AND OTHER SKETCHES 105 



A FEW OLD-TIME SPORTSMEN. 



Rumaging around the pigeon holes of an old-time desk 

 in my snuggery I ran across an ancient race bill that 

 brought recollections both pleasant and sorrowful. Pleas- 

 ant, as a reminiscence of a jolly night, brimful of enjoy- 

 ment within the bounds of reason and made memorable 

 in one's mind by the many good fellows that were pres- 

 ent; sorrow, tinged through the recollection because so 

 many that on that night were full of life, hope and 

 ambition, are to-day sleeping the long sleep that knows 

 no awakening. 



Let us hope that they have gained by the change. I 

 take no stock in the frenzied doctrine that conjures up 

 visions of brimstone lakes and unutterable torments as 

 the future state of those who in this world live not up to 

 strict puritanical notions. The man who tries to act 

 fairly and lives a decent life, even though he does toy in 

 moderation with the wine cup when it is red and believes 

 in tasting a little of life's joys and pleasures as he passes 

 through this world, has, in my judgment, as fair a fight- 

 ing chance in the hereafter as the sanctimonious Ash- 

 Wednesday-faced chap who goes to church twice every 

 Sunday, and then on week days seeks to impress on you 

 a sense of his superior godliness. I admire the genuine 

 Christian who never obtrudes his goodness, but that other 

 professional whiner I take no stock in, and I am willing 

 he should reap all the good to be gained by such an 

 earthly preparation. 



I've wandered off the track, though, and now to the 

 pleasanter thoughts that recollections of the many good 

 qualities of the absent ones bring up. There was Jack 

 Munro, not much given to making friends, but true as 

 steel and all geniality to those he liked. A man of wide 

 worldly experience, possessing ample means to live in 



