This is sure to be true; but he still fails. During his spell of good play all the elements of driving, such as sweeping the ball away, placing the club behind it, etc., became second nature. During his period of style-hunting some vicious tricks have got grafted on to them. The name of these is legion. He may know, and be told by his caddy, that he is swinging too fast, without knowing that it is so, because he is lifting his club too straight up. A lack of confidence may have twisted him into some uneasy attitude, or (this is almost certain) he is hitting too hard, which he was able to do successfully when in form. It looks as if I were now admitting (what has already been denied) that there are a thousand and one things to remember at every shot. This is not so. The very reason of the continuance of the breakdown is that the player (although he tells himself he has) has not purged himself of these things. When playing well he swung swiftly and stood firmly, but within the limits of ease; now there are quickness and stiffness without ease, and, above all, impatience to recover. At last he will humble himself utterly. He will give up mending his style. To his feeling, his swine will be short and stiff, his hitting weak and careful. The recovery will be rapid, but not immediate, as all this time he has been trying to make it. His lost confidence will cause many a miss; but after a round, or even less, there will be a recovery of fitness for freedom. He will by degrees tighten his grip, and let them have it. But let him take care. Let him beware of noting his symptoms, so that the way to do it may not escape him again. If he does so, another relapse is certain. It is only when each shot is treated as a separate act, in no way guaranteed by previous good ones; when each time he addresses the ball his chief care is to hit it - not far, not in this way, not in that, but hit it; when how far it is to be struck is scarcely thought of; when, during the swine, there is no consciousness of how he is swing -ing - that there will be an almost continuous record of palpable hits. That nobody almost ever plays a dozen shots equally clean, exactly as far as each other, is because they cannot absolutely do this. The experienced player knows that his last shot was perfect because his mind was applied to it, and to it alone; and yet he cannot prevent himself from trying to make the next as good, not in the same way, but by repeating the last. One can watch the process in any adversary who has played a strong, steady game for (say) half a round. He is thoroughly stretched, supple, confident, and consequently out comes one of those extra long shots. If you and he both leave him alone, he takes no heed, and other extra ones follow at intervals. But, it you are a cunning player, flatter him about his shot, point out that his next is as long and, if he takes the bait, the third may be long too, but your experienced eye will detect that he has staggered and over-exerted himself to produce it. It question of your tact against his sense, whether you get him broken down altogether, or whether he returns to hitting steadily and without prejudice.

In conclusion, I will summarise the times we are in most danger of relapses. One is, as just ex-plained, when we are in a particularly good vein of play. Pride goes before a fall. The slightest shade of retrogression from a perfection we have come to consider normal may make us impatient, or lead to an examination of the cause, and either impatience or examination is fatal. To be beaten in an important match, to be distinctly out-classed by a player not considered our superior, when playing our best game, is very trying. On the other hand, an uninteresting match, which we can win as we choose. may start us on a fatal course of experimenting. Lastly, after a long absence from the green the risk is great. There is a false axiom that a man can-not play well under these circumstances, which is often made true because it is accepted. We return to work expecting to do ill. We play carelessly.

We hit hard, trusting to Providence before our muscles have got accustomed to their duties; and, in about three days, when our form ought to be returning, it is further away than ever. No wonder! for two days have been employed in a cquiring vices. When a man has had a holiday, let him settle down to each shot as if a match or a medal depended on it, and his game, or a better one than he ever played before, will be his in no time. Men often absent themselves from the green because they have broken down. These usually recommence humbly, and find their game restored. All returning prodigals should do likewise. The folly of sowing careless shots on fallow ground, in the expectation of reaping good golf, is unspeakable.