18th.—The Lumleys arrived yesterday; my aunt having invited them to meet Mrs. P. I feel very glad, indeed, to see them again, and I am not this time out of humour at interruption from visiters.
We amused ourselves part of yesterday evening with story play, which I had never heard of before. You are to whisper a word, which must be a substantive, to the person who begins the play, and who is to tell a short story or anecdote, into which that word is to be frequently introduced. It requires some ingenuity to relate the story in so natural a manner, that the word shall not be too evident, and yet that it may be sufficiently marked. When the story is finished, each of the party endeavours to guess the word, and the person who discovers it tells the next story. I will give you a sample.
It was decided that my aunt should begin; Frederick whispered the word; and she began so naturally about a visit from Mr. Arthur Maude, who has just returned from Italy, that, at first, I thought she was not going to join in the play.
“Mr. Maude tells me,” continued my aunt, “that he has been greatly interested by the Vaudois, and well repaid, by seeing those amiable people, for the fatigue of making that part of his tour on foot.
“In a beautiful valley between Pignerola and La Tour, he observed a small open arch, under a group of oak trees, that stood on a round green knoll. He afterwards learned, that this arch had been erected about the time that the poor Vaudois had been obliged to quit their native hills, under the brave and pious Arnaud. It was ornamented with figures of saints, and had such an uncommon appearance among those wild valleys, that he sat down to make a sketch, not only of the arch, but of the picturesque scene which surrounded it. Twice he began, and twice he was interrupted by sounds of distress, which seemed to come from within the arch. On approaching it, he found a young creature about fifteen, seated under the shade of the arch, and plying her distaff diligently while the tears fell from her eyes. In reply to his inquiries as to the cause of her grief, she timidly told him, that her poor old father had been so ill that he could earn nothing for many weeks; and having already been reduced to sell every thing but his house, he was totally unable to pay one of the heavy taxes which was now demanded from him. She had, therefore, been spinning—spinning—for ever with her distaff, but all in vain; her yarn was not ready, they must pay the tax without delay, and to do so she must part with the only treasure she possessed: that was the cause of her sorrow; and she had retired to that little arch to avoid the sun, and to conceal her tears from her father.
“‘For that one thing, I can get money enough,’ said she, ‘but how can I part with it! It was once the Bible of Henri Arnaud; my grandmother gave it to me, saying, “Never, never part with this precious book, Janetta.” But, what can I do?’—and her tears burst out afresh. ‘I must sell Henri Arnaud’s bible, or my father will have no house to shelter him!’
“Mr. Maude asked her to guide him to her father’s cottage. She took him by a winding path which led from the arch, to a very poor little chalet, overhung by chesnut trees. The old man was seated on a bench at his door; and Mr. Maude, placing himself at his side, and entering into conversation, observed how much his pale countenance brightened at the interest with which a stranger listened to his anecdotes of Henri Arnaud. Mr. Maude indulged himself by giving a small sum, which was sufficient to pay the tax. And having thus enabled the little Janetta to keep her valued Bible, he returned, I am sure, with a happy mind, to finish his sketch of the picturesque Arch.”
Mary readily guessed that word, and my aunt therefore whispered one to her. After considering for a moment, she proceeded—“The Alpine Marmot, you know, is one of those animals that pass a portion of the year in a torpid state. It delights in cold mountainous regions, where it burrows in the ground, and prepares its wintry residence with great art, lining it with the finest grass. To collect this grass, the whole family, it is said, act in concert; some are employed as sentinels, to give notice of approaching danger; others cut it; and when a sufficient quantity is gathered, one of them acts the part of a waggon, to carry it home. This marmot lays himself on his back, stretches his legs upward, and suffers himself to be loaded just like a waggon of hay. One set then take hold of him by the tail, and drag him along on his back; while another set act as guides, to prevent accidents, or to remove any roughness in the path, which might overturn their little living waggon.”
My uncle having rightly guessed the waggon, he was next called before the house; Mary first giving him his text word.
“I would readily gratify with a tale all the friends collected here to be amused; but alas! not having been gifted with invention, by the fairy presiding at my birth, I can offer you nothing but an historical fact: I can vouch, however, for its fidelity, as I had it from the lips of the person to whom it occurred.