And well may the widows weep before you When your nightly round is done; They care nothing for a stymie, or the glory Gained by holing out in one. "How long," they say, "how long in careless fashion Will you stand, to drive the Dyke, upon our hearts, Trample down with nailèd heel our early passion, Turning homeward only when the light departs? You can hear our lamentations many a mile hence, Can you hearken without shame, When our mourning curseth deeper in the silence Than a strong man off his game?" * * * * * [Illustration: "---- HE WOULD HAVE SAID" _A beautiful stroke missed! A favourite club broken! No words to bring relief!_ _American Friend (in the background, after a long pause)._ "Wa'al, Brown, I guess that's the most profane silence I've ever listened to!"] * * * * * [Illustration: "A BEAUTIFUL DRIVE."] * * * * * [Illustration: SUBTLE.--"Aren't you a little off your game this morning, Mr. Smythe?" "Oh, I'm not playing this morning, Miss Bertha. Only just amusing myself."] * * * * * SHOULD MARRIED MEN BE ALLOWED TO PLAY GOLF? (_Extract from a Golfer's Diary_) _July 21._--Played Robinson, who would never win a match if it wasn't for his wife. Think that I shall start a links for bachelors only. (Mem.--Suggest to the committee that no married man is allowed to play golf in the mornings or afternoons.) Hole I. I played perfectly, holing beautiful long putt. Robinson hopeless. One up. Hole II. R. bunkered. Entirely his own fault. Two up. Hole III. Holed my approach, allowing for both wind and slope of green; really a grand shot. Caught sight of Mrs. R. as I walked to the next tee. Three up. Hole IV. Thought that I might have to speak to Mrs. R. at any minute. Missed my drive in consequence. Disgusting! Two up. Hole V. R. seemed to be looking for his wife instead of attending to what I was saying. My drive lay on a buttercup, and who the deuce can be expected to play off buttercups? One up. Hole VI. Stymied R. quite perfectly. He pretended to think that we were not playing stymies. We were. Two up. Hole VII. Saw Mrs. R. looking aimlessly out to sea. These loafing ladies are enough to put any man off his game. Why can't they do something? One up. Hole VIII. R. may say what he likes, but he waved to his wife. I was also annoyed by his stockings, which I should think Mrs. R. knitted. The sort of useless thing she would do. All square. Hole IX. Got well away from Mrs. R., and though my caddy coughed as I was approaching I laid my ball dead. Beautiful shot. One up at the turn. Hole X. Had the hole in my pocket when R. laid his approach dead. Ridiculous luck. All square. Hole XI. Just as I was driving I saw Mrs. R. still looking at the sea. I complained, but R. took no notice. At any rate she cost me the hole. One down.