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“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 showered upon me in a strange abundance； pressed down and running over — the uncountable； peculiar treasure of every degree and form of human love； which love alone； present or departed； has made my life worth living。
But if it is all to cease and be forgotten at the borders of the grave； then life is not worth living。 Such； however； is no faith of mine。
Farewell！
H。 Rider Haggard。
Ditchingham： September 25； 1912。
Chapter 23 A NOTE ON RELIGION
S。S。 Arcadia； December 16； 1912。 （Off Aden。）
It has occurred to me that the views on the matter of religion of a person of my day with such experiences as this work records may prove of interest to some of those who e after me； and possibly； here and there； of help。 So I add them to this book as a footnote which none need read unless they wish。
First I should state that I am not a theologian。 Theology is a science that has no attraction for me。 In this great question of our future life or death I find no place for subtleties in which many take so much delight。 Such is the constitution of my mind。 The fine divisions of a creed； the bitterness that rages between High Church and Low； for instance； awake in my heart neither sympathy nor echo。 What are vestments or ritual when eternal life or death and salvation are at stake？ Even the great gulf fixed between Anglican and Roman Catholic is to me narrow。 I was bred； and doubtless shall to the end remain； a member of the Church of England。 But； on the other hand； I have a great admiration for many parts of the Roman precept and practice。 Its discipline seems to me beyond praise； the support it gives to the individual struggling and affrighted soul shows deep understanding of the eternal needs of human nature； while who can be blind to the abnegation of self evinced in the practice of celibacy by its devoted priesthood； resulting； as it does； in an enormous gain to its efficiency as a Church？
Further； within limits that I need not discuss； personally I think the virtue of Confession which it inculcates great； since thereby is brought the whole weight； wisdom and merit of the Church