THE SPORTSMAN.

OR MY FIRST DAY’S SNIPE SHOOTING AT CAMBRIDGE.

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BY FRANK FORESTER, AUTHOR OF “THE WARWICK WOODLANDS,” ETC.

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My first day’s snipe shooting at Cambridge! Alas! alas! how many reminiscences, bitter and bleak as the cold north-eastern storm that, even while I write, is bellowing without, fall heavy on my heart, as I indite those simple words, How many, many long years wasted; how many generous aims and lofty aspirations blighted; how many kindly deeds and goodly feelings, written on sand, to be effaced as soon; how many faults and follies, recorded upon brass, perennial; how many warm hearts changed to sad, chill ashes; how many friends—dead, faithless, or forgetful! Alas! for those young days, and young feelings, flown forever, before there was a furrow on the brow, or a gray hair on the head, before disappointment had wrought agony, and agony been mother to the dark twins, distrust and despondency, near akin to despair.