From Fox's Earth 



not sportsmen. Golf is no longer sincere. And 

 like other insincere things is in danger of passing. 

 Men play to win, and are crabbed when they lose, 

 deny every merit to another's game, think the 

 turf in league with their opponent to rob them of 

 their just rights. Rudeness is common where 

 only courtesy prevailed. The very atmosphere 

 is stifling. 



Signs are not wanting that the better class are 

 disposed to retire from the game. To the olden 

 sportsman, golf is memory's guest, and he would 

 rather have the unsullied remembrance of it than 

 the coarse reality. If he be tempted down to 

 the tee-box and be not jostled out, he will have 

 an unhappy round, in which rude words may be 

 addressed to him. He has left no successors. 

 The modern school have no traditions. They 

 ask for no environment and get none. They 

 play a bare game in a keen way, as bare as they 

 who play on a billiard table in a heated room. 

 No charm is left, nor wandering outline. Many 

 are not to be distinguished from professionals. I 

 beg the professional's pardon, for certain of 

 whom I have a great respect, and whose position 

 is at least plain. Why make distinctions ? The 

 name of amateur has ceased to have any mean- 

 ing. Links there are, being increasingly shunned. 

 St. Andrews is one of them. Men come, but 

 not they who were wont to come. In summer 

 there is a rush, but it is an ugly rush. Ugly or 



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