the days of my life-第102部分

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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