him. "Take my advice before it's too late, and give it up, Tammas."

A few months later Tammas met his friend again.

"You were right, Jamie," cried the parson cheerily, "they didna run
well in harness; golf and the meenistry, I hae followed your advice:
I hae gi'en it oop."

"Then what are ye doing with that sack of clubs?" inquired Jamie.

"What am I doing with them?" repeated the puzzled Tammas. "Why I am
going to play golf with them." A light broke upon him. "Great
Heavens, man!" he continued, "ye didna' think 'twas the golf I'd
gi'en oop?"

The Englishman does not understand play. He makes a life-long labour
of his sport, and to it sacrifices mind and body. The health resorts
of Europe--to paraphrase a famous saying that nobody appears to have
said--draw half their profits from the playing fields of Eton and
elsewhere. In Swiss and German kurhausen enormously fat men bear
down upon you and explain to you that once they were the champion
sprinters or the high-jump representatives of their university--men
who now hold on to the bannisters and groan as they haul themselves
upstairs. Consumptive men, between paroxysms of coughing, tell you
of the goals they scored when they were half-backs or forwards of
extraordinary ability. Ex-light-weight amateur pugilists, with the
figure now of an American roll-top desk, butt you into a corner of
the billiard-room, and, surprised they cannot get as near you as they
would desire, whisper to you the secret of avoiding the undercut by
the swiftness of the backward leap. Broken-down tennis players, one-