 advantage over iron approaches. The cleek, loft- 
 ing low, can be used at greater distances than the 
 iron, thus bridging over that rather wild country 
 which lies between a full cleek or spoon shot and 
 the approach pro})er. But the cleek has little else 
 to recommend it as against the iron, which, played 
 with equal skill, is in most circumstances more
 
 OF AI'I'ROACIIINC-. I 
 
 D/ 
 
 effective. The least liillock will catch and kill 
 a cleek approach, whilst, even in the absence of 
 such obstructions, the run at the fuiish is neces- 
 sarily so long-, that the chances of stopping or 
 turning bumps are greatly increased. .Some people 
 will object that there is as much chance of a lucky 
 as of an unlucky fall. This is not so. Nature does 
 not smile upon golf. Being inanimate, she is more 
 apt to oppose obstruction than to further motion. 
 The cleek approacher is consequently proverbial 
 for grumbling at his luck. When the worm cast 
 turns his ball, he is the worm that turns. Moreover, 
 the trajectory of a cleek shot is so low, that the least 
 shade of top will prevent the ball from rising at all, 
 and then it will clino- to the oround and q-q half- 
 way. From an iron, a shot one degree too low is 
 still in the element it was meant to traverse, not in 
 grass, which has double as much resistance. ' But 
 my cleek is as much lofted as an iron,' is what one 
 often hears. No doubt it is. Most cleeks are. It 
 is not the difference of lay, but of shape, which 
 governs their respective lofting powers. A cleek, 
 to loft as high as an iron of the same la}', would 
 require to be thicker on the sole than they usually 
 are, and as sharp as a knife on its upper edge. 
 Even then its height of loft would be very un- 
 certain. The change in thickness of metal from
 
 158 THE ART OF GOLF, 
 
 below upwards being so sudden, a microscopic 
 variation in the height of impact would materially 
 alter the amount of loft. In short, it is the depth 
 of face, not the lay, which causes the difference in 
 execution between a cleek and an iron. Certainly 
 a more lofted cleek might be used. But such a 
 weapon would in no respect be better than an iron, 
 and would have the drawback of all laid-back clubs, 
 a subject already noticed. 
 
 For approaching, the iron is on the whole the 
 best club yet devised, and the one most in favour 
 with players. It is supposed to be a very difficult 
 thing to get a good iron. This is not the case, 
 although it is very common to see men owners of, 
 and proud of, very bad ones, which vastly increase 
 their difficulties in approaching. This is because 
 they set their affections on a wrong style of club. 
 It is usual to carry two irons — a heavy for driving, 
 a light for approaching. This nomenclature sets 
 men on the wrono- scent from the beo-innino-. The 
 two ought to be called the driving and the approach- 
 ing iron, without this (as I hold erroneous) dogmatic 
 reference to their comparative weights. Whether a 
 driving iron ought to be heavy or light, or whether 
 it ought to be carried at all, is a matter for indi- 
 vidual taste to decide. Ikit there is no greater mis- 
 take than to have a light ' light iron.' To say what
 
 OK Ari'ROACinNc. 159 
 
 weight it should be is impossible, so much depends 
 upon the player's style and build. Roughly, it may be 
 stated, however, that an iron lighter than a driving 
 cleek is simply a useless toy. Error in the direction 
 of heaviness, whilst less common, would be less fatal. 
 The lay of an approaching iron, as well as the 
 weight, is a matter of importance. If too straight 
 in the face, it either will not carry over bunkers and 
 hazards, or else its owner will be led into a habit 
 of jerking, in order to make it do so. On the 
 other hand, a much lofted iron is very difficult to 
 use. Unless the ball be struck with absolute pre- 
 cision, it either digs into the ground, or hits with 
 its edge. A medium amount of loft is best. By 
 merely looking at the club, it is impossible to decide 
 whether its lay is right or not. An upright club 
 for the same work requires more pitch than a llat 
 one, experience proving that (as already insisted 
 on) the more upright a club is the lower its trajectory. 
 Again, the thicker the sole is in proportion to the 
 top, the higher it will send the ball. The proper 
 way to decide whether an iron has the right la)' or 
 not is to try it. If a half-topped shot travels further 
 than a lofted one over ordinary turf, the club has 
 too much pitch ; if the opposite happens, it has too 
 little. However pretty an instrument, to whatsoever 
 great man it may have belonged; reject it. and pick 
 a new one out of a shop.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OF PUTTING. 
 
