the days of my life-第83章

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It　is　an　old　belief
？That　on　some　solemn　shore
Beyond　the　sphere　of　grief
？Dear　friends　shall　meet　once　more。
Beyond　the　sphere　of　Time；
？And　Sin；　and　Fate’s　control；
Serene　in　changeless　prime
？Of　body　and　soul。
That　creed　I　fain　would　keep；
？This　hope　I’ll　not　forgo；
Eternal　be　the　sleep；
？Unless　to　waken　so。
And　so　to　Andrew　Lang；　among　men　my　best　friend　perhaps；　and　the　one　with　whom　I　was　most　entirely　in　tune；　farewell　for　a　while。　Of　his　character　and　gifts　I　have　already　written　while　he　was　still　living；　so　I　will　say　no　more　of　them　now。　There　are　few　such；　and　today　the　world　is　poorer　and　greyer　for　the　loss　of　a　pure　and　noble　nature。　For　myself　I　am　more　lonely；　since　of　those　men；　not　of　my　kin；　whom　I　knew　and　loved　while　I　still　was　young；　now　Charles　Longman　and　Arthur　Cochrane　alone　are　left。
I　find　also　another　letter　from　Lang　dated　June　2；　1902；　in　which　he　informs　me　of　the　death　of　a　second　brother　—　“my　little　brother；　he　was　always　little；　and　ten　years　younger　than　I。　。　。　。　I　tell　you　because　you　are　a　good　fellow　if　ever　there　was　one；　and　so　was　he；”　etc。
I　quote　no　more；　according　to　the　rule　I　have　made　as　to　certain　matters　which　belong　to　the　private　lives　of　others。　My　answer；　however；　which　is　pinned　to　the　letter；　may　be　printed；　as　that　is　my　affair　and　only　portrays　my　private　views。
June　6；　1902。
My　dear　Andrew；　—　Very　well　I　won’t　write　about　it；　but　try　to　take　fort。　I　am　sure　that　no　affections　are　so　perfect　as　those　which　have　passed　through　the　fires　of　death；　and　often　I　think　that　as　sometimes　we　grow　away　from　the　living；　so　always　do　we　grow　nearer　to　the　desired　dead　—　in　spirit；　I　mean。
It　is　a　strange　world；　especially　to　those　who　feel　much；　but　the　only　things　to　do　seem　to　be　to　work　on　to　the　best　of　one’s　ability；　to　be　very　sorry　for　one’s　sins；　and　in　great　humbleness　to　wait　till　the　mortal　tide　engulfs　us　also　—　hoping　that　beneath　or　beyond　it　we　may　find　peace；　understanding　and　our　perfect　part。　If　I　am　sure　of　anything　I　am　sure　that　Man　has　a　living　Spirit；　and　that　he　does　not　suffer　so　much　to　please　the　laws　of　Matter　or　a　god　called　Chance。　With　true　sympathy；
Your　affec。　friend；
H。　Rider　Haggard。
Some　days　after　Lang’s　death　I　received　a　letter　from　Charles　Longman　of　which　I　will　quote　a　passage　that　deals　with　the　character　of　Andrew　Lang　and　the　friendship　we　both　had　for　him。
Yes；　you　and　I　will　always　feel　a　blank　when　we　think　of　Andrew　Lang。　He　was　of　all　men　the　most　loyal　to　his　friends　—　it　was　one　of　his　most　marked　characteristics；　and　there　had　been　a　bond　between　us　three　which　nothing　could　break。　As　you　know；　I　had　been　anxious　about　him　this　spring；　though　not　about　his　heart；　which　the　doctor　had　lately　examined　without　finding　anything　wrong。　But　his　eyesight　was　threatened；　and　there　was　this　strange　depression　about　public　affairs；　which　seemed　as　though　it　might　grow　worse。　In　old　days　when　he　was　bright　and　cheerful　it　is　little　he　troubled　himself　about　strikes　and　such…like。　So　it　may　be　that　he　—　and　those　who　loved　him　—　have　been　spared　something　by　his　swift　end。　But　the　breaking　of　an　unclouded　friendship　of　five…and…forty　years　is　no　light　thing：　as　you　say；　one　must　hope　that　the　break　is　but　a　temporary　one　and　that　there　is　some　other　meeting…place　for　friends。　Matt。　Arnold　says：
“Sad　fate　of　every　mortal　lot
Which　man；　proud　man；　finds　hard　to　bear；
And　builds　himself；　I　know　not　what
Of　second　life；　I　know　not　where。”
At　some　date　before　he　died　Lang　asked　his　wife　to　give　to　me　a　certain　ring　in　token　of　remembrance。　I　have　now　received　and　shall　always　wear　this　ring。　It　belonged　to　Queen　Taia；　the　wife　of　Amenophis　III；　or　perhaps　to　Nefertiti；　her　daughter…inlaw；　who　married　the　famous　Khu…en…aten；　the　fourth　Amenophis　and　the　remarkable　Pharaoh　who　inaugurated　what　the　priests　of　Amen　considered　the　heresy　of　the　worship　of　the　Sun’s　Disc；　by　which；　I　take　it；　he　symbolised　the　one　Almighty　God　who　made　the　world。　On　this　ring；　which；　I　think；　from　the　length　of　time　that　it　had　evidently　been　worn；　must　have　adorned　the　hand　of　Taia　some　3500　years　ago；　is　engraved　a　cat　adoring　Ra　or　the　Sun；　or　perhaps　the　“Aten”　or　Disc。　I　already　possess　the　sister　ring　that；　from　the　less　amount　of　wear　it　shows；　was　probably　worn　by　the　shorter…lived　Nefertiti；　Khu…en…aten’s　adored　and；　I　believe；　sole　wife。　Both　of　them　were　obtained　by　us　from　the　Rev。　W。　J。　Loftie　in　the　year　1887；　　in　Egypt　when；　about　that　time；　the　mummies　of　these　queens　were　discovered　and　broken　up　by　the　Arabs　at　Tel…el…Amarna。
