But Maggie Wood of Elie (descendant of the old admiral), has a kindlier vein "I like all things well But guid things best." Times have changed largely for the Forth since the days of steam; what were once thriving little seaports, now find their occupations gone. The little coasting schooners are well-nigh things of the past, and instead we have the army of tramps steaming their way to Leith. The little towns have dwindled away, but most of them are plucking up heart again, and taking a new lease of life as seaside resorts. But surely the shores of the Forth form the golfer's paradise. All good golfers, they say, go to St. Andrews when they die, and most of them before; but St. Andrews is only the king of a group of unrivalled courses. All along the Fife coast the shore is lined with golf courses. Balcomie, Elie, Lundin Links, Leven, Kinghorn, the Ferry Hills, to name but a few, and on the southern shore. we have Dunbar, North Berwick, Archerfield, Muirfield, Gullane, with its four courses, and Musselburgh, to say nothing of Edinburgh, with its group of inland courses, Barnton, Duddingston, the Braids, and Mortonhall. Still it is by the shore one finds the ideal golfing ground, flat open stretches, where the beginning of the beach is marked by a line of bents. On this sandy soil grows the short, crisp, wiry grass that gives a turf springy and slippery underfoot, and keen on the green; the very reverse of the heavy pasture-land of the average inland course. If one must have an inland course, hilly ground like the Braids. or the English Downs is the next best, but it can never compare with the elastic turf of the sandy beaches. To one brought up by a seaside course, the game lacks flavour without the smell of the salt and the touch of the keen sea air. And in another way golf here is different from the golf of the south. There it is the game of the classes only. For the poor man cannot afford to pay a yearly fee of some five to ten pounds, for his golf subscription, to which probably, owing to the inaccessibility of the course, has to be added a tax of two or three shillings for every game. But in Fife and the Lothians, every one plays, gentlemen, working-men and loafers; the last class producing the finest players. This is only natural, for to the leisure of the gentleman they add the physique of the working-man. Beginning as caddies, they learn with other people's clubs and with "lost" balls, and in due time appear as professionals; and finally, in charge of some southern green, spread their gospel among the heathen. Many of the Scottish towns have public courses; and where they are private, one usually finds that an artisan club also exists, which is allowed the use of it on generous terms. So on halfholidays and in the long summer evenings the Scottish working-man gets his game. There is something very Scotch about the Scotch golfer, he seems to suit the leisurely and contemplative game. "Keep your eye on the ball," "slow back," and "aye be up," is written all over him. As a nation, one would say the Scotch were professional, the English amateur, golfers. For there should be nothing dilettante about the game of golf. How serious a matter it is may be judged from the old story of the Scotch minister. Emerging after a hot and unhallowed strife in the bunker, his profane words still echoing in his ears, he mops his heated brow and exclaims bitterly: "Ah maun gie it up, ah maun gie it up." "What!" cries his partner in consternation, "gie up gowf?" "No," he replies with sublime scorn, "gie up the meenistry." This is the real old golfing spirit, which still survives round the shores of the Forth. CHAPTER II DUNBAR Ar the southern entrance of the Firth stands Dunbar, a cold windy place, but as compensation full of beautiful colour. The climate of Dunbar is a speciality of its own. It has one of the lowest rainfalls in Scotland, one can see innumerable showers diverted either to the line of the Firth in the north, or the ridge of the Lammermoors to the south, while the old burgh escapes dry and makes a boast of it. It is bracing to a fault. If If you love strong air come to Dunbar; you can taste the salt on your lips as you alight at the station, and on that rocky coast the sea is never still, never quiet; its note varies from a murmur to a roar, but it is always there as a background. Many golfers give Dunbar a preference which the mere merits of its course would |