Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 101, September 19, 1891

Excerpt

"AS GOOD AS A BETTER."

Dr. Andrew Wilson (in "Science Jottings," in the Illustrated London News) dares disparage Golf "as an ideal game for young men," venturing to advocate the preferential claims of fogeyish Cricket, and even of futile Lawn Tennis—

"O Scots, wha hae wi' BALFOUR teed."

What wull ye say to this disloyal, slanderous, sacrilegious ANDY? He hints that Golf is a mere modish fashion—even a fin de siècle fad!!! How many perfervid and patriotic Scots will

"Condemn his soul to eternal perdition

For his theory of the—National Game?"

He says "you hit a ball and walk after it, and manoeuvre it into a hole." Eugh! Such icy analysis would make Billiards a bore, and resolve "Knuckle-down" into nonsense! "It is not (Golf is not!) a proceeding (proceeding, quotha!) of which youths and young men should grow enamoured." As though, forsooth, Golf were a sort of elderly Siren luring limp and languorous youths into illegitimate courses; a passée Delilah, whose enervating fascinations sapped the virile vigour that might be dedicated to "that noblest of sports," Cricket, or even that "much better game," Lawn Tennis!!!

Surely the devotees of the Golf-cultus, the lovers of the Links, will be down like a "driver" upon Dr. WILSON. Oh, ANDY, ANDY, between you and your "brither Scots" there is henceforth "a great Golf fixed"!

A Cricket Paradox.

Though true without questioning, yet all the same,

It's a trifle perplexing to know what it means

That the counties that hate most to lose in a game

Would be pleased very much at your giving them Beans

WIGS ON THE (SEA) GREEN!—Some Frenchman (we are told by The Gentlewoman) has done Ladies a good turn by inventing a Bathing Wig, which keeps the hair dry without making the fair bather look "a fright." Hooray! SABRINA herself might shout for such an invention, which even the Nereids need not despise. DIZZY once sarcastically referred to certain "Bathing W(h)igs," but they were of another sort. Not even the most adventurous Tory could "steal the clothes" of our latter day "Bathing Wigs."

"FINE SALMON YOU'VE GOT THERE, POULTER!"—"SIXTY-FIVE POUNDS, MY LORD! SHALL I SEND IT HOME TO YOUR LORDSHIP?"—"WELL—ER—LOOK HERE! JUST CUT ME HALF A POUND OUT OF THE MIDDLE THERE, AND GIVE IT ME IN A PIECE OF PAPER!"

SCENE—A Second-Class Compartment on the line between Wurzburg and Nuremberg. PODBURY has been dull and depressed all day, not having recovered from the parting with Miss TROTTER. CULCHARD, on the contrary, is almost ostentatiously cheerful. PODBURY is intensely anxious to find out how far his spirits are genuine, but—partly from shyness, and partly because some of their fellow travellers have been English—he has hesitated to introduce the subject. At last, however, they are alone, and he is determined to have it out on the very first opportunity.

"Puts me in mind o' the best part o' Box 'Ill."

Culchard. Abominably slow train, this Schnell-zug. I hope we shall get to Nuremberg before it's too dark to see the general effect....