Chapter　16　
Miss　Ida　Hector　—　H。　R。　H。　dictates　his　works　to　her　—　Wishes　for　change　of　occupation　—　Dream…pictures　—　H。　R。　H。‘s　theory　of　Romance…writing　—　Literary　coincidences　—　Examples　from　the　works　of　H。　R。　H。　—　The　Spectator。
When　I　returned　from　Mexico　in　1891　I　fell　into　very　poor　health。　Everything；　especially　my　indigestion；　went　wrong；　so　wrong　that　I　began　to　think　that　my　bones　would　never　grow　old。　Amongst　other　inconveniences　I　found　that　I　could　no　longer　endure　the　continual　stooping　over　a　desk　which　is　involved　in　the　writing　of　books。　It　was　therefore　fortunate　for　me　that　about　this　time　Miss　Ida　Hector；　the　eldest　daughter　of　Mrs。　Hector；　better　known　as　Mrs。　Alexander；　the　novelist；　became　my　secretary；　and　in　that　capacity；　as　in　those　of　a　very　faithful　friend　and　panion；　to　whose　sound　sense　and　literary　judgment　I　am　much　indebted；　has　so　remained　to　this　day。　From　that　time　forward　I　have　done　a　great　deal　of　my　work　by　means　of　dictation；　which　has　greatly　relieved　its　labour。　Some　people　can　dictate；　and　others　cannot。　Personally　I　have　always　found　the　method　easy；　provided　that　the　dictatee；　if　I　may　coin　a　word；　is　patient　and　does　not　go　too　fast。　I　imagine；　for　instance；　that　it　would　be　impossible　to　dictate　a　novel　to　a　shorthand…writer。　Also；　if　the　person　who　took　down　the　words　irritated　one　in　any　way；　it　would　be　still　more　impossible。　Provided　circumstances　are　congenial；　however；　the　plan　has　merits；　since　to　many　the　mere　physical　labour　of　writing　clogs　the　mind。　So；　at　least；　various　producers　of　books　seem　to　have　found。　Among　them　I　recall　Thackeray　and　Stevenson。
Of　the　next　few　years　of　my　life　there　is　not　much　to　tell。　I　lived　here　at　Ditchingham　in　a　very　quiet　and　retired　fashion；　rarely　visiting　London；　wrote　a　few　novels；　and　for　recreation　occupied　myself　with　farming　and　gardening；　for　which　occupations　I　have　always　had　an　instinctive　taste。　The　work　that　I　did　was　a　good　deal　attacked：　it　was　the　fashion　to　attack　me　in　those　days。　Possibly　owing　to　my　ill…health　some　of　it　may　not　have　been　quite　up　to　the　mark；　I　do　not　know。　What　I　do　know　is　that　I　grew　heartily　tired　of　the　writing　of　stories。　After　the　birth　of　my　youngest　child；　Lilias；　which　to　my　great　joy　happened　at　the　end　of　the　year　1892；　my　health　and　spirits　began　to　mend　and　my　energy　to　return；　largely　owing；　I　think；　to　the　treatment　of　my　friend　Dr。　Lyne　Stivens。　I　was　still　a　youngish　man；　but　had　reached　that　time　of　life　when　I　felt　that　if　I　was　to　make　any　change　of　occupation　it　must　be　done　at　once。　And　I　longed　to　make　a　change；　for　this　humdrum　existence　in　a　country　parish；　staring　at　crops　and　cultivating　flowers；　was；　I　felt；　more　suitable　to　some　aged　man　whose　life’s　work　was　done　than　to　myself。　Also　at　this　time　the　unrealities　of　fiction…writing　greatly　wearied　me；　oddly　enough　much　more　than　they　do　at　present；　when　they　have　bee　a　kind　of　amusement　and　set…off　to　the　more　serious　things　and　thoughts　with　which　my　life　is　occupied。
Still　it　is　true　that　even　now；　if　circumstances　allowed　of　it；　I　do　not　think　I　should　write　much　more　fiction；　at　any　rate　of　the　kind　that　people　would　buy。　With　the　exception　of　certain　stories　that　I　should　like　to　tell　for　their　own　sake；　and　not　to　earn　money　by　them。　I　should　occupy　my　time　with　writings　of　a　different　sort；　connected；　probably；　for　the　most　part　with　the　land；　agriculture；　and　social　matters。　For　instance；　I　should　dearly　like　to　finish　my　survey　of　rural　England；　and　to　undertake　that　of　Scotland；　Wales；　and　Ireland　—　tasks；　I　suppose；　that　I　shall　never　be　able　to　exec