PREFACE.
In presenting this little Work to the Public, I can solicit for it no better protection than the generosity of an English heart; and I must beg my little readers will make allowances for the faults it may contain, in consideration of the cause in which it was written.
ELIZA GREY.
June, 1831.
THE
ADVENTURES
OF
A MARMOTTE.
My dear little friends, you have, I dare say, never before heard of a Marmotte writing its history; I know it is great boldness on my part, but I undertake it in the hope of amusing you, and perhaps procuring a few shillings for the poor starving Irish, who so much need your kind and generous compassion.
The first recollection I have of myself, was my lying curled up like a little ball, with two or three brothers and sisters, in a nook in one of the rugged Alps, near the pretty village of Courmayeur, situated in the valley of Aosta, in Switzerland. This valley extends from the pass of St. Martin, near the frontiers of Yoree, to St. Bernard; it is very fertile, and abounds in pastures and all sorts of fruit.
One day, when about six weeks old, contrary to the express commands of my parents, I quitted the little crevice where we lived, and wandered to a short distance, to amuse myself by jumping from rock to rock; when, Oh! fatal effect of disobedience! I was perceived by a little boy, who, uttering a cry of delight, threw down the crystals he had been gathering, and seized me by the hind legs, before I could succeed in scrambling back to my hiding place. Conceive my horror—my despair, at this unexpected and frightful event. To revenge my capture, I bit the little boy’s fingers most severely, but he only held me still tighter: this was the fruit of my disobedience, which I have since so often regretted. I hope my little readers never do any thing they are bid not; for, as I have felt, naughtiness is always punished sooner or later.
But to continue my history, this little boy carried me down with him into the valley. How astonished I was when the first emotion of fear had a little subsided, to see all the strange objects which presented themselves to my view in this new world; for so this valley then appeared to me, who had never before seen a human being, and knew only of them from the terrible accounts our father and mother sometimes gave us, on their return from excursions in search of food. I had, therefore, rather an unpleasant opinion of my new acquaintance; but this soon wore off, for he treated me very kindly, and I discovered that the horrible stories I had heard of men’s eating us alive, were untrue, or at least greatly exaggerated; for I fear they do sometimes kill us for food, but only in times of great distress, when they can procure nothing else.
On arriving at the cottage of little José, (for that was his name) he shewed me to his mother, with whom he lived, praising my beauty, and exulting in the fortunate acquisition he had made.