The Surgeons Daughter | Page 3

to the seat of his government.
No sooner was this villanous action of D------ known to C------, than he
communicated the whole particulars to the commanding officer of a
regiment of Scotch Highlanders that happened to be quartered in that
part of India, begging at the same time, for the honour of Caledonia,
and protection of injured innocence, that he would use the means in his
power, of resisting any attempt that might be made by the native chief
to wrest from their hands the virtuous female who had been so
shamefully decoyed from her native country by the worst of mankind.
Honour occupies too large a space in the heart of the Gael to resist such
a call of humanity.
The Rajah, finding his claim was not to be acceded to, and resolving to
enforce the same, assembled his troops, and attacked with great fury the
place where the affrighted Emma was for a time secured by her
countrymen, who fought in her defence with all their native valour,
which at length so overpowered their assailants, that they were forced
to retire in every direction, leaving behind many of their slain, among
whom was found the mangled corpse of the perfidious D------.
C------ was immediately afterwards married to Emma, and my
informant assured me he saw them many years afterwards, living
happily together in the county of Kent, on the fortune bequeathed by
the "Thane of Fife."

J. T. CASTLE DOUGLAS, July, 1832.

MR. CROFTANGRY'S PREFACE.
Indite, my muse indite, Subpoena'd is thy lyre, The praises to requite
Which rules of court require. PROBATIONARY ODES.
The concluding a literary undertaking, in whole or in part, is, to the
inexperienced at least, attended with an irritating titillation, like that
which attends on the healing of a wound--a prurient impatience, in
short, to know what the world in general, and friends in particular, will
say to our labours. Some authors, I am told, profess an oyster-like
indifference upon this subject; for my own part, I hardly believe in their
sincerity. Others may acquire it from habit; but, in my poor opinion, a
neophyte like myself must be for a long time incapable of such sang
froid.
Frankly, I was ashamed to feel how childishly I felt on the occasion.
No person could have said prettier things than myself upon the
importance of stoicism concerning the opinion of others, when their
applause or censure refers to literary character only; and I had
determined to lay my work before the public, with the same unconcern
with which the ostrich lays her eggs in the sand, giving herself no
farther trouble concerning the incubation, but leaving to the atmosphere
to bring forth the young, or otherwise, as the climate shall serve. But
though an ostrich in theory, I became in practice a poor hen, who has
no sooner made her deposit, but she runs cackling about, to call the
attention of every one to the wonderful work which she has performed.
As soon as I became possessed of my first volume, neatly stitched up
and boarded, my sense of the necessity of communicating with some
one became ungovernable. Janet was inexorable, and seemed already to
have tired of my literary confidence; for whenever I drew near the
subject, after evading it as long as she could, she made, under some
pretext or other, a bodily retreat to the kitchen or the cockloft, her own
peculiar and inviolate domains. My publisher would have been a

natural resource; but he understands his business too well, and follows
it too closely, to desire to enter into literary discussions, wisely
considering, that he who has to sell books has seldom leisure to read
them. Then my acquaintance, now that I have lost Mrs. Bethune Baliol,
are of that distant and accidental kind, to whom I had not face enough
to communicate the nature of my uneasiness, and who probably would
only have laughed at me had I made any attempt to interest them in my
labours.
Reduced thus to a sort of despair, I thought of my friend and man of
business, Mr. Fairscribe. His habits, it was true, were not likely to
render him indulgent to light literature, and, indeed, I had more than
once noticed his daughters, and especially my little songstress, whip
into her reticule what looked very like a circulating library volume, as
soon as her father entered the room. Still he was not only my assured,
but almost my only friend, and I had little doubt that he would take an
interest in the volume for the sake of the author, which the work itself
might fail to inspire. I sent him, therefore, the book, carefully sealed up,
with an intimation that I requested the favour of his opinion upon the
contents, of which