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moving, immediately grows hot about the ears, and walks away from his ball, intimating, at the same time, unmistakably to the offender that there will be no sport forthcoming till he desists, and probably adding, that if he does not mean to play the game, the party had better break up before they get too far. Gurney, on the other hand, will play his ball, but if any mishap befall it, will grumble in an audible and plaintive voice about the interruption, not to the offender, but to the man who carries his clubs, into whose sympathizing ear he pours his sorrows; the length of time that the grumbling continues depending upon his success.

To return to our “foursome : ” everything goes on pretty smoothly till about the third hole, at which point Gurney has sufficiently recovered from the shock which Miss Wilkinson's presence gave him, to button his alpaca jacket about him, and address a remark to her, just as Colonel Burnett is adjusting his “putter" (a short club for putting the ball into the hole when near it) for the sixth and last time. Of course this gives rise to heated ears, and a walk away from the ball, which produces immediate silence on the part of Gurney, but not on the part of the ladies, who are unaware of the offence committed. Accordingly, just as the colonel after a short walk returns to his ball, Miss Wilkinson answers Gurney's observation; so the colonel misses his stroke, and much grumbling about the irregularity of females appearing on the links is imperfectly overheard. The ladies are still pleasingly unconscious of the colonel's wrath, and instead of gracefully withdrawing, begin to take an interest in the game and ask Gurney questions about it, which he answers in a timorous and abrupt manner, justly dreading another outbreak on the part of his irascible opponent. Fortunately for him, that gentleman's attention is diverted by another painful incident, which occurs at the sixth hole.

Both parties have played an equal number of strokes from the fifth hole; the colonel's partner has put his ball within a foot of the hole, and Gurney has played his to about a couple of yards from it. The colonel and Browne have now respectively to play, and Browne being farthest from the hole plays first and goes in ; the colonel, thinking that his ball is so ridiculously near the hole that he will not be called upon to put it in, knocks it away with the back of his club and says “halved hole.” But Browne promptly claims the hole, and tells the colonel that if he wanted half he should have made sure of it by “ holing out.” This is done more in fun than earnest, as the colonel is known to be a great martinet. But a very dangerous joke it proves; the colonel deeply resents it, and asks “What is to become of all the good feeling of tho game if a man takes such a dirty advantage as that ? Whether Browne thinks that he (the colonel) would not have holed that ball, nine times out of ten ?" and so on.

However, peace is apparently restored and the game goes on.

At the ninth hole, to the great relief of some of the party at least, the ladies leave them, and make for the beach : Gurney unbuttons his jacket, and the colonel breathes freely again. The game has been going pretty evenly, and Browne's side turns one hole ahead, an advantage, however, which very soon disappears. The wind having been at his back on the way ont, Browne has driven steadily enough; but now the wind meets him, and a good deal of fancy driving ensues. If you hit a ball with what is called the heel of the club, a sort of screw is put upon it, which makes it twist away to the right; if with the toe of the club, it twists to the left. If there is a high wind it exaggerates these erratic tendencies, and the higher a man hits his ball, the more it is affected by the wind. Now Browne always hits his ball high, and usually hits it with either the heel or the toe of the club, with wonderful impartiality, instead of hitting it fairly with the centre, as he ought to do; the consequence is, that as the course at St. Andrew's is too narrow to admit of much deviation from the straight line, Browne's ball is as often in the “ bent" and whins which lie at either side of the course as on the course itself. Just as the party are coming round the curve of the “pot hook,” Browne hits and heels a terrifically high ball, which is caught by the wind, and whirled miles into the whins. After a protracted search, behold the plaintive Gurney up to his knees in a whin, making frantic endeavours to catch a glimpse of his ball, which is hidden among the roots; suddenly we see the bush convulsed, small pieces of whin flying in every direction before the iron of the furious Gurney, and the ball emerges, not in the direction of the hole, but perpendicularly, and finally lands upon the player's shoulders. According to the stern rules of golf, the ball having touched him, ipso facto, the hole is lost. He emerges from the whin, with his legs still tingling and his left wrist slightly sprained, from having had to cut through a root, in order to get at the ball. The next hole is played in solemn silence; but in the course of the one succeed. ing, Browne varies his partner's entertainment by pulling his ball round with the toe of the club into the whins at the opposite side ; another search, another ineffectual uprooting of a whin, and Gurney again emerges, but this time, wonderful to relate, with a comparatively cheerful countenance. He takes out his cigar-case, lights a cigar, and walks along contentedly smoking it, and apparently enjoying the scenery. This is a fatal sign.

