THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. A FRAGMENT. "And that's why I don't like a flinty soil," said the farmer. "Talking of flints," said the gentleman in the India-rubber coat, white cords, and top-boots, "we'd a werry honcommon day's sport shooting, the First of September ultimo: vich there vos me and Figgins, and Wiggins, and Higgins, and young Apollo Belvidere Hicks, the poet, vot writes werses in _Bell's Life_, and sends wery anonymous letters to the _Penny Magazine_, and sings a werry good song now and then at the Adelphi Shades—a werry slap-up party, I assure you. I writ an account of it at the time, vich I sent to _Bell's Life_; but owing to a werry great press of matter of tempory hinterest, vosn't hable to be printed. I've got the journal in my pocket, and if you like, I'll read it." "By all means," said a chorus of voices. Whereupon the gentleman in the India-rubber coat, white cords, and top-boots, _douted_ his half-smoked cigar, stowed it away in his silver-mounted shagreen case, and pulling out an amateur-built note-book, made of half-a-dozen sheets of blue-lined paper, evidently purloined from the ledger, read as follows: "JOURNAL OF PROCEEDINGS ON THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER ULT. "_Edited by Jonathan Duggins, Esq._ "Up at six.—Told Mrs. D. I'd got wery pressing business at Woolwich, and off to Old Fish Street, where a werry sporting breakfast, consisting of jugged hare, partridge pie, tally-ho sauce, gunpowder tea, and-cætera, vos laid out in Figgins's warehouse; as he didn't choose Mrs. F. and his young hinfant family to know he vos a-goin to hexpose himself vith fire-harms.— After a good blow-out, sallied forth vith our dogs and guns, namely Mrs. Wiggins's French poodle, Miss Selina Higgins's real Blenheim spaniel, young Hicks's ditto, Mrs. Figgins's pet bull-dog, and my little thorough-bred tarrier; all vich had been smuggled to Figgins's warehouse the night before, to perwent domestic disagreeables.—Got into a Paddington bus at the Bank.—Row with Tiger, who hobjected to take the dogs, unless paid hextra.—Hicks said we'd a rights to take 'em, and quoted the hact.—Tiger said the hact only allowed parcels carried on the lap.—Accordingly tied up the dogs in our pocket-handkerchiefs, and carried them and the guns on our knees.—Got down at Paddington; and, after glasses round, valked on till ve got into the fields, to a place vich Higgins had baited vith corn and penny rolls every day for a month past. Found a covey of birds feeding. Dogs wery eager, and barked beautiful. Birds got up, and turned out to be pigeons. Debate as to vether pigeons vos game or not. Hicks said they vos made game on by the new hact. Fired accordingly, and half killed two or three, vich half fell to the ground; but suddenly got up again and flew off. Reloaded, and pigeons came round again. Let fly a second time, and tumbled two or three more over, but didn't bag any.