the neglected business, the ruined home, the slow but sure sapping of
the brain--what there may have been of it in the beginning--leading
to semi-imbecility and yearly increasing obesity.

A young couple, I once heard of, went for their honeymoon to
Scotland. The poor girl did not know he was a golfer (he had wooed
and won her during a period of idleness enforced by a sprained
shoulder), or maybe she would have avoided Scotland. The idea they
started with was that of a tour. The second day the man went out for
a stroll by himself. At dinner-time he observed, with a far-away
look in his eyes, that it seemed a pretty spot they had struck, and
suggested their staying there another day. The next morning after
breakfast he borrowed a club from the hotel porter, and remarked that
he would take a walk while she finished doing her hair. He said it
amused him, swinging a club while he walked. He returned in time for
lunch and seemed moody all the afternoon. He said the air suited
him, and urged that they should linger yet another day.

She was young and inexperienced, and thought, maybe, it was liver.
She had heard much about liver from her father. The next morning he
borrowed more clubs, and went out, this time before breakfast,
returning to a late and not over sociable dinner. That was the end
of their honeymoon so far as she was concerned. He meant well, but
the thing had gone too far. The vice had entered into his blood, and
the smell of the links drove out all other considerations.

We are most of us familiar, I take it, with the story of the golfing
parson, who could not keep from swearing when the balls went wrong.

"Golf and the ministry don't seem to go together," his friend told