When a man smokes he is either winning very easily or has given up all hopes of winning; when a man draws the attention of his companions to lights and shades, and the beauty of the scenery generally, it is tantamount to his saying, “ As mere exercise this is a very pleasant and healthy occupation-plenty of fresh air, a charming day, and St. Andrew's looks very well from here; but as to its being golf, to play with a fellow who puts you into a whin or a bunker every other stroke

That this is the state of Gurney's mind at present becomes more apparent by his playing his next stroke with one hand, of course losing the hole. Soon, however, he is roused from his apathy by the colonel also getting into grief, and at the third hole from home makes the match all even by a wriggling, bolting ten 'yards "put,” which goes in like a rabbit. At the next hole an appalling instance of retributive justice is

witnessed; the colonel's vigilant wrath has merely smouldered for a while, and a fatal opportunity for its explosion presents itself. Browne, in preparing to put a ball into the hole, and pressing his "putter" against it, moves the ball about half an inch, and follows it up by hitting it. Here the colonel, with great calmness, claims the hole. “ You struck your

ball twice, sir. Mr. Gurney should have played. If we are to play the game strictly, that's my hole." Browne is so fairly caught that he bursts into a laugh, and gracefully yields up the hole. This gives the colonel's side a hole to the good, which they keep to the end, thus winning a closely contested match by one hole. As they walk towards the club for lunch, the colonel puts his hand affectionately upon Browne's shoulder, and assures him that he would not have thought of claiming hole No. 16 if Browne had not been rather hard upon him at the sixth hole, and with the exception of a plaintive sigh from Gurney, as he pays his five-shilling bet to his opponent, all is peace and good-humour. And notwithstanding the little exhibitions of temper which we have seen, golf is really a goodnatured game. During a match some men may be rather over-keen, and from their very keenness lose their temper for the time, but they are the first to regain it when the occasion is past. Perhaps the secret of this is that it is such an invigorating, healthy game, that a man cannot foster ill-nature for such trivial matters as a hole won or lost; accordingly, winners and losers turn voraciously to their lunch.

But it must not be supposed that their game is lost sight of now. They find most of the players who preceded them at lunch, and everybody inquires after everybody else's game. If a man has won he has, of course, no objection to say so, and does so curtly, as if it were a matter of certainty that he should win. If he has lost he does not like to answer directly, unless he has an opportunity of also explaining how it happened. For instance, to watch our friends of the morning: as the colonel is lighting a cigar, a friend asks how his match ended, and is answered by the monosyllable "won." Gurney is also inquired of, but as the colonel is sitting at his elbow, finds it convenient to have his mouth full of cold beef at the moment. He, however, avails himself of a subsequent opportunity of putting the inquirer in full possession of the particulars of Browne's evil doings and irregularities and the colonel's sharp practice. After three-quarters of an hour allowed for lunch and a cigar, the players again take the field, and continue their game till about half-past five. We need not follow them, having seen enough for the present of their manners and customs. We know how they will all march round and round, wrapt up in their own games ; how they will growl and murmur if they are kept an instant waiting by the party in front, and how they will remonstrate indignantly, nay, even ferociously, if a ball from the party behind comes anywhere near them, while at the same time they will not scruple to touch up the party in front by sending a ball among them if they conveniently can; how each man will converse almost exclusively with the man who carries his VOL. XV.-10. 88.

