For Tee, Tee, only Tee!
I'm game to start all in the dark
To the Links hurrying--resting never.
The Caddie yawns, but, like a lark,
I halt not, heed not, hastening ever
To Tee, Tee, only Tee!

Of chilly fog I am no funker,
I'll brave the very biggest bunker
For Tee, Tee, only Tee!
A spell that nought on earth can break
Holds me. Golf's charms can ne'er be _spoken_;
But late I'll sleep, and early wake,
Of loyalty be this my token,
To Tee, Tee, only Tee!

* * * * *

INNS AND OUTS.

NO. II.--THE HEAD-WETTER.

I entitle him as self-pronounced. If "Mr." is the Grand-Hôtel Jupiter,
the Head-Waiter is its Mercury. Nothing modern is so versatile as
the Head-Waiter. The first thing about the Head-Waiter is his cigars.
These are covered with tinsel and colours: very gay--almost as gay as
the Head-Waiter. They are of unpronounceable and unknown brands. They
vary in price and size, but agree in flavour--liquorice, tempered by
ink. Like the fabled fruit, they crumble to ashes in your mouth. If
you are only a bird of passage, you will often find a box or so in