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I need scarcely say that to my mind this was recognition — with a vengeance。 Charles Longman remarked when I told him the news； at which he was delighted； “I would rather have heard this than that they had given you a peerage。 Anyone can be a peer； but to be one of the six men chosen to represent the United Kingdom on a great Empire inquiry of this sort is a real honour。”
I agree with him； especially as I have no wish to be a peer。 Also to me the pliment seemed the more marked for the reason that it was paid to an individual who first became known to the public as a writer of romantic literature； an occupation that does not dispose the British nation to take those who follow it seriously。 Now I saw that all my long years of toil in investigating and attempting to solve the grave problems which lie at the root of the welfare of our country had not been without effect upon the minds of its rulers； and I felt proportionately grateful and honoured。
Of course the acceptance of this Royal missionership involves serious sacrifices in my case； exclusive of that of long separation from my family。 Thus it will necessitate the partial shutting down of my home here； and how I am to carry on my literary work in the intervals of so much public labour； really I do not know！ I felt； as did my wife； and still feel that such considerations should not be allowed to interfere with the execution of what I look upon as a high and honourable duty。
Subsequently I had a long interview with Mr。 Harcourt； in the course of which we discussed matters connected with the mission and other things。 He struck me as a singularly able and agreeable man； quite unlike his father； Sir William Harcourt； whom also I used to know； and yet in a way resembling him。 It seems an odd thing to say； but I thought the tone of his mind very conservative； and before I left him found myself wondering how it came about that one who is so very much an English gentleman； in the old and best sense of the word； and an aristocrat； finds it easy to rub political shoulders with certain members of the present Radical party； who hate English gentlemen and aristocrats。
The same remark applies to Sir Edward Grey and to some others。 I suppose the truth is that nowadays those who elect to lie down between the somewhat gamey party blankets must expect queer bedfellows。 One wonders which set in the end will thrust the other out of that uneasy couch。 Though the mass of the congregation may change； most of us continue to worship in the Church into which we were baptised — yes； even if its priests from time to time give new renderings to some of the ancient doctrines。 That is human nature； and the simile suggests a key to the puzzle。
Before leaving the subject of my new appointment； I may mention a curious little circumstance in connection with this Dominions Royal mission。
The notice of the first meeting informed me that it was to sit in a room； numbered so…and…so； at the great public building known as Scotland House。 When I arrived there at the appointed time I asked the porter； who is an old friend of mine； which that room might be。
“Why； sir；” he said； “the same in which you have been sitting for years。”
So there I found myself in that identical chamber； with the identical noise from the Embankment outside； and the identical electric fan creaking away over the door。 But； here came the difference： everybody in it was changed； down to the messenger boy； and none of those gathered there even knew a single creature with whom I had been associated in that place for so long a period of time。 It was like arising from the dead into the midst of a new generation。 For a few minutes it made me feel very lonely as I looked up to find fresh faces in place of the old familiar ones that now were gone； two of them for ever。 Nor was this sensation lessened when； in an adjoining office； I saw the unclaimed despatch…box of one of my former colleagues who is now dead。
In the beginning of the present year I paid another visit to Egypt in the hope of shaking off my bronchitis； which I did — until I got back to England； a country in which I am rather doubtful whether I shall ever be able to winter again。 On this occasion my daughter Angela and I examined the mummy of the Pharaoh Meneptah； which Sir Gaston Maspero kindly caused to be removed to a private room for our inspection。 It was a strange thing to look upon the tall form and the withered countenance of the man who is generally believed to have been the Pharaoh of the Exodus； that majesty before whom； perhaps； Moses stood； and to think that that frozen countenance — it is a very impressive countenance still — may have trembled and sunk in at the announcement of the judgments of the great God of the Israelites。 One thing is clear； however： he was not drowned。 Meneptah died in old age from ossification of the arteries； there still lies the lime about the heart of Pharaoh — which it pleased God to harden！
Many question the whole Exodus story because there is no mention of it in the contemporary Egyptian records。 Personally； however； I believe it to be true in its main outlines； and that a large body of Semites did break away from Egypt about this period； although it did not suit the official scribes to make any mention of the event with its very unpleasant happenings。 One day I hope to write a romance of the time； hence my particular interest in Meneptah and in his son and heir； Seti II。
On my return to England I set to work to write a romance in the neain series。 The first of these books； “Marie；” which is dedicated to my old chief； Sir Henry Bulwer； has； I am glad to say； been much liked by its readers and； up to the present； proved successful。 Of course； however； when I speak of success； I mean on the moderate scale to which I can hope to attain。
No doubt； however； by degrees as a writer I shall be put upon the shelf； for that is the lot of all or nearly all of us when we grow old。 I cannot look forward to any prosperous period in my old age； which； should I chance to live so long； it seems to me probable enough I shall be called upon to pass in a very modest way。 As； however； I have been able to provide well for any who may e after me； at this I do not grumble in the least。 I have earned a good average ine as an author during many years； and perhaps I ought to have saved more。 But investments are apt to turn out badly when the investor has no time to attend to them； moreover； as I think I said I have discovered； it is certainly true that man does not “live to himself alone。” There are plenty of those who claim to share in whatever he may earn。 The owner of any fixed property in our part of rural England is； in fact； nothing but a distributor。 In wages； taxes； and subscriptions he hands out nearly all that he receives； except； of course； the worries； the losses； the clamorous and almost savage demands for money that e by every post； and the various official forms that he is required to fill in。 These too often are all his portion； and therefore it is that I have determined to sell every acre of our outlying lands if they will reach to a very moderate reserve figure on the open market。
And now “I have spoken！” as the Zulus say。 I fear that these volumes are somewhat egotistical in their contents and tone； but how can that be helped？ An autobiography which did not treat at length of the person concerned would be but an apple dumpling without the apple。
There is much more that I might have said。 For instance； I； who am now preparing to start upon a great journey to the Antipodes； have found neither the time nor the courage even to look through my letters received during the last ten or twelve years。 I have dealt simply with those salient points that occurred to me and hunted； not always with success； for such documents as might bear upon them。 Thus； a very amusing and perhaps an interesting chapter might have be posed out of the correspondence which I have received from writers who are personally unknown to me。 Should I live and find time； strength； and opportunity； I may add another volume to this record descriptive of my impressions of the British Empire； the greater portion of which I am about to visit。 But who knows the future and its gifts？
So ends the chronicle of Henry Rider Haggard — a lover of the kindly race of men； a lover of children； a lover of his friends （and no hater of his enemies）； a lover of flowers； a lover of the land and of all creatures that dwell thereon； but most of all； perhaps； a lover of his country； which； with heart and soul and strength； he has tried to serve to the best of his small powers and opportunities。 May every blessing be on her — every success to her arms by land and sea； and every splendour on her ancient name； during the troublous times that are to e！ Yes； and all confusion to any of her sons who； for selfish ends； would drag her down to wreck！ Such is his earnest prayer！
Thus then； poor sinner that I am； trustfully as a wearied child that； at the ing of the night； creeps to its mother’s knee； do I mit my spirit to the fort of those Everlasting Arms that were and are its support through all the fears of earth and； as I believe； have nursed it from of old！
One boon； from infancy to age； has been s