GOLF is a strange game: it enchants and aggravates, it flatters and disappoints, it rears up the player to believe in his efficiency and then lets him down with a crash. It is a kind of kaleidoscope interrupted at intervals by nightmares. It no sooner elevates its devotee than it dispirits him; it no sooner dispirits him than it elates him. That is the secret of its seductiveness, and at the back of it all is an illimitable vista of hope. The unquenchable consolation of the golfer's life is that if this or the other means fail him in his quest of success, he can try other media. To the player who is in the throes of incapacity with a certain club, a new implement is ethereal; it holds out unbounded promise. I suppose that nowhere is there a golfer - good, bad, or indifferent - who feels that he will never light on better instruments for the purpose of hitting the ball than those which he already possesses. In times of blackest despair, he sees salvation through an avenue of shafts and heads. I know of an open champion who, at the beginning of a season, abandoned every one of the clubs that had served him well for years, and equipped himself with an entirely fresh set. He had not been satisfied with his game for some months, and he wanted to start life again.

That is the best of a new club; it seems to mark the beginning of a new career. The idea may be pure imagination, but imagination has a practical value in golf. Faith-cures are everyday dispensations of Providence. Give a player a club which he has never previously used, and which he fancies from top to sole, and he will often do great things with it, for no better reason than that he likes it. He is filled with the sentiment that it is the deliverer for which he has been searching for months, and that is sufficient to enable him to improve his results.

Experience alone teaches a golfer what clubs suit him best; it is only when he has been playing for some time that he begins to wonder whether he is handicapping himself by using unsuitable instruments. At the outset, he may go to a shop and purchase a brassie, an iron, a mashie, and a putter. He takes hold of them and flourishes them; yes, they appear to be all right. He comes away happy. He takes his first lesson, and is perhaps told to grip them differently from the way in which he held them in the shop. Then it is that their beauties begin to vanish. In a little while they become monsters of ungainliness and discomfort. They seem to be dragging his hands down; they are either too long or too short; too thick or too thin; they are abortions. The absolute beginner cannot do better than borrow an old club from a professional, and discover his natural stance, length of swing, and other individualities before he proceeds to purchase a set of implements. The professional will be able to tell him at the end of ten minutes what sort of tools will suit him best.

Let us assume, however, that we are dealing with the case of the player who already has his outfit, and who is concerned with the question as to whether it is the best that the resources of the club-making trade can provide for his benefit. The frequency with which one sees a golfer using wooden instruments of different degrees of "lie" is extraordinary. Everybody must find out for himself what "lie" of the club he likes best; the choice varies even amongst champions. As a rule, it should be in the nature of a happy medium; neither too upright nor too flat; for the rest, personal fancies may well govern the selection. But having lighted on the "lie" which makes him feel confident when he uses - let us say - the driver, the player should take care to have the same "lie" in his brassie. Yet how often a difference exists! In many cases, it is the cause of that despairing cry - "Hang it! I shall never be able to use a brassie!" The unfortunate bungler through the green is adopting the same stance and the same swing and trying to play the same sort of shot with two clubs that have practically nothing in common. If he has an "upright" driver and a " flat" brassie and stands the same for both, as he is nearly sure to do, only the toe of the brassie will be touching the turf when he addresses the ball. Or, with the "lie" of the implements transposed, only the heel of the brassie will be grounded during the address. He might overcome the difficulty by altering his stance for each club, but it would be a pity to make a necessity of such a change when he could avoid it by having a driver and a brassie of similar build.

I presume that most golfers appreciate the fact that the shaft of the driver ought to be a little more whippy than that of the brassie. I do not mean to suggest that the former should have the pliability of a cane, but it is indisputable that a certain amount of "feel" in it facilitates the swing. The driver does not come into contact with the ground during the execution of a tee shot (at any rate, it should not), so that a reasonable element of suppleness cannot operate adversely. And it certainly renders the swing pleasanter and stronger. The brassie needs a slightly heavier and stiffer shaft because it has to cut through the grass; in bad lies, it even has to take some turf. A whippy shaft in a brassie would be disastrous, because it would bend when it came to blows with the earth. Sometimes, in ripe old age, the club develops from constant use some degree of liveliness. We do not like to part with a trusted friend, especially when it happens to comprise a really excellent shaft, but it is as well to be on the look out for this tendency to sprightliness on the part of the brassie of long service, and it is often a good tip to have it converted into a driver. Frequently it has just the right amount of "feel" in it for the purpose.

Be it remembered that the driver in constant use is apt to become in course of time too supple. It is employed probably four or five times more than the brassie, and the busy life that it leads causes it to develop a lot of springiness. The keen golfer should pause occasionally to consider this matter; it is of some importance. He should note the changing characteristics of his clubs, especially the wooden ones, which, owing to the greater delicateness of their shafts, are more likely to alter than the iron-headed tools.