desires to be carried satisfactorily and well. The idea of turning him out to grass has fortunately become nearly obsolete; properly summered, the hunter should be fit to go by the first week in November, and this is the time when he must undergo some steady work, to prepare him. Hunting men are deeply indebted to the talented Nimrod for the new light which he threw upon the condition of horses, but a lapse of some twenty years has brought forth many improvements. In his time, clipping was comparatively in its infancy, since which singeing has been introduced with admirable effect, but it should be commenced early. As soon as the slightest increase appears in the length of the coat, the singeing apparatus should be in requisition. By keeping the coat short the gloss is preserved; but if it is once permitted to become long, and the woolly texture to assume its growth, the horse will never look so bright and blooming. I must confess I do not go quite to the same length with Nimrod in respect to sweating hunters. One of the great advantages derived from summering horses in loose boxes is that of not permitting them to accumulate an immoderate quantity of fat, by restricting them from too much green food, should they evince a disposition to plethora; and if that does not produce the desired effect, by giving them physic and exercise. So treated up to the first of September, three hours of walking exercise daily, with a steady gallop about two miles twice or three times a week, increased as the hunting season draws nigh, will render them quite fit by the time they are wanted. Some distinction may be made between a stud of ten or a dozen horses, and those of a man who keeps but two or three. The horses in a large stud will admit of being drawn finer than those in a small one; but he who has only two to carry him, will find them very light by Christmas unless they have some extra quantity of flesh to commence with; and should an open season, as the last was, ensue, they will be very skeletons before it is over. The ordeal of sweating, as performed some five-andtwenty years ago, is not carried on to the same extent with race-horses. It was then customary to load the poor animals with thick rugs and two hoods; thus clothed, they were sent along at more than half speed four miles, till, by repetition of the process, either their legs gave way or their systems became so much reduced, that they could not feed, when they soon became stale and unfit for work. Reflection and good sense have stepped forth to rescue the horse from a great share of distressing pain, which our forefathers were in the habit of inflicting. After having been singed, a gentle sweat at a slow pace, from two to three miles, will produce the twofold effect of promoting condition, and cleansing the skin from the dust occasioned by the operations. This should also be completed by a good washing with warm water and soap as soon as the horse returns to his stable. A hunter in the fast countries must come to the covert-side in as good condition as the race-horse was wont to appear at the post. Not that he is to be drawn so fine as the race-horse; but with a greater proportion of flesh, and an equal development of muscle, he must be as fit to go.

Nimrod was at one time a great advocate for antimony as an alterative; but by a long conversation which I had with him a short time before his decease, I found he had changed his opinion, and, I am convinced, with good reason. Alteratives doubtless derange the secretions of the stomach, create indigestion, and a susceptibility to in

flammation in the membranes covering the stomach and bowels; and although they act upon the skin sympathetically, much of that depends upon the warmth of the stable. If cold, the diuretic action is induced, and thus much uncertainty exists. It is only when cutaneous disorders appear, or effusions in the legs from plethora, that their use can be advised, and even then they are often ineffective. Temporary debility is very frequently the result of a continued course of alteratives. Mild doses of physic produce a very different effect; they clear the system, stimulate the bowels to action, and promote the important process of chylification, by which the healthy nourishment of the body is promoted. I have experienced the most beneficial results from giving two doses of physic about the middle or latter end of August, succeeded by steady work, and another gentle dose towards the second week in October. This treatment is to be particularly recommended with horses of gross constitutions, in order to carry off any mischief that might otherwise follow from the increased allowance of corn which they are at this period consuming.

The fashion of preserving an immoderate head of game appears to be daily going out of fashion; and it almost appears that the opposite extreme is fast succeeding. This in some districts leads to a greater preservation of foxes; in fact, there are but few hunts that have much cause for complaint on that score, and if the practice which I have on a former occasion advocated were to be carried into effect, I have no doubt it would be followed with good effect-that is, of breaking up the main carths. It has been supposed that it would in some cases be the means of causing the foxes to remove out of a country so treated into an adjoining one where the earths were not molested; but such an argument must fall to the ground at once, providing the custom were adopted in both. Fortunately masters of hounds are not the jealous Squire Westerns of former days. With very few exceptions mutual accommodation and concord enter the spirit with which foxhunting is conducted. But even in the event of a neighbouring hunt declining to adopt the same course, it is very easy to avoid any difficulty, by leaving the earths in that vicinity untouched. Those who are most intimately acquainted with the habits of the wily animal, are aware that breaking up the earths will not cause the foxes to leave their accustomed woodlands, if they be kept quiet. It is where they are disturbed by rabbit-shooters and cur-dogs at the commencement of the breeding season, that causes them to quit the coverts. The difference