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clubs, from whom he will accept any amount of soft sawder and advice, now anxiously inquiring what part of the club he hit the last ball with, and now observing coyly that “ that ball went away well;" all this wa have already seen, and one round may fairly be taken as a sample of the next. It only remains to take a glance at the golfer when he regains his domestic circle. Having gained a noble appetite by his exertions, he is sufficiently recruited by a bath and dressing for dinner to discourse volubly about his game during that meal. He will probably have some golfing friends dining with him,—but we recommend the uninitiated to take the precaution of furnishing themselves with a manual of the game and a map of the course to enable them to follow intelligently the various addresses on the subject to which they will be compelled to listen, but in which they will not be permitted to take part. For their consolation, however, we may throw out the hint, that if any gentleman is fond of female society he will have an uninterrupted innings at St. Andrew's. During the hours of golf the young ladies are most shamefully neglected, owing to the conscription levied by the game, and wonld, no doubt, gladly receive deserters or those who have not yet been enrolled.

No close observer of the golfer has recorded whether any phenomena arə to be observed in him during sleep; whether, like a dreaming greyhound, his limbs move in conformity with the oceupations of the day. It is ascertained beyond question that he dreams about golf; dreams how be hit a ball which seemed as if it would never come down, and when it did, fell into the next hole a quarter of a mile away; dreams how he habitually holes out at thirty yards, and how neither “ bunkers " nor whins can hold him. All this, and much more he has been known to dream ; but as yet no complaints have been lodged by indignant wives, of blows received during the watches of the night from hands wielding imaginary golf clubs ; so we must assume that he reclines peacefully, especially as if there existed cause of complaint on this score we should hear of it, the game being by no means regarded with favour by the ladies. Having followed him to his lair, let us bid the golfer good-night; and if anyone is inclined to scoff at his untiring zeal and keenness about the game, let him suspend judgment till he too has been exposed to its fascinations. Doubtless after a month's experience, he in his turn will prove an interesting subject of inquiry, and will help to develope some undiscovered rein in the golfer's character.

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Life in a Military Prison.

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In 1865, when stationed in Canada, I became an inmate of the Montreal military prison, all through taking a drop too much. I never was in any such position before. Now the management of military prisong is a sealed mystery. I shall open the seal. It may be of service to the next Royal Commission that sits on the important subject of recruiting for the army. It may be as well to remark at the outset that Montreal Protost is not an exceptional prison,-better or worse than its neighbours. The principles upon which British military prisons are conducted may vary in minor details, but the general system is the same in England as in New Zealand, in Canada as in India, on Cork Hill as on the Rock of Gibraltar. Montreal prison consists of two separate buildings. One contains the

. offices, as well as stores, and three large wards, one above the other, for prisoners. These wards accommodate about sixty delinquents. They resemble three common large barrack-rooms ; only everything goes on there in silence. You hear no chatting, laughing, whistling, singing, or swearing. The other building, two stories in height, consists entirely of cells, about eighty in number.

You enter the yard of Montreal prison by a wicket-gate. The escort is there to see you in; the prison chief is also there to receive you, if not with open arms, with open bolts and bars. The non-commissioned officer in charge of the pilgrim rings the bell, and hands in the "committal”an important document containing all that is necessary to be known concerning the offender, as well as his regimental officer's testimony that he is fit to undergo imprisonment with hard labour. When the chief has examined the "committal," and found it correct, the prisoner is marched in, leaving him as completely buried to the world as if they had broken the clods upon his coffin-lid, and said, “ Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

Two o'clock P.m. is the hour of day fixed for admission. Tho prisoner gets no supper on the evening of his entrance—not being, as yet, in the prison “mess ; but he is allowed to carry in something for supper along with him. I took in a two-pound loaf, stuck in the breast of my great-coat. Inside, the first question asked was, “ Have you any pipes, tobacco, matches, money, or knives about you ?” I answered, "No." But my word was not taken. After being searched for these contraband articles, I was marched to the warder in charge of the "receiving-room," and handed over to his mercies. I felt a secret hatred towards this man at first glance, and further knowledge deepened my

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