Caddie, give me my driver, caddie, Note my style on the first few tees; Duncan fashioned my wrist-work, laddie, Taylor taught me to twist my knees; I've a beautiful swing that I learnt from Vardon (I practise it sometimes down the garden-- "My fault! Sorry! I _beg_ your pardon!")-- Caddie, my driver, please. Only ten little days, in which to do So much! e.g., the twelfth: ah, it was there The Secretary met his Waterloo, But perished gamely, playing twenty-two; His clubs _(ten little days_!) lie bleaching where Sea-poppies blow _(ten days_) and wheeling sea-birds mew.... Caddie, give me my driver, caddie, Let us away with thoughts like these; A week and a half is a lifetime, laddie, The day that's here is the day to seize; _Carpe diem_--yes, that's the motto, "Work be jiggered!" and likewise "What ho!" I'M NOT GOING BACK TILL I'VE JOLLY WELL GOT TO! Caddie, my driver, please. THE ENCHANTED CASTLE There are warm days in London when even a window-box fails to charm, and one longs for the more open spaces of the country. Besides, one wants to see how the other flowers are getting on. It is on these days that we travel to our Castle of Stopes; as the crow flies, fifteen miles away. Indeed, that is the way we get to it, for it is a castle in the air. And when we are come to it, Celia is always in a pink sunbonnet gathering roses lovingly, and I, not very far off, am speaking strongly to somebody or other about something I want done. By-and-by I shall go into the library and work ... with an occasional glance through the open window at Celia. To think that a month ago we were quite happy with a few pink geraniums! Sunday, a month ago, was hot. "Let's take train somewhere," said Celia, "and have lunch under a hedge." "I know a lovely place for hedges," I said. "I know a lovely tin of potted grouse," said Celia, and she went off to cut some sandwiches. By twelve o'clock we were getting out of the train. The first thing we came to was a golf course, and Celia had to drag me past it. Then we came to a wood, and I had to drag her through it. Another mile along a lane, and then we both stopped together. "Oh!" we said. It was a cottage, the cottage of a dream. And by a cottage I mean, not four plain rooms and a kitchen, but one surprising room opening into another; rooms all on different levels and of different shapes, with delightful places to bump your head on; open fireplaces; a large square hall, oak-beamed, where your guests can hang about after breakfast, while deciding whether to play golf or sit in the garden. Yet all so cunningly disposed that from outside it looks only a cottage or, at most, two cottages persuaded into one.