Judge — August 26, 1916 — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PARODIES OF THE FAIR GREEN PUTTS HAT makes the golfer’s heart beat hard, what makes him cold and weak? It’s not the thoughts of mashie shots, or flubbing with the cleek; It’s the sure and certain knowledge that the green is just ahead, With the consequential putter and its consequential dread. Othe putt! O the putt! O the nervous, swervous putt! With the green a-sloping sidewise like a comber of the sea; You study it an hour, and you play it safely, BUT The ball goes slipping past the hole—and you are dormie three! The driver's not so very hard, if ‘once you get a start, The niblick is a test of strength, the mashie is an art; But the nasty little three-foot putt, when all is said and done, Is a bunker and a quarry and a water-hole in one! Othe putt! O the putt! O the tricky little putt! You know your score is one and two, you know you have to You'd swear you couldn’t miss the hole if both your eyes were shut— Then the dimple hits a wormcast, and it runs around the tin. The ball does all its crazy tricks—'twill bounce and kick and scrap, It’s game to run forever if you give it just a tap; It may have acted decently through ditch and rough and pit, But when it gets upon the green the devil gets in it! O the putt! O the putt! O the smileful, guileful putt! The pretty little pellet seems repentant of its sins; You give a gentle touch, with just the right amount of cut, It rolls . . . and stops eight inches short, and looks around, and grins! So when the rough at last is cleared, the green no longer blind, And when the hole is plain before, the bunkers left behind, The ball waits till we think we're safe and all our woes are past, Remembers how we’ve whacked it—and it gets revenge at last. O the putt! O the putt! O the hopping, stopping putt! We've laid the mashie dead, and our opponent's getting pale; The green’s as smooth as glass, without a molehill or a rut, But something interferes, and then—suppose we draw a vei —F. Gregory Hartswick. THE UNANIMOUS OPINION ‘(XK LTHOUGH about all the gain that I can detect from the process,” J. Fuller Gloomn confessed a trifle grimly, “is a varied assortment of aches, itches, twinges, sprains, galls, chafes, scorched necks, sun-grins, and so forth, I am forced to believe that mowing my lawn is good for me. Almost every- body who passes by pauses and innocently bystands long enough to tell me so.”” The Golden Legend The conceited man—“Need gold? Of course. I wear it.” The generous man—‘And I need gold to share it.” The miser—"You both are wrong. I spare it.” The profligate—'Tis easy come by. Spend it!” The banker—“’Tis hardly won—so lend it.” The gambler—"I lose it—win it—lose it.” You-and-I—" We rarely wise men use —W. J. Price. ‘She—Oh, 1 do hope we haven't had a puncture! comichooks. ——