 To the beginner putting seems the least interest- 
 ing part of the game. It feels mean to go dribbling 
 and creeping up to a little hole, whilst a teeing- 
 ground, from which you may drive the ball unknown 
 distances into space, is ready close by. The rabbits 
 in the bents mock at it, rushing into holes of about 
 the same size at headlong speed, and with perfect 
 ease. Like other things, essentially foolish in them- 
 selves, such as preaching, pleading, feeling pulses, 
 etc., putting becomes attractive in proportion to the 
 skill acquired in it. The young player will tell you 
 that he cannot putt a bit, as complacently as man- 
 kind in general compliment themselves on having 
 bad memories. Not so the experienced golfer. His 
 putting is a feather with which to tickle his lug. 
 
 That putters, like poets, are born not made, is a 
 common fallacy which prevents many from becom- 
 ing masters of the art. It is also a general opinion 
 that to putt you only require to putt, and that there
 
 PLATE XIX. 
 
 PUTTING ( I ).
 
 PLATE XX. 
 
 3K"S«R*^ 
 
 
 -^ 
 
 
 PUTTING (2 ).
 
 OF PUTTING. l6l 
 
 is nothing easier than to do so with the middle of 
 the club. If you heel, toe, top, or draw a putt, you 
 are accused of gross, wilful carelessness. The miser- 
 able man whose driving has gone wTong sets to 
 work to amend his style. The putter at fault 
 blames himself for not using his eyes more carefully, 
 or else he gives up for the day, on the ground that 
 his liver is out of order. There is here a fallacy. 
 I do not say that one ought not to consider a semi- 
 miss with a putter wicked, but it is not worse than 
 the same crime with a play-club — nay more than 
 failing to thread a needle is clumsier than missing a 
 nail with a hammer. Nay, in my opinion, it is not 
 so bad. Of the two, to hit clean with a driver Is the 
 easier operation. With the latter the main thing is 
 to lay on. There are fifty styles in which this can 
 be done, whilst, with the former, there are at most 
 two or three. 
 
 Besides, for putting, a well-balanced club is 
 absolutely essential. I am inclined to go further, 
 and add that it must be made of wood. It is true 
 that some hole out wonderfully with cleeks, others 
 even with irons. But, by the shade of many a lost 
 match, they are bad when they go off! Many men 
 always putt with wood ; few, never. The user of iron 
 admits the inferiority of his weapon by carrying a 
 putter to fall back upon when his fancy club fails him. 
 
 X
 
 1 62 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 I have just said there are, at most, two or three 
 attitudes in which good putting is possible. I am 
 inch'ned to be more dogmatic, and to assert that 
 there is but one. The player must stand open, 
 half facing the hole, the weight on the right leg, the 
 right arm close to the side, the ball nearly opposite 
 the right foot. To putt standing square, the arms 
 reached out, is as difficult as to write without laying 
 a finger on the desk. 
 
 The idea that a putt is merely a shorter approach 
 shot is one which must be got rid of. Approaches 
 are played with a swing, longer or shorter, according 
 to distance. A putter is not swung, but passed over 
 the ground. It is a common thing for a professional 
 caddy, under special circumstances, to put an iron 
 into your hand near the hole, and to say, * Play as if 
 you were playing with a putter.' Those who appre- 
 hend the shot know that they are to give the ball a 
 sort of push. Many players, however, putt with a 
 swing. It is necessarily a very short one, and they 
 are popularly described as 'nipping their putts.' 
 From start to finish of a properly played putt there 
 must be no free play of muscle. The putter must 
 be guided all the time it is in motion, as much 
 as the artist's pencil in drawing a straight line. 
 In time, and by practice, driving may become 
 partly mechanical, and balls be clean hit almost
 
 OF PUTTING. 163 
 
 unconsciously. You may become a driving" but not 
 a putting machine. Matter can be fashioned into a 
 clock, but not into a portrait painter. It is because 
 hoHng-out is a human act that none ever become 
 infallible for even the shortest distances. 
 
 Within narrow limits there is a choice of styles 
 of good putting. It may be done entirely from the 
 wrist, from the shoulder, or by a combined use of 
 all the arm-joints. It matters little which of these 
 manners be adopted, so long as it is adhered to and 
 persevered with in prosperity and adversity. But, 
 however old a player you are, however good in other 
 respects, if you are putting with a jerk or swing, a 
 fresh start would be worth while. 
 
 A great secret of steady putting is to make a 
 point of always 'sclaffing' along the ground. The 
 best putters do this, although it is not evident to an 
 onlooker, the noise of the scrape being inaudible. 
 To be sure of the exact spot on the putter face 
 which is invariably to come in contact with the ball, 
 is, of course, essential to the acquirement of accuracy. 
 If you play to hit clean, your putter must pass 
 above the ground at varying heights, as it is im- 
 possible to note how much air there is between it 
 and the turf. In the other way you feel your road. 
 But the greatest gain from treating putting as a 
 sclaffing process is the less delicate manipulation
 
 164 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 required when short putts are in question. At a 
 foot and a half from the hole the clean putter often 
 fails, from incapacity to graduate inches of weak- 
 ness, whilst the sclaffer succeeds because he is 
 dealing with coarser weight sensitiveness. 
 
 Although every golfer theoretically accepts it as 
 politic to play for the back of the hole, yet few putt 
 as if they thought it was. The majority treat the 
 hole as a place more difficult to get into than it 
 really is. They seem practically to believe that a 
 putt one ounce too strong, or one hair's-breadth off 
 the line, must be out. Consequently many short 
 putts are played so timidly that they are six inches 
 off the line, or within six inches of the goal. Now the 
 fact is, that (from short distances) the hole is pretty 
 big, and from all distances it is capable of catching 
 a ball going at a fair pace. I admit that more putts 
 of over two yards must be missed than are held, 
 because a putting-green is not a billiard-table ; but 
 many more would go in than do if players credited 
 holes with a little of that catching power which they 
 really possess. Some one says I mean nothing more 
 than that a putt should be played ' for a foot past,' 
 as the caddies advise. I do mean more. I object 
 to that phrase. It should stand ' Play to be in and 
 at the proper pace — namely, so hard that, if straight, 
 you are in ; if not straight, that you will be, not one.
 
 OF I'UTTING. 165 
 
 but two feet past.' With this faith in the hole, putts 
 of a yard or under are very easy. Any pace between 
 what will take the ball the exact distance, or two feet 
 past, will do. Practically, in other words, the player 
 does not require to think of the pace, and can give 
 all his attention to direction. The putter who plays 
 thus boldly has much to endure in the way of perse- 
 cution and ridicule. If, from a distance, he strike the 
 hole and fall in, it is called a fluke. His short putts 
 are lauofhed at as orobbles. He is assured that had 
 they missed they would have been out of holing. 
 There are two answers ; first, they do not miss the 
 hole ; second, if they did, they would only be out of 
 holincf for the dribbler who sneers at them. It is the 
 inveterate practice of dropping putts over the edge 
 of the hole which makes it necessary to discuss and 
 study the line so carefully, and causes the power of 
 calculating the effect of the minutest undulation or 
 obstruction to be highly necessary. A man whose 
 habit it is to play for the back of the hole at all 
 times will seldom have any difficulty about his line. 
 He will not require to crouch down and take note 
 of obstructions which are scarcely visible. Anything 
 that will turn his ball aside, and compel him to play 
 with bias, will be visible to the naked eye. There 
 will be no need to settle whether he is to take his 
 caddy's line or his own — whether he must start an
 
 I 66 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 inch to the right, playing weak, or two inches to the 
 left, playing weaker, or off the heel, or off the toe. 
 Of course, it is very pretty to see a ball meander- 
 ing into a hole ; but, in most cases, it is quite an 
 unnecessary treat, given gratis to the onlookers. 
 Consultino" with caddies has much to do with each 
 putt being treated as if it were a thing by itself If 
 their advice as to the line and strength be followed, 
 and the putt comes off, it is supposed (and they 
 like it to be supposed) that there was no other way 
 of doing it. Naturally, too, they do not advise the 
 easiest way. A roundabout road is more interesting 
 to them, and adds, moreover, to their importance. 
 The simple-minded caddy, who always sticks down 
 a pointer in the direct line between the ball and the 
 hole, is credited with doing so from lack of under- 
 standing of lines altogether. But his advice is nearly 
 always the soundest. 
 
 Many players acquire faith enough to play for 
 the back of the hole by using a cleek or an iron for 
 short putts, and they then maintain that these clubs 
 have the quality of keeping the ball true to its line. 
 The putter will do the same thing if used with equal 
 confidence, and that without the risks of either loft- 
 ing or of those due to using an awkward, ill-balanced 
 club, which an iron or deck with its face turned in 
 undoubtedly is.
 
 OF rUTTINC. 167 
 
 If there arc few who pla)' for the Ijack of the 
 hole in ordinary circumstanc(ts. there are fewer 
 still who do so when the on!)- line is curved. If 
 there is a moundlet whicli will cause the ball to 
 diverge to the left, few go to the riL;ht just enough 
 to make uj) for this. They set themselves to dribble 
 the putt very far to the right, giving the unevenness 
 of the ground as much say in the matter as they 
 can. Anybody will play boldly along the top of a 
 ridfxe when the hole is at the end of it, but most 
 men prefer, to the detriment of their putting when 
 it is on the side of one, to climb high up and drop 
 down, to running quickly along the lower slopes. 
 
