The chief Dublin courses are two--Dollymount and Portmarnock--though it would be unfair to omit some mention of Malahide--'the Island'--where there is golf to be had, which may legitimately be called sporting in the best sense of the word. Dollymount and Portmarnock are both also island courses in the sense that we have to cross the water to get to them. At Portmarnock this perilous feat is performed by car or boat, according as the tide is low or high; but at Dollymount there is a long causeway, and the worst possible sailor need not blench at the prospect. I have a very great affection for =Dollymount=. I have played some very strenuous and delightful matches there, and, save possibly at St. Andrews, I feel as if I had been in more bunkers at Dollymount than on any other course. This seems to be _the_ feature of Dollymount, the amount of low cunning, if I may so term it, with which the bunkers are placed. In writing that sentence I find that I have been guilty of a criminal pun without meaning it, because Mr. Barcroft, the secretary, is a great disciple of Mr. John Low in the matter of bunkering. He has saturated his mind in that most charming and instructive of books, _Concerning Golf_, and then he has gone forth valiantly with his shovel. The result is that there are many pitfalls, which are worthy of Mr. Low's definition of what a bunker should be. "Bunkers, if they be good bunkers and bunkers of strong character, refuse to be disregarded, and insist on asserting themselves; they do not mind being avoided, but they decline to be ignored." There are some fine, towering hills at Dollymount, but it is not these that make the player's knees to knock together; it is the little pots of innocuous aspect that most emphatically decline to be ignored. [Illustration: DOLLYMOUNT _The first tee, looking towards Howth_]