in point of stoutness, stamina, and wildness, between stub-bred foxes and the half-domesticated animals reared, as it were, by hand, is so well known by all huntsmen and sportsmen of experience, that those who desire to see sport will not hesitate in making the election with which they would prefer having the country stocked. Thirty brace of good flying foxes will show more sport than one hundred brace of bad ones. If, however, a master of hounds is apprehensive that he might lose his foxes by breaking up all the earths, another alternative may be adopted--that of effectually stopping them at the commencement of the hunting season, and keeping them closed till the time arrives when the vixens are about to lay up their cubs.

Simultaneously with the publication of this number of the merry Sporting Magazine, will occur one of the most important of those events in our annals which form the landmarks of the year.

The excitement of the Derby day is deep and thrilling; thousands upon thousands hang upon a breath-upon a feather-upon the risk of a myriad chances--agitating as the hazard of a dic. Doncaster

brings the élite of the sporting world from every corner of our island. Ascot and Royalty magnetize the "talent"-the actors and the sightseers from east and west, from north and south.

The first south wind that brings the first day of hunting-the first sweet breath of spring that tempts us forth to the shallow rapids, to allure the trout or grayling from its haunt-the first intelligence of grouse upon the moors-may convey an unspeakable pleasure to many; but still, the excitement of each of these events is confined to a par ticular class of sportsmen. The glory of the First of September is not for one, but for the many-not for many, but for all.

Why are the clubs empty while we write? Why is Regent-street a desolation? Where are the perfumed exquisites, the habitués of the Park, the loungers over late breakfasts and later dinners, whose aspect of exotic delicacy gives you a notion that they could as soon bear the fatigue of carrying a double-barrel as they could "drink up Esil, cat a crocodile"? Where? Preparing for the First of September.

What does the little wizened luncheon-house keeper dilate upon to his customers, as he cuts the gossamer sandwich, and draws the glass of very mild ale indeed, for fourpence, but his dire intent of going down among the birds to his cousins in Gloucestershire! My Lord's butler, who has made money and bought a tavern, talks of nothing else. Mr. Twill, behind his counter, cutting calico, dissevering patterns of sportsmen and dogs, talks of it as of a forbidden fruit. Young Whiffler, the bank clerk, who was brought up in the country, and knows a "hawk from a heronshaw," dreams, as Adam may have dreamed, of the lost Paradise of life's dawn. Of what? Of the First of September!

"Coming events cast their shadows before."

During the last few weeks there have been many signs and symbols of the event to come. No longer attired with studious care; in coats artfully negligent, in waistcoats of cerulean purity, spotless in respect to gloves, our men of "ton" have assumed a different apparel.

There is now business on hand, hard work to be done; champagne suppers, nights devoted to Terpsichore instead of Morpheus, excesses of claret, billiards, and cigars, and the consequent indigestions, have now to be accounted for, like our other sins, before they can be forgiven, or the human frame can assume its natural hardihood.

So our exquisite, though resident still perhaps in town, has risen early of late, beginning at seven with a supernatural effort, and ending with six o'clock by the awakening alarum, without any effort at all. He then takes a draught from the caraffe, looks out of his window into the Mall, where there is no one stirring except the police and the milkman, for parties are over long ago, and then proceeds to dress. His attire is a complete suit of the same material throughout, the colour either grey or brown, but not fanciful in hue if he is a real sportsman. In lieu of the rich slippers, embroidered by some fair hand, that were wont to encase his feet while discussing languidly the matutinal muffins, or the unwrinkled patent leathers that gleamed in his stirrups in Rotten Row, he dons a pair of shoes with tipped double toes, a good inch of sole and heel, the latter not too high, and rough ploughboy laces up the sides. And when they are on-actually on-he paces up and down the room for a minute or two with much the same feeling that Jack Sheppard may have known with a couple of hundred-weight of iron manacles upon his legs in the Round House, but still nowise beaten, far too plucky to give in. He knows that stubble, turnip-tops, and ragged roads, are bruisers" as desperate and more enduring than " Deaf Burke' or the "Nobby Shropshire One," and he prepares for them accordingly.

