Spirit of the links

THE LINKS AT REST
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turf—collects and holds down for its sustenance all
the available nitrogen in the atmosphere, and then
covers it with that thick cloak which generates
only warmth beneath. Presently, when the frosts
cease and the snow melts and the grass lies bare
again, those who have recollection enough for the
comparison will see that it is greener and stronger
than it was before. When there is a championship
in prospect on St. Andrews links, the wise and good
greenkeeper there beseeches kind Nature that of her
infinite variety she will vouchsafe to his little patch of
earth for some several days of winter a heavy fall
of snow, that in due course he may better serve up to
his master golfers a links of such perfection of order
as will please them to the utmost. What shall he
care if the old grey place is beleaguered by these
storms of snow, if the Swilcan Burn is almost covered
up, and if it would be as much as the life of the
captain of the Royal and Ancient Club were worth to
try to find the line to the Long Hole? Hush, you
grumbling golfers! The old-course, weary, is at rest;
and patiently will the happy greenkeeper wait for its
awakening. There is something of pathos in the
time and the scene, as:
"Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighing ;
Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow,
And tread softly and speak low,
For the old year lies a-dying."
How much does it mean to us, does a year of golf!
In the last few moments of the year that you give
up to golfing thought and reverie as you sit by the
cheerful fire, and perhaps, according to the old fancy,
toy on the hearthrug for a while with the putter that