 In putting there is much to think about, and 
 much more not to be thought of With long putts, 
 the o-reat stumblino--block is the strencrth. Before 
 taking his stance the player knows his distance from 
 the hole and the nature of the cfround. One glance 
 more after he has done so is sufficient to assure him 
 that he is aiminof in the xvA\X. direction. Lookinij 
 back and forward between the ball and the hole 
 will tell no more about the distance, but will only 
 distract him from applying the force proportionate 
 to it. For short putts which ought to be holed, the 
 same holds good, except that starting the ball in the 
 exact line is, or ought to be, now more a difficulty 
 than the strength. Some fix upon a spot to play
 
 I 68 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 over before addressing the ball, others after ; the 
 most diffident get their caddy to point it out when 
 they are about to play. But, however it is come 
 at, there should be no hesitation. There is the line 
 now for strength and accuracy. To take another 
 look at the hole, to think ' Perhaps I am not aiming 
 quite straight,' will certainly prove fatal. You will 
 give an involuntary pull or push, or dribble hesi- 
 tatingly up to the lip. But with faith in your line, 
 your stroke delivered, you will look up and likely see 
 the ball disappear down the middle — like a rabbit, 
 perhaps, on account of the determined energy of 
 your faith — perhaps by the side (a hole is very large 
 if played at boldly), on account of some bias In the 
 crround not noticed, and best unnoticed, but down 
 all the same. 
 
 When a putter is waiting his turn to hole-out 
 a putt of one or two feet in length, on which the 
 match hangs at the last hole, it is of vital importance 
 that he think of nothing. At this supreme moment 
 he ought studiously to fill his mind with vacancy. 
 He must not even allow himself the consolations of 
 religion. He must not prepare himself to accept 
 the gloomy face of his partner and the derisive 
 delight of his adversaries with Christian resignation 
 should he miss. He must not think that it is a putt 
 he would not dream of missing at the beginning of
 
 OF PUTTING. 169 
 
 the match, or, worse still, that he missed one like it 
 in the middle. He ought to wait calm and stupid 
 till it is his turn to play, wave back the inevitable 
 boy who is sure to be standing behind his arm, and 
 putt as I have told him how — neither with undue 
 haste nor with exaggerated care. When the ball is 
 clown, and the putter handed to the caddy, it is not 
 well to say, ' I couldn't have missed it.' Silence is 
 best. The pallid cheek and trembling lip belie 
 such braggadocio. 
 
 y
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 OF MATCH AND MEDAL PLAY. 
 
 Having examined in detail the different kinds of 
 shots which the golfer is called upon to make, a 
 few remarks on combining them into a game may 
 fittingly conclude this little treatise. 
 
 There is no such thing for the properly balanced 
 mind as an uninteresting match at golf. Some 
 greedy and ill-conditioned persons will not play in 
 what they call ' duffers' foursomes ' — matches in 
 which the real flukes are the clean-hit shots, and 
 the winning side that which has the luck to make 
 the greatest number of these. On the other hand, 
 there are dull fellows who will not stake their 
 reputation on a serious match in which defeat 
 means sorrow and victory joy, which classifies 
 them as golfers, or decides the ownership of a 
 five-pound note. The wise golfer who wishes his 
 game to flourish will supply it with a judicious 
 mixture of the two kinds — the friendly and the big 
 match.
 
 OF MATCH AND MEDAL l'L.\\'. 171 
 
 A friendly match is the earnest golfer's hohday, 
 and his opportunity for practising as well. It gives 
 him time to listen to the singing of birds, and to 
 observe the natural non-golfing beauties of the 
 links. It is also his time for trying new clubs, 
 modifications of style, or fancy shots which have 
 been clamouring for recognition, more pleasantly, 
 than in an hour's solitary practice. It enables 
 him to set at rest questions about his thumb, the 
 possibility of lengthening his driving, the advisa- 
 bility of taking to a cleek for putting, a mashy for 
 approaching, etc., etc. ; all this, of course, without his 
 partner knowing that his half-crown is being trifled 
 with. But to play too many friendly matches is a 
 great mistake. It is the direct road to a bad style 
 and careless putting. The tone of mind during 
 most games one plays ought to be an earnest, 
 oathful desire for victory, which alone will fix a 
 man down to the great monotonous essential of 
 hitting the ball true, and distract him from the 
 will-o'-the-wisp of style. 
 
 Games at golf ought not to be played for 
 nothing, more particularly where adversaries are in 
 the habit of meeting often. Glory may be a suffi- 
 cient spur when trying conclusions with a stranger ; 
 but between friends there must be somethinof more. 
 If there is not, the worse player will not take odds.
 
