Published Memoriam
Google Books
Chambers's Edinburgh journal, 1860
Hugh Philp! how full of bygone pleasant memories of golf-land is thy name. Thou wert the representative-man of the golfing links in thy generation. Thou didst make clubs for our fathers, and didst mend them for their sons. Not as a mere fashioner of clubs, Hugh, do I here apostrophise thee, but, as every true golfer knew thee, the quaint chronicler of the links. Who does not still remember, or has not heard of, the old man in his bifold character as a club-maker and a golfer? Could the past be re-lived, you might enter Hugh's shop with me; as it is, do so in fancy. It is not a very commodious habitation, being a small square box erected on the convenient brink of the course at the commencement of the links. Round the walls are ranged boxes filled with finished clubs for the golfer to choose from; piles of embryo handles and heads, and quantities of doubtful material yet undeveloped, strew the ground; overhead are horizontal racks of clubs belonging to some of Hugo's customers who claim a kind of prescriptive right to keep their sets in his shop; and in one corner is Hugh's own particular bench. The shop is evidently a place where golfers of all descriptions most do congregate; caddies waiting engagements, gentlemen-players smoking their pipe, chatting with Hugh, or selecting their clubs. Hugh himself is polishing and stamping his name on some club-heads. For many and many a year to come, these letters which he is branding on the clubs will serve for Hugh's best epitaph, and golfers yet to be will sigh for the 'touch of that vanished hand'which fashioned so deftly and so well. He is clad in his invariable snuff-coloured garb, and his silver-rimmed spectacles are pushed upward on his brow. His keen black eye is glittering with the fun of some golfing story he has been relating to a group of players. Hugh had plenty of these tales, and told them with a dry comicality which was irresistible. But you should have seen Hugh play a match. As a rule, he did not mock care about leaving his shop to play regular matches with gentlemen-golfers, but occasionally took a round when the chances were a little in his favour. Hugh thoroughly understood both the etiquette and saving policy of the game, and never, if possible, took his match before the burn-hole, which left only one hole more to play. He could therefore, with every degree of plausibility, solace his beaten opponent with the idea, that it was a very, very close match—indeed, that there was no saying how the next might go. This Chesterfieldan policy has become proverbial on the golfing links, where it is considered the neatest thing in life to walk over the burn with your match settled —and no sooner.
In the gloaming of his life, Hugh's lessened vigour compelled him to leave the long game over the links, and take to the short holes. These are made close to each other, and the ball, in consequence, requires merely the impetus of a slight club-tap, called a put— with the u Bounded as in 'but.' Whoever lias seen old Hugh playing a close match at the short holes, will not easily forget the keen interest he took in the game, at which scarcely any excelled him—the quiet steal, token quite as a matter of course, and the placid triumph of manner when the game was brought to (i fortunate conclusion. May he rest in peace!
Google Books
Chambers's Edinburgh journal, 1860
Hugh Philp! how full of bygone pleasant memories of golf-land is thy name. Thou wert the representative-man of the golfing links in thy generation. Thou didst make clubs for our fathers, and didst mend them for their sons. Not as a mere fashioner of clubs, Hugh, do I here apostrophise thee, but, as every true golfer knew thee, the quaint chronicler of the links. Who does not still remember, or has not heard of, the old man in his bifold character as a club-maker and a golfer? Could the past be re-lived, you might enter Hugh's shop with me; as it is, do so in fancy. It is not a very commodious habitation, being a small square box erected on the convenient brink of the course at the commencement of the links. Round the walls are ranged boxes filled with finished clubs for the golfer to choose from; piles of embryo handles and heads, and quantities of doubtful material yet undeveloped, strew the ground; overhead are horizontal racks of clubs belonging to some of Hugo's customers who claim a kind of prescriptive right to keep their sets in his shop; and in one corner is Hugh's own particular bench. The shop is evidently a place where golfers of all descriptions most do congregate; caddies waiting engagements, gentlemen-players smoking their pipe, chatting with Hugh, or selecting their clubs. Hugh himself is polishing and stamping his name on some club-heads. For many and many a year to come, these letters which he is branding on the clubs will serve for Hugh's best epitaph, and golfers yet to be will sigh for the 'touch of that vanished hand'which fashioned so deftly and so well. He is clad in his invariable snuff-coloured garb, and his silver-rimmed spectacles are pushed upward on his brow. His keen black eye is glittering with the fun of some golfing story he has been relating to a group of players. Hugh had plenty of these tales, and told them with a dry comicality which was irresistible. But you should have seen Hugh play a match. As a rule, he did not mock care about leaving his shop to play regular matches with gentlemen-golfers, but occasionally took a round when the chances were a little in his favour. Hugh thoroughly understood both the etiquette and saving policy of the game, and never, if possible, took his match before the burn-hole, which left only one hole more to play. He could therefore, with every degree of plausibility, solace his beaten opponent with the idea, that it was a very, very close match—indeed, that there was no saying how the next might go. This Chesterfieldan policy has become proverbial on the golfing links, where it is considered the neatest thing in life to walk over the burn with your match settled —and no sooner.
In the gloaming of his life, Hugh's lessened vigour compelled him to leave the long game over the links, and take to the short holes. These are made close to each other, and the ball, in consequence, requires merely the impetus of a slight club-tap, called a put— with the u Bounded as in 'but.' Whoever lias seen old Hugh playing a close match at the short holes, will not easily forget the keen interest he took in the game, at which scarcely any excelled him—the quiet steal, token quite as a matter of course, and the placid triumph of manner when the game was brought to (i fortunate conclusion. May he rest in peace!
