It is always as well to carry two drivers - one fairly stiff and the other moderately supple. There are times when you are convinced that you can hit anything - from an ant to a golf ball. Your spirits are so high that you feel that the whole world is at your mercy on the links. A man in this state of exhilaration is frequently shocked to find that, when he begins playing, the shots do not come off very well after all. The reason is usually to be found in his exuberance. He is so filled with natural fire that he cannot swing with measured regularity; he is so replete with confidence that he takes the club back like lightning. Then is the time to use the stiff driver. It will act as a brake on his excessive hilarity; it will hold him in check; it simply will not be whirled out of its tautness. When the golfer is subdued, and is swinging in a decorous manner, let him use the more whippy shaft. Then it will help him. It will put life into his golf. The truth of these observations I have proved to my own satisfaction on many occasions. It is one of the best of hints to carry two drivers. The frequency with which one will prove friendly when the other has become peevish is astonishing. The explanation is to be found, I think, in the theory that the difference in the whippi-ness operates in connexion with the variations in the pace of the swing. None of us swing at just the same speed every day.

These are points to which professionals are always giving attention; they are matters well worthy of consideration. It is only natural that professionals should inquire into such matters more deeply than amateurs; the former have their livelihood to obtain by means of their golf. They have to think of every possibility, and probe deeply into the questions of cause and effect. An amateur lives in a land of hope which either realizes expectations or proves barren. When he is off his driving - well, he is off his driving. There, as a rule, the matter rests. He does not often ruminate as to the reason.

It seldom occurs to him that the pace of his swing may be doing the mischief, and that, if he has only one driver in his bag, no rule can prevent him from trying his brassie for the tee shots.

Professionals have long since come to the conclusion that the wooden clubs used by many indifferent players are too long. It is easier to control a short driver than a long one; with the former, you have your nose to the grindstone, so to speak, and seem to be in a condition of better concentration for the task than with an implement of unwieldy length. Still I have no desire to be dogmatic on the point. There are people who can control long clubs; it must be rather difficult work, but they are capable of performing it. That being so, they may be allowed to play in peace.

Iron clubs should be stiff; they should have no "give" in them at all that the player can distinguish. They have to at least graze the turf every time, often they have to go into the soil in order to get behind the ball. And it is certain that excavation on even the most modest scale cannot be properly carried out with a tool that bends. There are heretics who, at this point, may come up for the humble judgment of a conscientious golfer. They are the people who use nothing but irons - even from the tee. They are not only unorthodox and blind to their own interests; they are faint-hearted. They think that they cannot master wooden clubs, and they have not the courage to make a determined effort to do so. They seek to evade the difficulties of the game by accomplishing their tee shots with a driving mashie or kindred instrument. They will never make good players, and they will never know the full joy of the links.

In the case of a golfer of some experience, instinct is the best adviser in the choice of a club. As you take the creation in your hands, you can generally tell at once whether it is just the thing that you have been wanting for a long while. This, I know, is a commonly accepted truth; yet there are players who judge largely by the appearance of the implement. Looks are often deceiving; they ought to have no influence in the making of the final selection. A club that is by no means pleasing to the eye is sometimes found to be the best of the bunch when the prospector tries the "feel" of it. Yet many a golfer passes it by because its looks are against it. Lancewood makes a very pretty shaft; people are apt to be immensely impressed by its aspect. It is certainly the most handsome of all woods employed in connexion with club-making; but personally I would not recommend its use. It has the advantage of stiffness, but it is too heavy for iron clubs, and the same drawback in the matter of excessive weight renders it a difficult wood with which to make a brassie of pleasant "feel" and balance. Some of the weight can be removed by filing down the shaft towards the head, but the result is not always happy. In addition, it is so hard a wood that, in the case of a driver or a brassie, there is difficulty in inducing the shaft and the head to remain in adherence. Lancewood has a soul above adhesive substances; it declines to allow glue to bite it with the requisite strength. One does not see a lot of it, and I fear that it will never satisfactorily solve problems that may be presented by a famine of other woods. So long as we can obtain good hickory for our shafts, we ought to be glad.

Golf is made up of details, and it is the player who considers all the small points who succeeds in the end. The correct swing performed with suitable clubs constitutes three-quarters of the battle; when both sides have the capacity and the equipment here indicated, the victory goes to the man who gives the greater amount of thought to matters of seemingly minor importance. Let us take, for instance, the preparations on the teeing-ground. A first-class golfer is often seen shifting uneasily for several seconds about this confined area, apparently searching for a nice piece of grass on which to build a tee. I know that thousands of people imagine that he is hunting for such a spot. They must marvel at his fastidiousness, and thank Providence that they have not become so well-known as to justify such affectation. But the good golfer is not so silly as to want a choice square inch of turf on which to deposit a little sand. He is simply feeling with his feet for a comfortable stance. There is only one stage in the playing of each hole where he has such a choice, and he makes the most of it. That he is looking at the ground all the while is due to the fact that it would, in any case, be rather silly to gaze into the faces of the spectators or up to the heavens. The difference between an easy stance and an uneasy one on the teeing-ground often means the difference between a good drive and a bad one. Yet I am certain that a great many golfers really do hunt for a dainty piece of grass on which to make a tee, although its importance compared with that of a pleasant stance is hardly worth considering. Often, too, a player is seen re-teeing his ball because he finds that he cannot settle down properly in the place which he has selected. The change is disturbing. It is better to obtain the right spot at the outset.