 1/2 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 and the better, from having nothing to do, will fall 
 back to his level. This trades-union, communistic 
 plan of offering no incentive to skill slowly under- 
 mines it. But with a stake, the worse player will 
 demand his odds, the better give them grudgingly, 
 and both strive to win. ' What ! ' exclaim those 
 who consider there is some mysterious wickedness 
 in exchanging money for anything but perishables, 
 such as food, drink, clothing, and shares in bubble 
 companies — ' What ! degrade golf to a gambling 
 game!' Gambling! what nonsense! Is dinner 
 a gluttonous and drunken thing because at it there 
 is eating and drinking ? ' I see,' says the tolerant 
 moralist, ' small stakes. You would limit the bet- 
 ting to the "statutory ball" or equally "statutory 
 half-crown." ' Why should I ? Are there many 
 cases of golfers crippling their resources by 
 betting ? Even if there were, who made us 
 these people's grandmothers ? Nevertheless the 
 statutory half-crown has its merits. By adding 
 up your collection of them at the end of the 
 year, you can judge of your (jualities as a 
 match-maker. It is a fair criterion of your 
 progress, or retrogression too. It has the advan- 
 tage of being a uniform stake, which to wrest 
 from your friend may be greedy, but is not cruel. 
 From some people one might feel conscience-
 
 OF MATCH AND MEDAL PLAY. I 73 
 
 Stricken when takino- gokl. It is unfeeling- to cruw 
 when dormy three and the stake is large ; but it is 
 a fair ij;-ame to jangle even half a dozen of a man's 
 ' statutories ' below his nose, or to invite him into a 
 shop to see you spend them. Before we can do this, 
 however, the money must be won. Attention to 
 several little matters will help players to win it. 
 
 It has already been remarked that excessive 
 golfing dwarfs the intellect. Nor is this to be 
 wondered at when we consider that the more 
 fatuously vacant the mind is, the better for play. 
 It has been observed that absolute idiots, ignorant 
 whether they are playing two more or one off two, 
 play steadiest. An uphill game does not make 
 them press, nor victory within their grasp render 
 them careless. Alas ! we cannot all be idiots. 
 Next to the idiotic, the dull unimasfinative mind is 
 the best for golf. In a professional competition I 
 would prefer to back the sallow, dull-eyed fellow 
 with a ' quid ' in his cheek, rather than any more 
 eager-looking champion. The poetic temperament 
 is the worst for golf. It dreams of brilliant drives, 
 iron shots laid dead, and long putts held, whilst in 
 real cfolf success waits for him who takes care of 
 the foozles and leaves the fine shots to take care of 
 themselves. 
 
 If you have started with no other idea bui to hit,
 
 174 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 in a short time it will appear that you are driving 
 far. Take no notice of the fact. Regard the extra 
 distance covered as anybody's business but yours. 
 The greedy, grovelling spirit of the true golfer, 
 anxious to win holes, is not to be beguiled from 
 its purpose by the soul-satisfying, pocket-emptying 
 glories of brilliant shots. During a match there is 
 usually a great deal said about the state of the 
 game, or the adversary's position in regard to the 
 hole, and one is very apt to attempt to play accord- 
 ingly. By doing so, many holes are lost which 
 would not otherwise fall to the opponents. For 
 instance, how often does it not happen that you are 
 playing two more, and think it necessary to hole in 
 less than the perfect number to secure a half ? You 
 make an effort, fail, lose a shot more ; which shot, 
 not the two more, it turns out, costs you the hole. 
 Everybody knows that to press a drive will not add 
 to its length ; but it is not equally acknowledged 
 that extra mental pressure for an approach or a 
 putt is worse than useless. The supposed neces- 
 sity for pressing is born of too much respect for the 
 enemy. Because they have got the best of you for 
 the moment, and played the hole perfectly up to a 
 certain point, they are credited with being infallible, 
 and you see no chance of their going into a bunker 
 or taking four to hole off an iron. It is scarcely
 
 OF MATCH AM) MKDAL I'LAY. I 75 
 
 ever politic to count the enemy's chickens before 
 they are hatched. Cases constantly occur of holes 
 being lost because it seems absolutely necessary in 
 order to save them to get home from a bad lie. 
 Your forcing shot sends the ball from bad lo worse, 
 and what might have been won in five is lost in 
 seven. A secret disbelief in the enemy's play is 
 very useful for match play. 
 
 This contempt must, however, be largely 
 seasoned with respect. It does not do lightly to 
 lose the first two holes, or any hole. When one is 
 down it is natural to hunger for holes, but even 
 with five up play greedily for more — play a yard 
 putt as if the match depended on it. Likely 
 enough it will turn out that it did. With five up 
 express, as is polite, regret at laying a stimy, but 
 rejoice in your heart. 
 
