Various - Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 724

It is almost superfluous to say that in our own day the noble and ancient pastime is still the game of the Scots, and latterly of the English, of all classes and in all parts of the world. One little fact that incontestably proves the eminent respectability of the game is that 'the minister' can be a golfer without the least fear of the straitest-laced of presbyteries. It is said that when the canny Scot abroad 'prospects' for a new settlement, while he naturally rivets one eye on the main chance, with the other he reckons up the capabilities of the ground for his favourite game; therefore it is that golf has taken firm root and flourishes in many a distant colony. Across the Border the game is so acclimatised that formidable rivals to our native players are now trained on well-known English greens. That it may go on and prosper is of course the wish of every true lover of the invigorating pastime.

Mr Clark gives us some historical notes of the more prominent of the many golfing clubs that now flourish in different parts of Scotland, and extracts from their minute-books the leading events of their career. Now and then we come across eccentricities, such as the feats of Mr Sceales and Mr Smellie of the Edinburgh Burgess Club in driving balls over the dome of St Giles's Cathedral, one hundred and sixty-one feet high; or the even more wonderful achievement of another member of this club, who drove a ball in forty-four strokes from inside their golf-house on Bruntsfield Links over the hill of Arthur Seat. As a rule, however, these clubs pursue the even tenor of their way, the members finding their best happiness in playing the pure and simple game.

While the Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers is generally held to be the oldest Scotch Club, so great has been the development of its sister Club at St Andrews, and so great are the attractions of golfing on the famous links of the venerable city, that the 'Royal and Ancient' takes precedence over all, and is indisputably the club of the kingdom. What Newmarket is to racing, or Melton to hunting, St Andrews is to golf. In St Andrews, it is not a mere pastime, but a business and a passion. It is the one recreation of the inhabitants from the Principal of the College to the youngest urchin; it has even invaded the domain of croquet, and has taken captive the ladies, who now take so keen an interest in the game, that on more links than those of St Andrews their green is a charming feature of the place. In short, in St Andrews 'no living thing that does not play golf, or talk golf, or think golf, or at least thoroughly knock under to golf, can live.'

The chief prize of the 'Royal and Ancient' – the gold challenge medal played for every autumn, presented in 1837 by King William IV. – is termed the 'Blue Ribbon of Golf.' To win it is the dream of every member of the Club. Other clubs, such as North Berwick, Musselburgh, Montrose, Perth, Prestwick, Burgess, &c. have each its own time-honoured challenge trophy, that of the Royal Musselburgh being laden with more than a century of medals commemorating each winner. That English clubs too are following fast the fashion set by their older brethren north of the Tweed, is attested by the prizes now competed for at Westward Ho! in Devonshire, Hoylake in Cheshire, and at Wimbledon, &c.; though it is but fair to state that Blackheath claims with good reason to be father of all English golf-clubs, and has for long been celebrated for the keenness of its players and the prizes offered for competition. So much for the history of the game; let us now glance at its literature. In the interesting collection of prose papers Mr Clark has gathered from various quarters, we can study the peculiar features of the game and the effect it has, for the time, on the tempers of its votaries. As we have seen at St Andrews, the ardent golfer has little time for thought or conversation unconnected with the game. For the time being the be-all and end-all of his life lies within the pot-hook-shaped course he has to traverse; and not a little of his happiness or his misery for the day depends on the nature of the match he succeeds in getting. Though the game is as a rule an exceedingly social one, and admits of quiet chat and occasional good-natured banter, the true golfer at work is essentially a man of silence; chattering during the crises of the game is as abhorrent to him as conversation during whist; one thing only is as obnoxious as the human voice to him then – that is, any movement of the human body near him. 'Stand still while I'm putting,' and 'Don't speak on the stroke,' are two postulates he would fain enforce. This over-sensitiveness to external influences may explain the seeming ungallantry of the 'Colonel' in H. J. M.'s amusing account of The Golfer at Home , which appeared in the Cornhill Magazine a few years ago. After a charming little picture of the 'Colonel' resenting, though he does not openly object to Browne being accompanied over the course by 'his women,' as he ungallantly terms Mrs Browne and her sister, he says to his partner: 'The Links is not the place for women; they talk incessantly, they never stand still, and if they do, the wind won't allow their dresses to stand still.' However, as they settle down to their game, the 'Colonel's' good temper returns under the healthy influence of an invigorating 'round,' and gives H. J. M. an opportunity of pointing out how all ill-humours of body and mind give way before the equable and bracing exercise of a round or two of the Links of St Rule. That the reader may see the amount of walking exercise taken in a round of St Andrews Links, it may be interesting to note that the exact distance, as the crow flies, is three miles eleven hundred and fifty-four yards; so that the golfer who takes his daily three rounds walks at least eleven miles. It is no wonder, then, that in addition to its own attractions, golf is esteemed as a capital preparation for the moors or the stubbles, hardening as it does the muscles both of arms and legs. What hunting does for the cavalry soldier as a training for more important bursts in the battle-field, the like does golf for the infantry soldier in bracing him to encounter forced marching with ease. The Links have formed the training-ground of many a brilliant officer. Space will not allow us to dwell on the genial gossip about St Andrews and St Andrews players – amateur and professional – that we find in Mr Clark's book, further than to mention three names. First, that of the great champion of the professionals, Allan Robertson, who was 'never beaten in a match;' of the brilliant but short-lived career of poor 'young Tom Morris,' the champion player of his day – son of a worthy sire who still survives; of Mr Sutherland, an old gentleman who made golf the chief business of his life, whose interest in his fellow-men, not as men but as golfers, is well shewn in this anecdote. His antagonist was about to strike off for the finishing hole at St Andrews, when a boy appeared on the bridge over the burn. Old Sutherland shouted out: 'Stop, stop! Don't play upon him ; he's a fine young golfer!'

It is in verse, however, that the votary of golf finds the field congenial to his subject.

In 1842 appeared a clever collection of poems, entitled Golfiana , by George Fullerton Carnegie of Pittarrow, which delighted the golfers of that day by the humorous way in which it hit off the playing characteristics of the men he introduced into it. He begins by throwing down the gauntlet to those students of Scottish history who sigh over the musty memories and deplore the decayed glories of the city of their patron saint: