I could fill many pages with curious and startling examples. Of course, the man who is clearly lacking gets found out in the first trial or so, and gives little trouble, except that he invariably becomes a somewhat loquacious critic; but it is the type that can stand the strain of the minor events that upsets calculations.

Many captains stood by the idea that the man who was accustomed to the importance of other contests, say, cricket or racquets, would at least be less likely to break, but experience has failed conspicuously to make this evident; it recalls the old story that they might 'hit the ball if it was bowled to them.' I remember a few years ago Cambridge had a golfer, the equal in skill of any of his contemporaries. He accomplished very creditable things in the preliminary trials, but when it came to the match, he simply played like an eighteen handicap man, and cost his side a pocketful of holes. Apparently this result was not explained correctly; for they played him again the next year, when he did the very same thing.

Oxford had many examples too, some of them really too painful to recall. All that can be said is that the importance of the occasion becomes an obsession, something goes wrong, and the captain is blamed for playing men who have not got the temperament. How on earth he is to know their breaking-point, I cannot imagine, for there seems to be no outward and visible sign of lack of the inward grace.

And what is true of the amateur is equally true of the professional. Of course, in the ordinary round there is not much chance of discovering how one stands, there is little to excite or test one; but in competitions and tournaments the strain is inevitable, and it must be remembered that these events are the central points of a keen professional's existence. He must gain his laurels then or not at all. If he would become one of those who count, he cannot ignore the big events, because it means being himself ignored. And it is known to all of us that the ranks of the profession are full of expert golfers - skilful enough to break the record of any course - who, when faced with the necessity of carrying a card and a pencil, become for the time being temporarily paralysed. A good story that will illustrate this is of an event that happened at a recent championship. Two rounds had been completed, and on the evening previous to the final day some half-dozen of the professionals were discussing the results and the chances. The man who ultimately won was amongst them, but stood ninth or tenth on the list. One of them started reading the list aloud, and the big man interjected after each name his opinion. 'You can cross him out,' or 'you must leave him in,' etc. etc., and his verdict was so remarkably correct, that the story got a vogue at once.

And yet these very men, at least some of them, have grown grey and old, and have never been able to get used to the limelight of the big events. What it is that is lacking in their composition (or is there in too large a quantity) is beyond the comprehension of most people - to call it nerves is only to provide a label, and it does not help.

And how far it is possible to train oneself in this respect, or to improve one's equipment, is, to me at any rate, vague and uncertain, and it is here I ask for help from the learned.

But there are points that present no uncertainty, and on which I offer an opinion and advice. I do not think it possible for the very diffident man to win a big event, or the man who is intensely self-conscious; the former lacks the right kind of courage, and the latter will of a surety beat himself; and if any one knows himself for such he is well advised to shun the big events, and save his energy for other and perhaps more useful channels.

The kind of courage needed is very difficult to determine. Lord Jim was magnificently courageous, as a man, but he would never have won a golf championship. Nor is it the stamp of courage that is given to bullying and much challenging and hard swearing, if it is correct even to suppose that such courage is likely to succeed. Certainly a most important and indispensable factor in the successful golfer is control - control, in a sense which I will endeavour to explain - and this at any rate it is within the power of most to develop; and yet how many practise it? To half the golfers I would say, 'It is not practice with the club you need, but practice with the man; it is not skill you lack, but control.' And in this connection I wish to strike a note of warning, in the hope that it will do some good, but I am glad to say that it only relates to a small section of the brethren, and that the guilty ones are but a few. The first point is, that they allow themselves to drift into a stupid childish state when their manners and temper get out of hand, doubtless because they have been led on and made a fuss of, but it is none the less deplorable. One sees only too frequently, when a shot is missed, the club flying after the ball. One does not want to make much of it, but in anybody it is ridiculous, and in a professional simply unpardonable. A much worse case is the constant use of torrents of bad language, and I have in mind one or two offenders, who by their skill are fast being considered amongst the showmen of the game. This cannot be dismissed as a puritanical attitude, because most of us would plead guilty to a certain extent, but there are limits, and these men seem bent on breaking records; their general make-up towards the game and its friends leaves very much to be desired. They assume a silly, swaggering, devil-may-care sort of role, that in itself might be passed over as of little account, but for the fact that it is accompanied by such foul language. Of course, I feel that amongst those friends of the game who count, this sort of thing is valued correctly, and explained as pure vulgarity, but it is nevertheless a danger.