 It is a great thing in a match to be one or two 
 lip, and to keep the lead. An advantage main- 
 tained for seven or eight holes almost certainly 
 breaks down the enemy and wins the match. Yet 
 every one is inclined to be carelessly confident when 
 they are ahead, and when they have lost their lead 
 and some more, partly by their own fault, to apply 
 themselves with undue and fatal earnestness. If 
 golfers would but humbly acknowledge to them- 
 selves (which is true) that they lose heart and have
 
 176 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 bad luck when they are down, the}' would be more 
 careful to husband their advantages. How men 
 ' funk ' is comically noticeable at the close finish of 
 a big match. With all even and three to play, the 
 side which can finish in fair figures is almost certain 
 to win. But in these circumstances even first-class 
 players generally give an exhibition of lamentable 
 buno-linof all round. 
 
 Some particularly tender-hearted golfers play 
 better in foursomes than in singles, because in the 
 latter they are apt to have their bowels of com- 
 passion moved and their game made loose by the 
 grumblings and lamentation of the adversary whom 
 they have got well in hand. Playing a foursome 
 will not lessen his dread of the other side when 
 down, but it will prevent the merciful man from 
 being moved by pity. The wailing, the discontent 
 about the odds, the deprecation of stymes, the harp- 
 ing on the fiukiness of long putts held, his good 
 luck, their bad luck, will not melt his heart and 
 soften his muscle. Between him and them is one 
 nearer and dearer — his partner. It is not selfish to 
 crush the enemy ; it is duty — duty to the partner. 
 What are the tears of two enemies to the joy of one 
 friend ? 
 
 The choice of, and conduct towards, a partner 
 are matters of considerable importance. If we get
 
 OF MATCH AND MKDAL I'LAV. I 77 
 
 beaten, no matter wlio he is, or how he has 
 played, or how we have played, it will, as a 
 matter of course, be entirely his fault. During 
 the match, however, it is politic to mask our 
 disgust and contempt ; for it is not the scolder, 
 but the scolded, who is apt to go to pieces. No 
 man who takes a partner ever questions for a 
 moment that he himself is the amiable factor in the 
 combination. This is all very well ; but this belief 
 in our own imperturbability often leads us to 
 challencje alonij with some notorious Qrrumbler, to 
 play badly in consequence, and to lose. If we thus 
 break down, we blame him, and unjustly. The 
 fact is, our temper is proved to be such as to unfit 
 us to play with a quick man. He has roared like 
 a lion indeed, but played like one, whilst we have 
 trembled at his roaring, been put out when he 
 showed us our putts, sulked when he interfered 
 with our shots or advised how to swing. It is we 
 who have bad tempers, and should therefore choose 
 perfect partners. He is qualified to play with 
 either anofels or devils, and win. 
 
 What is the ideal partner } He should be of 
 a Laodicean disposition — neither too hot nor too 
 cold, ready to utter one hearty groan over any 
 gross mistake he happens to make, and then to 
 say no more about it. At yours, he should show 
 
 z
 
 178 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 disappointment in so far as they affect the game, 
 letting you beheve at the same time that they 
 were simply failures, not the results of vainglorious 
 attempts— of selfish attempts — to do something 
 brilliant. When you have bad luck he should 
 sympathise ; but fulsome falsehoods about the bad- 
 ness of the lie are loathsome to an upright-minded 
 man. Gross hypocrisy on his part is only politic 
 when you miss a short putt. This he ought to try 
 over again, and miss. There are grave circum- 
 stances in life which make lies moral. This is one 
 of them. A short putt missed may bring on a 
 holing-out paralysis unless it is promptly treated. 
 
 The perfect partner, without letting you know 
 it, looks upon himself as the backbone of the game, 
 on you as the flesh which may err. He plods on 
 whilst you miss — plods on still when you are 
 brilliant. If you are efficient, he lauds you; if 
 variable, he says nothing ; if hopeless, he smiles 
 and says, ' It can't be helped.' To him you are the 
 chances of the game. 
 
 The perfect partner is not awed if you are ex- 
 acting, nor sorry for you if amiable to his mistakes. 
 If he is playing ill, he does not think of what you 
 will say afterwards. He tries to recover for the sake 
 of the match. If he be leader, he does not try to 
 pull you through by extra brilliancy of play. If
 
 OF MATCH AND MKDAL I'LAV. I 79 
 
 you are in a class above him, still more careful is he 
 to attempt nothing" beyond himself. Glory for the 
 leader, duty for the subaltern. And if, perchance, 
 it is he who is fighting the best fight, he is careful 
 to hide his consciousness of this from his superior. 
 
