If you want to see the push-shot played to perfection, there is nobody better to watch than Braid. Addressing the ball with his hands a little in front of it, he takes the club back in a more upright manner than for the ordinary stroke. Then at the moment of impact, his arms lengthen (or at any rate straighten) and he pushes them through as he gives the object a mighty thump. As I have previously remarked, I would recommend everybody who has reached the stage of ordinary proficiency to practise this push-shot. The proper accomplishment of it affords more gratification than anything else in the game. Indeed, I venture to say that nobody knows how joyous a pursuit is golf until he learns the push-shot. To loft a ball into the air is a soulless operation by comparison with the feat of making it travel for a considerable distance in one plane. Personally, I play nearly all my strokes with iron clubs in this way; it is the safest as well as the most pleasurable manner. Whether the shot is well named I do not know. It is a mixture of swing, hit, and push, with the last-named influence introduced at the moment of striking so that the arms push through the ball, and, thus extended, finish in such a way that the right forearm is pointing up towards the sky. Its nomenclature might be improved, but as the push-shot we know it. And it is the best shot in golf.

J. H. Taylor is a great player. I like his full iron shots up to the hole quite as much as his mashie shots, for which he is so justly famed. His cut stroke with the mashie is a picture; he seems to be born to execute it in the ideal manner. You will notice that, for all his shots, he stands with the face of the club turned slightly away from the ball. I presume that he always aims a trifle to the left of the pin, and cuts the ball. That being his natural method, his excellence at the cut mashie stroke is understandable. Taylor can always be watched with advantage; his swing is beautifully under control, and he hits the ball with that nip - that element of resolution - which counts for so much in the execution of a shot. For the man who has developed an inclination to falter and check the pace of the club before reaching the ball I would recommend a survey of Taylor playing a round. He is never caught trying to coax his rubber-core; he gives it a forceful blow every time. That is the only way to make it fulfil one's requirements.

Another very fine mashie player is Arnaud Massy, but he secures his effect in a fashion different from that adopted by any other prominent golfer whom I have ever seen. He introduces an enormous amount of "stop" into his lofted shots, and obtains the influence by means of a swing which is peculiar to himself. At the top of the swing, he gives the club a flourish which sends it over his head. Then he brings it back again, and down in the same track as that which it occupied when going up.

Alexander Herd is a master of the spoon. Whenever you hear him call for that club, you can rest assured (or if you happen to be his opponent you can becalm yourself with resignation) that he is going to reach the green. He gets a lot of cut on to his spoon shot, and makes it drop right up by the hole. He swings for it in just the same way as for the cleek, but gives his body a slight turn at the hips before the club starts to come down, and so obtains the effect of the slice. George Duncan is another great spoon player; indeed, I have seen him use the implement on many occasions in a manner which I do not think anybody else could have attained. In any case, if it were a matter of a contest amongst professionals for supremacy with the spoon, Duncan's one formidable rival would be, I believe, Herd. Both men employ "cut," which is an invaluable and necessary action with this club, and they introduce the influence very cleverly. When Duncan and I played Braid and Sherlock in a foursome at Stoke Poges a few years ago, my partner must have grown somewhat weary after a while of hearing me ask him to take his spoon. Duncan has a perfect swing, but he is so extraordinarily quick that it is very hard to tell how he executes his shots. The ball is on the ground and he is addressing it; a moment later, while you are still waiting to study his movements, the ball is hurtling through the air, and he is off for the next stroke. He is by far the most rapid golfer I have ever seen. He reminds me of the story of a professional who was giving a lesson to a gentlemen of ebullient temperament. The latter had been supplied with the usual preliminary hints, including the "Slow back" maxim; he did not appear to be greatly impressed by any of them. He took his driver back in whirlwind fashion; missed the globe, and nearly tumbled over. " You must take the club up much more slowly than that," said the instructor. "Rot!" was the reply. The student made another attempt; his action was still that of a "backmarker in a forked lightning congress." Again the professional protested. "Stand away! Stand away!" screamed the beginner, a ferocious gleam in his eye, "I've been quick all my life, and I'm not going slowly at this darned game." That is a sample of the trials that enter into the life of a golf professional. He tries to do his work conscientiously; and sometimes has enormous difficulty in inducing the pupil to assist himself.

There are many other splendid players, whose methods I fain would have the opportunity of studying more closely. We can learn at golf till the end of life, and a keen observance of the styles of skilful performers often generates inspiration and encouragement. There is Tom Ball, with that gloriously confident manner of putting, and peculiarity of appearing to hit the ball off the toe of the putter. He is a monumental tribute, too, to the importance of keeping the eye on the ball; even when the latter object is in the hole after he has played a putt of five or six feet, his eye has not moved. There is Fred Robson, with his beautiful brassie shots; there is James Sherlock, with his charmingly simple system of obtaining great length by means of an apparently gentle tap. I think he must talk to the ball, and coax it into a friendly state. I am sure that he is a master of the low-flying shot with pull, executed by the half-turn of the right hand. If you would know that shot, watch Sherlock. An excellent player of iron shots is my brother Tom. I very much like watching him execute his half-cleeks up to the hole.

In conclusion, I would ask you to remember that the professional gives of his best when he plays golf. The game is not so easy to him that he can play it well without trying to do so. I am certain that it is not easy to anybody. One dare not be careless at golf. The very constitution of the pastime declines to tolerate heedlessness. If you are following a professional match, you may depend upon it that the players are striving their utmost to produce perfect effects. The people who talk about the accomplishment of the strokes as a mere formality to the men who take part in exhibition games do not appreciate the science of golf in its fulness. It is never a formality. The best day's golf that I ever played with the rubber-cored ball was in an exhibition match. By "best" I am referring to the match in which my game gave me the greatest amount of personal satisfaction, and which I could not have played better in a heavenly sort of dream. Whenever I start to think about my golfing life, or whenever a few of us talk of our experiences, the recollection of this event comes to me instantly.

The occasion was a contest with Tom Williamson on a nine-holes course at Radcliffe-on-Trent. The club had offered a very fine cup for the winner, and Williamson and I were as keen as mustard on winning it. We both saw it overnight, and I am certain that each of us had no other ambition at the time than to capture that trophy. I felt in just the right mood in the morning, and I played as I had never played before, and have never played since, with the rubber-core. It was a good course, with a proper proportion of holes that required two shots. I did the nine holes in scores of 31, 32, and 31, and won by 11 up and 9 to play. Williamson hardly made a mistake, but I kept on laying my approaches within holing distance. He would get on to the green in two, and lay his long putt stone dead, and then I would get down with the like. I remember that in the afternoon I had three 2's, one of them at the ninth, which was obtained by holing a mashie shot that finished the match. Williamson's father was as excited as any of us about the event, and he really was glum when the affair ended so early. A friend of his, who had hastened to the course to see what he could of the match, came up just as we finished, and inquired anxiously how the game stood. "Oh," said Williamson, senior, "it's been a terrible fiasco. Only one man turned up to play, and he wasn't Tom."

I have mentioned this not in any spirit of self-glorification, but to show that professionals are earnest triers in exhibition games. Such events not infrequently find the player in better form than during a championship.