Published Memoriam
Google Books
Chambers's Edinburgh journal, 1860
Hugh Philp! how full of bygone pleasant memories of golf-land is thy name. Thou wert the representative-man of the golfing links in thy generation. Thou didst make clubs for our fathers, and didst mend them for their sons. Not as a mere fashioner of clubs, Hugh, do I here apostrophise thee, but, as every true golfer knew thee, the quaint chronicler of the links. Who does not still remember, or has not heard of, the old man in his bifold character as a club-maker and a golfer? Could the past be re-lived, you might enter Hugh's shop with me; as it is, do so in fancy. It is not a very commodious habitation, being a small square box erected on the convenient brink of the course at the commencement of the links. Round the walls are ranged boxes filled with finished clubs for the golfer to choose from; piles of embryo handles and heads, and quantities of doubtful material yet undeveloped, strew the ground; overhead are horizontal racks of clubs belonging to some of Hugo's customers who claim a kind of prescriptive right to keep their sets in his shop; and in one corner is Hugh's own particular bench. The shop is evidently a place where golfers of all descriptions most do congregate; caddies waiting engagements, gentlemen-players smoking their pipe, chatting with Hugh, or selecting their clubs. Hugh himself is polishing and stamping his name on some club-heads. For many and many a year to come, these letters which he is branding on the clubs will serve for Hugh's best epitaph, and golfers yet to be will sigh for the 'touch of that vanished hand'which fashioned so deftly and so well. He is clad in his invariable snuff-coloured garb, and his silver-rimmed spectacles are pushed upward on his brow. His keen black eye is glittering with the fun of some golfing story he has been relating to a group of players. Hugh had plenty of these tales, and told them with a dry comicality which was irresistible. But you should have seen Hugh play a match. As a rule, he did not mock care about leaving his shop to play regular matches with gentlemen-golfers, but occasionally took a round when the chances were a little in his favour. Hugh thoroughly understood both the etiquette and saving policy of the game, and never, if possible, took his match before the burn-hole, which left only one hole more to play. He could therefore, with every degree of plausibility, solace his beaten opponent with the idea, that it was a very, very close match—indeed, that there was no saying how the next might go. This Chesterfieldan policy has become proverbial on the golfing links, where it is considered the neatest thing in life to walk over the burn with your match settled —and no sooner.
In the gloaming of his life, Hugh's lessened vigour compelled him to leave the long game over the links, and take to the short holes. These are made close to each other, and the ball, in consequence, requires merely the impetus of a slight club-tap, called a put— with the u Bounded as in 'but.' Whoever lias seen old Hugh playing a close match at the short holes, will not easily forget the keen interest he took in the game, at which scarcely any excelled him—the quiet steal, token quite as a matter of course, and the placid triumph of manner when the game was brought to (i fortunate conclusion. May he rest in peace!
Google Books
Chambers's Edinburgh journal, 1860
Hugh Philp! how full of bygone pleasant memories of golf-land is thy name. Thou wert the representative-man of the golfing links in thy generation. Thou didst make clubs for our fathers, and didst mend them for their sons. Not as a mere fashioner of clubs, Hugh, do I here apostrophise thee, but, as every true golfer knew thee, the quaint chronicler of the links. Who does not still remember, or has not heard of, the old man in his bifold character as a club-maker and a golfer? Could the past be re-lived, you might enter Hugh's shop with me; as it is, do so in fancy. It is not a very commodious habitation, being a small square box erected on the convenient brink of the course at the commencement of the links. Round the walls are ranged boxes filled with finished clubs for the golfer to choose from; piles of embryo handles and heads, and quantities of doubtful material yet undeveloped, strew the ground; overhead are horizontal racks of clubs belonging to some of Hugo's customers who claim a kind of prescriptive right to keep their sets in his shop; and in one corner is Hugh's own particular bench. The shop is evidently a place where golfers of all descriptions most do congregate; caddies waiting engagements, gentlemen-players smoking their pipe, chatting with Hugh, or selecting their clubs. Hugh himself is polishing and stamping his name on some club-heads. For many and many a year to come, these letters which he is branding on the clubs will serve for Hugh's best epitaph, and golfers yet to be will sigh for the 'touch of that vanished hand'which fashioned so deftly and so well. He is clad in his invariable snuff-coloured garb, and his silver-rimmed spectacles are pushed upward on his brow. His keen black eye is glittering with the fun of some golfing story he has been relating to a group of players. Hugh had plenty of these tales, and told them with a dry comicality which was irresistible. But you should have seen Hugh play a match. As a rule, he did not mock care about leaving his shop to play regular matches with gentlemen-golfers, but occasionally took a round when the chances were a little in his favour. Hugh thoroughly understood both the etiquette and saving policy of the game, and never, if possible, took his match before the burn-hole, which left only one hole more to play. He could therefore, with every degree of plausibility, solace his beaten opponent with the idea, that it was a very, very close match—indeed, that there was no saying how the next might go. This Chesterfieldan policy has become proverbial on the golfing links, where it is considered the neatest thing in life to walk over the burn with your match settled —and no sooner.
In the gloaming of his life, Hugh's lessened vigour compelled him to leave the long game over the links, and take to the short holes. These are made close to each other, and the ball, in consequence, requires merely the impetus of a slight club-tap, called a put— with the u Bounded as in 'but.' Whoever lias seen old Hugh playing a close match at the short holes, will not easily forget the keen interest he took in the game, at which scarcely any excelled him—the quiet steal, token quite as a matter of course, and the placid triumph of manner when the game was brought to (i fortunate conclusion. May he rest in peace!
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