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Sauntering down stairs, he does not wake his servant, but lets himself out with a latch-key; and then, refreshed with sleep, worn by no debauch, firm and erect, he is astonished to discover how pure the air of the early morning is, even in London. It seems quite a feat to be up so soon, and he is proportionately proud of the effort. The shootingsuit, with many pockets, is a little heavy at first; the field shoes are so ponderous that he thinks every early artizan who meets him must turn back to stare; but nevertheless he reaches the Park, and sees for the first time for many a day the "golden dawn break forth" upon him after a good night's rest. On he walks, exhilarated and refreshed, feeling hungrier every minute: he reaches the spring in Kensington Gardens, takes a long pull and a strong pull at the pure health-inspiring water; gets hungrier still; thinks of sharks that can feed on fire-irons, of pike that can swallow a plummet, of salmon that will rise at red leather, and turning back home, positively finds on arriving that his tongue does not stick with fever to the roof of his mouth, and-wonder of wonders!-that he has an appetite for his breakfast!

After a week or two of this training, interspersed with a row in his gig down to Bob Coombes's to lunch, or an occasional flirtation at Jem Burns's with the gloves, our true sportsman knows that he is up to his work. The time of departure comes. The railway tickets are taken the gentleman is in the first class, the gentleman's gentleman and a tiger or so in the second class, the dog-cart fastened on its truck -barking-irons put to rights by the gunmaker, snug in their cases; good store of powder, shot, caps, and wadding; and the whistle screams, the guard shouts, the old lady gesticulates (who thinks her luggage is lost), and off they go, bearing our "sometime" exquisite to some country-house.

The next day is the First of September! Partridges, what must be your sensations! The feeling of the goose as Michaelmas approaches, the reflections of the duck when green peas come in, can be but a feeble type of your astonishment; when, fed and fostered as you have been,

the revered of clowns, the envied of poachers, your protector, man, suddenly turns upon you with double barrels, uplifted trigger, unerring aim, and knocks you down without remorse, in number "as plenty as blackberries." As soon as it is light the house is in an uproar; servants flying about, breakfast preparing, and a good solid meal too-no buttered toast affair, but meat-pasty, ale, coffee, and a petit verre de cognac to wind up with. The dog cart is at the door; the tiger at the horse's head, neat and solemn as if in Pall Mall; guns all ready; cigars lighted, and off they roll away to the keeper's house, near the edge of the preserve. Oh, how crisp is the atmosphere! What a relief after stifling ball-rooms! How joyfully the birds sing their matin songs of praise! How beautiful are the fields, some shorn of their wealth, others still gleaming with the golden corn! How many hues have the trees-of olive, green, and red, twinkling everywhere with their diamonds of dew like the bosom of an heiress! And then

perhaps the scene changes for a few minutes. A short shower supervenes; for Nature, the spoilt beauty, has her tears as well as her smiles, her frowns as well as her dimples; and yet her every alternation from grave to gay, from lively to severe," is differently charming. But the sun shines again, and all is light in the landscape.

Now the keepers are found, the shooting suit and double-tipped shoes are in their element, and never gall the seasoned wearer. Dogs run about, snuffing and sniffing among the brushwood. Stop! they pause suddenly, almost at the same moment, at "that 'ere bit o' turnips," as the keeper calls it. Another step or two-a whizz and a bangone down, only the first of the covey: they rise at the report-bang! -two more over, and the third escapes, and henceforth, having no confidence in man, this last partridge becomes a “wild bird, and keeps out of reach for ever after.

More turnips, more birds, until the sun rises higher, gets hotter, and compels them to hand over their coats to the attendants, and shoot in their shirt-sleeves. Then comes the cart from the Hall with lunch-sandwiches, bitter beer, rumpsteak-pie, weak brandy-and-water -a rest, and up again at the game, having first sent off a servant with two or three brace, to be packed and despatched to a friend still lingering in town.

But why proceed further in sketching a pleasure which our friends will enjoy sooner, possibly, than they read what we here indite. We wish our readers all success. Birds are very plentiful almost everywhere this season: we saw with our own eyes last week numerous coveys, numbering from six to ten, in the country between here and Brighton, and in several other parts; and the accounts from all quarters are equally favourable.

All success, therefore, to our sportsmen on the approaching First of September! and as it is said of the vintagers in Italy,

"May the hand never fail that plucked the grape !

May the foot never slip that pressed them!"

So we conclude this paper by saying of our sportsmen-May their hands be steady and their sight be true! and may the partridges that they pull at never get away unharmed, to tell the tale! August 27, 1851.