 The perfect partner never volunteers informa- 
 tion as to why you are playing badly, never 
 suggests that you are taking the wrong club, al- 
 though certain you cannot get up with it. He 
 knows that although you accept a correction civilly, 
 or even with hypocritical gratitude, you would not 
 be human if you were careful to prove yourself 
 wrong by making a good shot. 
 
 There a7'e partners to be found possessing these 
 and other virtues ; but it is useless to look for one 
 who, in recounting a lost match afterwards, will 
 either forget your mistakes or remember his own. 
 
 A perfect partner is what one desires. A per- 
 fect adversary on the other hand is to be avoided. 
 To be regularly beaten is — Well ! it is not golf, 
 and it is politic to avoid or watch carefully those 
 adversaries who have a knack of getting the best 
 of it in every match they make. The two most 
 dangerous types are the grumbler and the flatterer. 
 The former begins by huckstering for more odds 
 than he ultimately intends to accept, asserts that 
 he is best in a foursome if a single is proposed.
 
 l8o THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 reminds you that you outdrive him, speaks about 
 his liver, has a sore hand, or a sprained wrist — can't 
 play in wind if it is blowing, in hot weather if it is 
 fine, in bad weather if it rains. If you are wise, 
 make a match irrespective of these things, or let 
 him go home to bed. But the wariest are apt to be 
 caught after winning the first match and lunching. 
 They are apt to lose the next two by carelessness, 
 believing what he says about being out of form. 
 It is so difficult to judge of an adversary's play. 
 Unless one is getting beaten off the green, there 
 is a predisposition to believe that the grumbling 
 enemy is not as good as ourselves, and that (if he 
 is winning) he is winning by luck. If we are some 
 up, and he harps on his bad shots, walks with his 
 head bowed, only raising it to wail, there is a risk 
 of his being treated as nought, and perhaps pulling 
 off the match in consequence. 
 
 Flattery is still more dangerous than grumbling. 
 Under its influence a level match for shillings may 
 be followed by a round for pounds, giving odds. 
 Out of the hundred shots more or less you have 
 made in the round, the flatterer easily finds five 
 good ones with which to turn your head. With 
 putts especially he will succeed. A very straight 
 or a very long drive may be used against you ; 
 but a few good putts are still more dangerous in
 
 OF MATCH AND MEDAL PLAY. l8l 
 
 the mouth of a match-maker. The drives — unless 
 utterly given over to vanity — you know to be 
 exceptional. But putts ! who doubts that on his 
 day his putting is remarkable ? 
 
 The adversary who outdrives us is not difficult 
 to deal with. If he does so on the average, he 
 naturally gives odds, a man's driving being the 
 usual standard by which his game is measured. If 
 it is only when he hits them that he drives far, 
 he is still easier to deal with. Those who hit 
 occasional screamers, over-estimate their own game 
 even more than the rest of golfers. 
 
 Judged by his apparent merits, the most 
 dangerous man is he who is exceptionally good 
 within the hundred yard radius. To estimate the 
 comparative efficiency of men's driving is easy, but 
 near the hole casual observation is quite deceptive. 
 The faculty for occasionally sending the ball high 
 in air to land dead causes a man to be over- 
 estimated. He who, time after time, holes from 
 a yard and a half is not necessarily a perman- 
 ently dangerous adversary. It may be his own 
 bad putting which so often renders these efforts 
 necessary. If you are puzzled at So-and-so con- 
 stantly winning, the key to the enigma will pro- 
 bably be found in the inconspicuous regularity with 
 which he performs the apparently simple duty of
 
 I 82 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 holino- in three off his iron. His approaches are not 
 brilhant perhaps. It may even be that many of 
 them are scuffled along the ground ; but a close 
 observation will show that they are invariably 
 straight. Nobody is oftener past the hole than 
 short, but the deadly player will have a good 
 average of approaches finishing on the far side. 
 In short, an adversary who does not seem to be 
 playing his short game at all well, may be winning 
 every hole because each approach is laid within 
 fifteen yards and each long putt within fifteen 
 inches — a very simple matter, which rouses no 
 astonishment, but is perfect play nevertheless. 
 
 In match play, as a rule, it is the finish, in 
 medal play the start, which is most exciting. In 
 the latter, one feels how dismal it would be to 
 draor round the links with an incubus of ten or 
 twelve strokes too many for the first three holes. 
 After one has warmed to the work, it is not so 
 crushing, slowly, surely, imperceptibly to tail off. 
 Successful medal play, however, calls for more 
 nerve and patience than match play. So long as 
 our card remains good, each shot is as important 
 as the first, and as we near home with a good 
 record the excitement becomes intense. Even 
 from the last tee a carefully compiled and credit- 
 able card may be driven to the winds.
 