I know what a good many of the best and most respected members of the profession think of it; they are disgusted and deplore it. But that, to my mind, is not sufficient. The offenders must be clearly given to understand that their behaviour is a serious menace to the prosperity of the profession, and pressure must be brought to bear to make them mend their manners. It behoves every one to see that the tone of the brotherhood is not permanently lowered by a few impossible people.

Control over oneself and its meaning cannot be emphasised too much. Any little giving way that means a loosening of this control is a danger point; it is certain that if you cannot control the man, you cannot control the game. Of course, every one can recognise the obvious examples of lack of control, most of us know by experience what it means, but it is the craftily disguised forms that one must train oneself to recognise and defeat. Nothing is more common than to see one bad shot followed by another. How often does a slice of good luck for your opponent unnecessarily affect you? Who amongst us has not had the experience of the days when equity seems ruled out of the game? You may play the hole in a perfect five, and find your opponent misses three shots, and gets a four; hole after hole slips away from you, and yet you are playing points better than your opponent, and you can still win, if you can resist the terrifying attack on your control. One could go on enumerating dozens of ways in which one's control is insidiously undermined, but I feel unequal to explaining clearly what I mean, for I am but a beginner myself.

And out of control will grow confidence, which can hardly be described as a cause, but an effect; and if there is one truism in this game of golf, it is that confidence is more than halfway to success; and I will finish this section by giving what to me seemed a splendid example of courage, control, and confidence.

The exemplar was Braid, the occasion the open championship at Prestwick 1908, and the instance his second shot to the twelfth hole in the third round; and of those who saw it few who understand are ever likely to forget. Many things had happened previously, one hole had very nearly destroyed all his chance; but the state of affairs stood, when the third round was being played, that Braid was well in it, but so were several other dangerous men. When he came to his drive, which needless to say was straight and far, he hesitated. Why? Ninety-nine out of a hundred of us could not imagine; there seemed nothing to do but hit the ball a long way, and get as near the wall as possible, so as to allow for a pitch over on to the green.

Braid evidently thought otherwise, for he calmly walked the whole length of the distance, and then took his brassey. It is not too much to say that a regular shock went through the crowd; a friend standing near me said, 'Good heavens, he is never going for it! It will cost him the championship!' and be it noted it was no ordinary risk - there was quite a good chance of being tucked up under the wall - and neither was it a 'death or glory - shot.

Well, he went for it, all out this time; and if you wanted to have a record of how it is done, you should have snapped him then. The ball carried the wall, and, never an inch off the line, ran up on to the green, and came to rest a few feet from the pin. The crowd were excited enough, but when Jimmy started to move after the shot, it was with the same long steady stride that in the end wears us all down, and his face had the same sleepy, rather tired expression, yet he had just played a shot that no man living could better, and very few equal. And as if this shot was not enough, he holed the putt, and how many, even if the first shot were possible, could have holed that putt?

It has been suggested that when the psychologist has examined, photographed, and duly explained the type of man who is temperamentally best fitted to succeed to championships, we may not like him. His equipment may of necessity exclude some of the traits of character loved by all, but I have little faith in this point of view, for what I have observed I 'like it much,' and would willingly take such, say, on a voyage to 'Pitcairn to find Victoria,' which is saying a good deal, to those who understand, and there I must leave it.

And at this point I feel like one who has just emerged from a dreadful bunker, after hacking away at the ball with a club ill adapted for the purpose.

But the ball is out at last, and to you, my partner, for keeping you so long, and trying your patience so much, I ask pardon. The round has been unnecessarily long, and the form shown abominably bad, but it will serve a purpose if, in some of the shots, you have caught the suggestion of a new idea that may be made to help.