How droll too the unstudied exaggeration of the
recent convert, but devoted zealot to the seductions of golf, that most
fascinating of Scottish games. The staid, rotund, and eminently
respectable sportsman, had just driven the ball into an utterly
impracticable 'bunker,' and his fruitless endeavours to extricate it had
caused him quite to forget his long-acquired propriety. In fact, he had
just indulged in the hitherto rare luxury of 'a good round sweir.'
Pausing a moment, while his pricking conscience accused him, he blurted
out with most comical contrition and self justification...
'Weel, sirss, I couldna help it! I began gowf a
Christian man, but, hech me, it's fair turnin' me intil a blaspheemin'