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Perhaps it is pardonable in a Scot to note that the only forms ofsport which can be pronounced sane and devoid of offence came out ofScotland. The grand instance in point, of course, is the ancient androyal game of golf. Without attempting to say a word that would tendto exaggerate the value of a pastime which is beloved by all Scotsmen,and not without its appreciators even in England, it seems fitting toremark that in golf you have a game which, while every whit as healthy,as manly, and as invigorating as horse-racing, cricket, football, andthe rest of them, can never by any chance become the mere kill-time ofthe idle, unparticipating spectator or the prey of the[Pg 18] \"professional\",the ready-money bookmaker, and the halfpenny journal. As to otherScottish sports, one need not here particularise; but they are allhealthy and honest in the broadest sense, and with the single exceptionof football, which has been corrupted by the English, they have notbeen allowed to deteriorate into vices. The exploitation of popularpastimes by covetous and unprincipled persons is an unmistakable signof national decadence. In England that exploitation goes on withoutlet or hindrance and in almost every department. Protest brings merelycontempt and objurgation upon the head of the protester, and thenational virility continues to be slowly but surely sapped away. Thatthe English notion of sport should permit of the orgies of bloodshed,rowdyism, and partisanship which take place in the coverts and onfootball-fields, race-courses, and cricket-grounds serves to indicatethat, in spite of all that has been said and sung in its praises, theEnglish notion of sport is an exceedingly sad[Pg 19] and sorry one. It isnatural that a people given over to display and the getting of moneyfor the sake of the more unnecessary luxuries money can buy should ina great measure lose its taste for outdoor sports of the primal order.The English are losing that taste at a rate which can leave no doubt asto the ultimate upshot. In brief, the Englishman as sportsman worth thename seems to be disappearing; and in his place England will have theadipose, plethoric, mechanical slayer of birds who goes to his shootin a bath-chair, and the cadaverous, undersized, Saturday-afternoonzealot, the chief joys of whose existence are the cracking of filbertsand the kicking of umpires. 1e1e36bf2d