All the great mass of golfing history and tradition—principally, perhaps, the latter—clusters lovingly within sight of the grey towers of the old University town; and, to most, the very name St Andrews calls to mind not a saint nor a city, nor a castle nor a University, but a beautiful stretch of green links with a little burn, which traps golf balls, and bunkers artfully planted to try the golfer’s soul. HORACE HUTCHINSON (1890)