Dockeray will very probably be in the saddle, and Nat mount Harbinger, of whom, as there is no hill to crimb, his party still predict great things, and uncommonly fond they were of him at York. Houlakin may perhaps go, with Sly up, to clear the way for him. Trousseau lacks power, and is not much grown or improved since last year, and looked Very fine-drawn and nervous at Epsom. At Manchester she ran in a very slovenly style, and has not been out since. If she does come forth at the sound of the St. Leger bell, she will perhaps have Alfred Day on her back. We should not be surprised if, before the day, the most extravagant reports go forth about Lapidist, viz., that the Column and 2,000 guinea running was all wrong, and that he can gallop now with the ball out of the small end of a rifle. When we saw him on the latter day, he was as tall and as plain an animal as we ever looked over. His quarters were as shabby as needs be, and there is daylight under him for ever, and he seems to walk on his toes. Rogers will no doubt steer him or The Nabob, and Bumby undertake Alfred the Great, whose friends still say that the world has not seen his real form. Job Marson is generally assigned to Caracara, a stout-looking well-made animal, of whom Lord Glasgow is very fond. It is rumoured that his lordship was dissatisfied at the way in which little Goater rode his horse for the Northumberland Plate, as he was quite unable to hold him together, and that he challenged Mr. Meiklam at the same weight over the Newmarket T. M. M., provided that Stilton's 6 stone was raised to 8 stone 7lbs., and Caracara's 4 stone 10lbs., in proportion, thus enabling him to “put a man up.” This offer Mr. M. at once declined. In the Two Year Old Stakes, The Queen has 7lbs. extra, with Belgravia, Lambton, Mabella, &c., to meet, and we should not wonder to see her make the attempt. Orelio, Captious, and High Sheriff will, perhaps, fight out the Scarborough ; and Longbow, Womersley, Alfred the Great, and Attack seem likely starters among the 84 for the Doncaster Stakes, Bird-onthe-Wing, Caloric, Mickleton Maid filly, Lady Harriet, and Glenluce form leading items in the Park Hill entries, and the Eglinton Stakes has also “ drawn well,” while Lord Glasgow's Tramp ought to be able to lead Sackbut in the 200 Guinea Stakes. For the Cup, some anticipate a second edition of the Goodwood struggle between Teddington (with, we trust, his old jockey up,) and Kingston, the former (as Nat rode 2lbs. over weight) having 6lbs. the better of the weights. Such a race would be enough to stamp any meeting, especially if Stilton and Black Doctor bear a hand in it. : Then hey for Doncaster !

.“ GOING TO BUSINESS.”

DESIGNED AND ENGRAVED BY H. BECKWITH.

However well the grousing season may have promised—and reports, as usual, were tolerably unanimous on this point—we are afraid we shall not proceed to the other business of the trigger under by any means such encouraging auspices. “A bad year for birds” is the complaint

we are met with from nearly every quarter. The continued rains about the commencement of the hatching time were too much for the young ones, and the early bags, accordingly, do not threaten to be anything over weight. Nothing, however, spoils sport more than too many foxes a-foot; and so the philosopher will assure himself, as he thins the small coveys, or hunts up a stray bird with more than customary vigilance and determination “ to have him.”

After all, perhaps, this rumoured scarcity will not much affect the genuine sportsman. It is the gentleman who goes to business too much as a matter of business who will suffer here-the so many head a day that are to counter-balance keepers and manors, and leave something handsome for travelling expenses and household gods.

" It is not for ourselves we shoot,

'Tis to oblige our neighbours ; And when they eat they may debate

On the produce of our labours." So sang the sportsman some hundred years ago “ when a-shooting he did go.” But obliging your neighbours now, alas! is going fast out of fashion before the demands of a Piccadilly dealer or an accommodating fishmonger. Still, on many estates now the supply is limited to home consumption. Year after year, and day after day, we are told of landlords giving up game-preserving, as another chance for the tenant farmer; it has become, in fact, one of the points in the charter demanded on the latter's behalf. Tenant-Right, Repeal of the Malt Tax, Re-adjustment of Tithes, and abolition of the Game Laws, are to set him straight again with the world; and more guns and less birds may, after all, make even partridge-shooting a little wilder work than it has ranked as for some time.

Connected with this matter—the pursuits of agriculture and the stock of game-we have received rather an alarming letter from “ An Old Sportsman," who, it appears, lately honoured Mr. Mechi's celebrated model farm with a visit. Here, amongst many other wonderful inventions and experiments, he witnessed a trial of one of the new reaping machines. It was supposed to work well—50 well and so close, indeed, as not to leave stubble enough to harbour a field mouse. Our correspondent, in fact, insists that it is not a reaping but a “ shaving machine.” Another application of the magic strop principle, that will not give a covey a handful of cover in a hundred of acres. As Mr. Swing, we believe, has not declared war against either Hussey or M.Cormick, the consequences here may be terrible to contemplate.

It is far from our wish to dishearten any gentleman “ Going to Business” on this once more recurring first of September. Our remarks rather should urge him, like the love-sick swain, to make the most of time and opportunity, and let every shot tell “ as sure as a gun.”

MY FIRST FIRST-OF-SEPTEMBER.

BY JUVENIS,

One of the greatest delights which a youth can have is the prospect of taking a certificate. He glories long beforehand in anticipation over the numbers of hares and partridges he intends to bag, and looks down upon such of his companions as are less fortunate than himself. Such, at least, were my feelings many years ago, when, not long after I had left school, my uncle gave me a certificate and the right of shooting over about one thousand acres of land : aye, and good shooting it was too. Another friend gave me a dog—not a very good one, it is true, but quite good enough as it turned out.

I need hardly say how I looked forward to it weeks beforehand, and how slowly the time passed away until the day arrived. Very little sleep had I the night before; for whenever I did fall asleep, I was sure to awake out of a dream wherein I was slaughtering innumerable coveys of birds, to the sad reality that I was still idle in bed : the night, however, like all other nights, had an end, and the morning at last arrived. I was down stairs long before the usual time, and before the rest of the household was stirring; consequently no breakfast was ready. That, however, did not damp my ardour in the least. What cared I for eating while there was game to be shot at? I started, therefore, without breaking my fast or waking any one. It was a glorious morning, clear, bright, and warm, as the mornings at the close of summer frequently are.

Little knew I of shooting, much less of managing or training a dog. It was, therefore, not to be wondered at that in the first field I came to I let the dog range as he liked, whilst I took my own course. Little cared I which way the wind blew ; for I thought, naturally enough, that the dog could find game as well down the wind as against it. As might be well supposed, therefore, he soon put up a large covey of birds far enough out of shot ; that, however, was amply compensated by his chasing a hare, which by some fatality ran very near me, and which by some strange chance I was fortunate enough to kill : how, I knew not ; all I knew was, that I pulled the trigger, and the hare rolled over dead a short distance from my feet. I had some faint recollection of putting the gun to my shoulder, but of that fact I was not quite certain. It may be well imagined how everjoyed I was now ; already in anticipation I saw heaps of game lying at my feet, killed by my all-conquering skill; and my expectation, which was before very great, was now redoubled. I had before made up my mind to miss one shot or two, but now I thought even that was impossible. I put the hare into my pocket and started again : its weight was nothing ; or, at least, I felt it not. I should have been only too glad to have had many more to carry ; but the Fates, alas! decreed otherwise; for somehow or other, it mattered not