56 THE LIFE OF A SPORTSMAN 



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 him, 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 pre- 

 datory animal, and, as such, there can be no harm in 

 destroying him ; and if you take him alive, which I con- 

 clude 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 remakably 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 accomplish- 

 ments, 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 imbedded 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, every- 

 thing 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 he devoted much of his leisure 

 hours to watching the operations of Perren, the head 



