Let me mention what conditions Mr. Macdonald made for the selection of these eighteen holes. He decreed that there should be two short holes for iron shots, between 130 and 160 yards in length; two 500-yard holes; two of the “drive and pitch” order, 300 to 320 yards; eight good two-shot holes, 350 to 470 yards; and four long one-shot holes varying from 190 to 250 yards, according to the contour of the ground, the longer holes having the fair green falling towards the putting green. These together would make up a course of about 6000 yards in length. IV Once a year there is a great foursome played between a Colonel and a Parson on the one side and an Author and an M.P. on the other, and they always look forward to it with great keenness. It is a compact among them that the match shall be played every year that all four are alive and within the United Kingdom. This is one of the most delightful kinds of matches, and no pleasure of reminiscence is so rich as that of golfers such as these in looking back over ten or twenty years of matches and comparing their recollections of them. All earnest golfers should have some arrangement of the kind with their best friends. It happened the other morning when this match was to be played, that a great disappointment was in store for the little party, as they took train from Charing Cross bound for that fine inland course some twenty miles away to which they were all most devoted. Heavy clouds of ominous complexion were above at nine o’clock, and there was a suspicious look and feel about the atmosphere; but, like all good golfers, these men were optimists all, and would not mention to one another the fear that was in their hearts. “I daresay we shall have a very nice day after all,” murmured the Parson, and the Colonel stated that he was nearly certain that the glass was rising when he last looked at it. A fine fellow is your golfing optimist. But when London had been left some ten miles behind, the hideous truth was exposed beyond any denial. It was snowing, and the chill of it went to the hearts of the golfers. “Oh, this won’t be much,” said the M.P., “and it is certain to melt quickly, anyhow; see how watery are the flakes.” But when they arrived at the course it was snowing more than ever, and big dry flakes were whirling in eddies all about, while the course already lay an inch beneath a white covering. It was a bad case. Unless there was a great change in an hour or so there could be no golf that day, and indeed the idea of it was already almost given up. The four sat in the smoke-room looking exceeding glum. Attempts to make congenial conversation failed. The Parson felt that it was incumbent on him to cheer up his friends, and after other kind efforts he bethought himself of what he considered to be an excellent story.