THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



' What's to be done to-day ? ' said Mr. Egerton to his pupils, 

 after school, on the morrow following the crow's-nest race. 

 ' I am going in the phaeton, with mamma, to call at the 

 Grange,' answered Andrew; whilst Frank admitted that he 

 was informed, by Dick Perren, of a marten-cat, that he had 

 seen in the big wood ; and he believed he could show him the 

 tree in which it makes its bed. ' I suppose, sir, there is no 

 harm in killing liim, if we can; as Dick says he not only 

 destroys the game, but the huntsman to the foxhounds will be 

 very glad to have him put out of the way; for his hounds 

 have run him twice, without being able to catch him, and he 

 scratched some of them sadly.' 



' The marten-cat,' said Mr. Egerton, * is a very predatory 

 animal, and, as such, there can be no harm in destroying him ; 

 and if you take him alive, which I conclude you will do, I wish 

 to see him previously to your putting him to death, for he 

 is a very beautiful animal. Then, again, of all those called 

 vermin, we have none more admirably fitted for a predatory 

 life than the marten-cat. He is endowed with great strength 

 of body, for his size ; is remarkably quick and active in all 

 his motions ; has an eye so clear and so perceptive, that 

 nothing can stir without his observation ; and, to complete his 

 accomplishments, he has a perfect sense of smelling. Again, 

 his feet are peculiarly adapted to his habits ; not treading 

 upright on the balls alone, but with the joint bending, the 

 fleshy parts being embedded in a very soft hair ; so that the 

 tread of the animal, even on decayed leaves, in a wood, is 

 scarcely audible by its prey, which it, consequently, very seldom 

 misses getting into its clutches. In fact, everything combines 

 to make him a very destructive animal ; and, as he is neither 

 protected by laws nor privileges, I have often wondered that 

 he has so long been suffered to exist in so populous a country 

 as this. I find he was an object of chase in former days, being 

 mentioned, among the beasts of venery, in the Book of St. 

 Albans, by Dame Juliana Berners.' 



In about a fortnight from this time, Mr. Raby's harriers 

 ceased hunting for the season, and the foxhounds went to finish 

 theirs in a distant part of the country, in which they had a 

 kennel. This was, then, the commencement of what are called 

 the 'dead months.' An active mind like that of our hero, 

 however, could not remain without some stirring pursuit ; so 



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