ENCOURAGEMENT.--_Professional Golfer_ (_in answer to anxious question_). "Weel, no, sir, at your time o' life, ye can never hope to become a _player_; but if ye practise hard for three years, ye may be able to tell good play from bad when ye see it!"] * * * * * [Illustration: _Bertie_ (_to caddie, searching for lost ball_). "What are you looking there for? Why, I must have driven it fifty yards further!" _Diplomatic Caddie._ "But sometimes they hit a stone, sir, and bounce back a terrible distance!"] * * * * * [Illustration: _Old Hand._ "Ah, I heard you'd joined. Been round the links yet?" _New Hand._ "Oh, yes. Went yesterday." _Old Hand._ "Whot did you go round in?" _New Hand._ "Oh, my ordinary clothes!"] * * * * * [Illustration: GOLFING AMENITIES. (_Overheard on a course within 100 miles of Edinburgh_).--_Hopeless Duffer_ (_who continually asks his caddy the same question, with much grumbling at the non-success of his clubs_). "And what shall I take now?" _His Unfortunate Partner_ (_whose match has been lost and game spoilt, at last breaking out_). "What'll ye tak noo! The best thing ye can tak is the fower fifteen for Edinburgh!"] * * * * * THE PEDANTRY OF SPORT.--_First Golf Maniac._ I played a round with Captain Bulger the other day. _Second G.M._ When did you get to know him? _First G.M._ Oh, about the end of the Gutty Ball period. * * * * * [Illustration: _Cheerful Beginner_ (_who has just smashed the Colonel's favourite driver_). "Oh, now I see why you have to carry so many clubs!"] * * * * * [Illustration: Golfer] TEE, TEE, ONLY TEE! (_Song of the Golf Enthusiast. After Thomas Moore_) AIR--"_Thee, thee, only thee._" The dawn of morn, the daylight's sinking, Shall find me on the Links, and thinking, Of Tee, Tee, only Tee! When rivals meet upon the ground, The Putting-green's a realm enchanted, Nay, in Society's giddy round My soul, (like Tooting's thralls) is haunted By Tee, Tee, only Tee! For that at early morn I waken, And swiftly bolt my eggs and bacon, For Tee, Tee, only Tee! I'm game to start all in the dark, To the Links hurrying--resting never. The Caddie yawns, but, like a lark, I halt not, heed not, hastening ever To Tee, Tee, only Tee! Of chilly fog I am no funker, I'll brave the very biggest bunker, For Tee, Tee, only Tee! A spell that nought on earth can break Holds me. Golf's charms can ne'er be _spoken_; But late I'll sleep, and early wake, Of loyalty be this my token, To Tee, Tee, only Tee! * * * * *