"Tonight and tomorrow they will play a matched game of 1,500 points--750 each night. A local billiard enthusiast has offered $100 to either of the players who scores a 00 break or better. This to the average billiard player seems a tremendous break." _Vancouver Daily Paper._ But not to us. * * * * * POLITICS ON THE LINKS. I put down my morning paper as I left the train for the golf club. It contained the interesting news that the Parliamentary Golf Handicap had been postponed lest fiery politicians should run amok with their clubs. I sighed, for the spectacle of BONAR v. BOGEY (The CHANCELLOR) would have beaten the MITCHELL-CARPENTIER fight. Then it came home to me that I, a golfer, a citizen, a voter, was taking no part in the great political struggle of the day. I had not even declined to deal with my butcher because he was a Conservative, or closed my wife's draper's account because he was a Liberal. It is a curious fact, worthy the serious attention of political philosophers, that butchers are always Conservative and drapers always Liberal. I reached the club-house, and the first man I saw was Redford. Now Redford is a scratch player and a vice-president of a Liberal Association. He has a portrait of LLOYD GEORGE in his dining-room. "Play you a round, old man, and give you ten," he said cheerfully. I had to do something for my country. "Never," I replied sternly. "I do not play with homicides." "What are you talking about?" asked Redford, who is an estate agent when he isn't golfing. "I merely say," I replied, "that I will play with no man who deliberately connives at the slaughter of his fellow-citizens. Every Liberal vote is a vote for civil war." "Man, this is a golf links, not Hyde Park." "I regret the course I have to take, but my conscience is imperative. Away! your clubs are blood-stained." Redford shrugged his shoulders and went off to get the professional to go round with him. The next man to drop in was Pobson. He is a Grand Knight Imperial (or something similar) of the Primrose League, and makes speeches between the ventriloquist and the step-dancer at their meetings. He has signed the Covenant, and reads every column Mr. GARVIN writes. In fact, I attribute it entirely to Mr. GARVIN'S effect on the nerves that his handicap has been increased from plus two to scratch. "Want a round? Give you eight strokes," he began. "No, Sir; not with a man, who tampers with the Army." "You're either mad," said Pobson, "or else you've been reading _The Daily News_." I will say this for Pobson--he seemed inclined to believe in my madness as the more credible alternative. "Enough of this. Do you think I will be seen playing with a man who ruins our noble Army to gratify petty political spite? Every Conservative vote means an Army mutineer." "Mad," said Pobson, still charitable, as he left me. Then there entered a dear old stranger and my heart opened to him at once.