 OF MATCH AND MEDAL PLAV. I S,^ 
 
 Some men give a very good account of them- 
 selves on medal days by playing a bold, gambling 
 game, which either comes off, or requires three 
 figures to record it. For him who is always there 
 or thereabout, the medal round is too trying to be 
 pleasant. Each shot is a solemn and difficult inter- 
 view, on which depend momentous issues. After 
 each there is a moment for thanksgiving, a moment 
 of relaxation, a short walk, and to business again — 
 to the business in hand. There should be no 
 thought of anything else. The good medal-player 
 is no Lot's wife, ever adding up his card to see 
 what is behind him. When he has to drive, he 
 drives. Approaching, he does not see himself in 
 the bottom of the hole in three ; he only sees the 
 ball which has to be struck. Visions of the calami- 
 ties of missing do not flicker along the line of his 
 putt. His round is dismal business, without reflec- 
 tion or anticipation. 
 
 Some golfers advise great caution in medal play. 
 They advise to drive gently, to play round bunkers, 
 to play putts for dead. It is not likely that the 
 cautious medal-player will have to tear up his card, 
 or that there will be any double figures on it, but he 
 may easily have a worse total than if there were 
 one or two, whilst anything better than a moderate 
 score is improbable. An easy shot is as uncertain as
 
 184 THE ART OF GOLF. 
 
 a pressed one. A flabby muscle is as little under 
 control as an overstrained one. To play round a 
 bunker is to give yourself leave to top — a permis- 
 sion likely to be taken advantage of, for the golfer's 
 body hates to hit and loves to foozle ; whilst his 
 game is easily insulted by being made to go round, 
 or play short of, a bunker, it ought to be allowed to 
 try to carry. Besides, a bunker is not necessarily 
 a very terrible place when you are in it. The 
 player in one is as likely to win the hole as his 
 adversary thirty yards further back on grass. Espe- 
 cially when the bunker is within forty yards of 
 the hole is caution folly. A cupped ball on the 
 grass is as likely a contingency as a very bad one 
 in the bunker. The bunkered ball will likely be 
 got out, whilst the same pusillanimous spirit which 
 played the other shot may likely put it in. Be- 
 sides, why should the bold player get in ? To hit 
 clean with a driver is not more difficult than to 
 do so with an iron. In short, the bold game saves 
 a shot if successful, and does not necessarily lose one 
 if too daring. That timid play is a mistake will be 
 made apparent on a moment's reflection to any one 
 who has ever entered for a scoring competition. 
 He will remember having thought, ' If I go in there 
 I am done for,' — how he has gone in, got out, and 
 only at most lost a shot. Of course this argument
 
 OF MATCH AND MEDAL I'LAY. I 85 
 
 only applies to ordinary bankers. On every green lA, 
 there are some terrible ones — unfair ones, in which 
 the punishment does not fit the crime. These 
 must be avoided. 
 
 It is in putting, more than in any other part of 
 the game, that the would-be medal winners, and 
 those who enter to see what they will do, are apt 
 to fail on medal days. Bad driving, with a turn of 
 luck, may lose you little or nothing ; but bad putt- 
 ing runs up a score that you will only reveal to 
 inquiring friends after one or two askings and some 
 explanation as to what bad luck you had. Every 
 one starts for a medal a little shaky, needing some- 
 thing to picket his mind to, so that it may not 
 wander away into realms of dread. In driving, one 
 can prevent stray thoughts by employing the mind 
 in keeping the eye on the ball ; in approaching, 
 one can deafen himself with ' Be up ; ' in putting, all 
 formulae but make us more erratic. Any kind of 
 reflection or moral resolve seems to put the delicate 
 machinery out of gear. Resolve to be up, and you 
 are too far past ; to be dead, and you are short ; to 
 be in, and you are out of holing. Good putting 
 grows like the lilies. In match play it is vigorous 
 when the sun is shining, and fades a little as the 
 prospect grows dark. But the atmosphere of medal 
 play is either too hot for it or too cold. One wants 
 
 2 a
 
 1 86 
 
 THE ART OF GOLF 
 
 it to save shots for the future at one time, at 
 another to retrieve the faults of previous play. To 
 putt well on a medal day, one must be careless ; — 
 advice easily given, but difficult to follow until our 
 card is hopelessly beyond the reach of human aid. 
 
 ' We may outniii 
 By violetit s'viftness that •which wc run at, 
 A)id lose by over running. ' 
 
 IIk.nry VIII. I. I. — {Shahespearc on Golf.) 
 
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