AN ANTHOLOGY OF THE LINKS. Flowers of History, Philosophy, and Mendacity Culled by Caddies to the Muse Whose Metrical Feet Have Wandered Into the Debatable Territory That Lies Between Fiction and Fact. THE FANTOM OF THE LINKS. By Jessie Pope. When morning crowns the distant downs With veil of azure gossam; When black bat wheels, and twilight steals The blush from every blossom-- Hist! to a sudden mysterious click, The caddie shudders and shrinks, The scarlet-jacketed heart beats thick-- 'Tis the fantom of the links. The first was he on the family tree Of canny professional laddies, In Pluto's halls he hungers for balls-- They say he's a weakness for caddies. Hist! when you feel a thrill in the breeze, A whisper that rises and sinks, When there looms a shape by the misty trees-- 'Tis the fantom of the links. Then fly the green tho' fit and keen To drive like soaring rocket, You'll search till dark for balls you mark-- They're in his intangible pocket. Back from the cliff and the shimmering bay, The dune and the pebble-strewn brinks, Mortal, you'll get the worst of the play With the fantom of the links. When through the gray the dawning day Slants over gorse and heather, When sun has set and grass is wet. And mist-wreaths twine together-- List to a sudden mysterious click, The caddie shudders and shrinks, The scarlet-jacketed heart beats thick-- 'Tis the fantom of the links. _London Queen._ THE LOST BALL. Standing one day on the golf-links, I was weary and ill at ease; And I baffled and foozled idly Over the whins and tees. I know not what I was dreaming, Or where I was rubbering then; But I swiped that ball, of a sudden, With the force of two score men. It sped through the crimson twilight Like a shot from a ten-inch gun; And it passed from my fevered vision To the realm of the vanished sun; It chasséed over the bunker, It caromed hazard and hill; It went like a thing infernal-- I suppose it is going still. It shied each perplexing stymie With infinite nerve and ease; And bored right on through the landscape As if it were loath to cease. I have sought--but I seek it vainly-- That ball of the strenuous pace, That went from the sole of my niblick And entered into space. It may be some blooming caddie Can sooner or later explain; It may be that only in heaven I shall find that ball again. _Smart Set._ GOLF IN CACTUS CENTER. We were propped against the 'dobe of that joint o' Poker Bill's, When a tenderfoot was spotted, actin' queerlike in the hills; He'd a ball of gutta-percha, and was puttin' in his licks, Jest a-knockin' it to glory with a bunch o' crooked sticks.