Many minds have made great efforts towards the discovery of this secret, but the fruits thereof have not been satisfying. Golf is not like other games which stir up great enthusiasms in their players. Long spells of failure or of ambition thwarted often kill the passion that has fed the energy of the players of these games; but that is not the case with golf, and golf almost alone. Nor does a surfeit of play lessen the desire for it as it does in the case of other field sports, which need close seasons for their healthiness. When one day’s golf is over, the thought is of the next that will succeed it, and the hope already goes forward to anticipation of the superior delights that may be in store. And it makes the same appeal to all persons of all classes who once attach themselves to it, and it has been found that the golf impulses are as strong in the men of other races and of other colours as they are in the British who have cultivated the game. This universality, the constant enthusiasm, the unweariedness of the golfer, and the intense ardour that distinguishes him from the players of other games, suggest to us that some strong emotion of the human mind is touched by golf in some peculiar way, that its principles and the conditions of its play make a special appeal to some elementary feature of simple human nature; for it is the appeal to these primitive instincts that is always the strongest, the most overpowering. Upon this line of investigation we come upon a clue that leads us to a more satisfactory idea as to the secret than any other which has been suggested. The strongly humanising tendencies of the game are evident to all, and admitted. No cloak of convention can be worn over the manners and thoughts of the player; he is the simple man. And what are the subtle features of the primitive instincts that are awakened in him so constantly, at almost every stroke, in every round, and on every day? It is sometimes difficult to seize upon them, floating in a vagueness as they do, but it does seem that all the strong emotions of the golfer combining to make up his grand devotion to the game, are clustered round the simple human instinct, most human and most potent of all, the instinct of Hope. It is this hope that leads the golfer on through all his troubles and disappointments, and it still urges him forward when he has already ascended to a great delight. It is a hope that will never permit complete satisfaction. This simple formula that the mystic charm of golf is hope, will explain all the emotions that rise up in the golfer in the course of a year of play. Take him from the first tee to the end of his game. It is the fresh morning, and the ardour of the golfer is warm within him, and he has a yearning and a high hope for a great day’s sport. Here, on the teeing ground, he is animated by a great desire to play the first hole as well as ever before, and to drive a clean far ball that shall speak well of his skill and make good augury