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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 execute。 Only this year23 I had arranged to make an effort to investigate and write on the agriculture of Ireland。 But then； of a sudden； I was appointed to the Dominions Royal mission； and how could I find time for both？ The months that I had proposed to devote to Ireland I have been obliged to spend in writing a story。
22 1912。 — Ed。
I know that folk — very superior folk — exist who affect to scorn the base person who does one kind of work when he would like to do another； merely because the former does and the latter does not pay。 There is something to be said for this position； but if a man chances to realise that he does not live unto himself alone； and to have many dependent upon him； directly or indirectly； or if he chances to desire to render gratuitous services to his country； he must； in such a case； “cut his coat according to his cloth。”
Therefore； although I should have dearly liked to place on record my views of Irish agriculture； in place thereof I have found myself obliged to edit certain of the reminiscences of Mr。 Allan Quatermain。 To be honest； these have amused me not a little； perhaps because I always find it easy to ain； who； after all； is only myself set in a variety of imagined situations； thinking my thoughts and looking at life through my eyes。 Indeed there are several subjects with which I always find it not difficult to deal — for instance； Old Egypt； Norsemen； and African savages。 Of these last； however； I prefer to write in the pany of the late Allan Quatermain。
At the time of which I am now speaking； the early niies； it was； however； otherwise； for then； being much younger； I wearied of fiction and longed for the life of action to which I had been bred and that； indeed； is native to my character。 In truth； the dislike and revolt of my heart in those days still haunts me as a kind of nightmare which is perhaps sufficiently amusing to relate。
Many people have their favourite dreams； and within the last year or so I have developed a very fair specimen of this class of illusion which es to me in an oft…repeated vision of the mind。 Who does not know that order of dream wherein we seem to move among the dead and in their pany； with eager yet trembling feet； to try the cold waters of the stream of Death？
Well； through the ivory gates of such a dream as this at times I seem to see my spiritual heritage spread large before me in a world of pictured silence。 There； at the back of the picture； rises the mighty cliff whereon； at intervals； the great golden figures； which I take it are images and not alive； seem to keep watch and ward over the illimitable lands beneath； while between them； also at intervals of scores or hundreds of leagues； pour the cataracts gathered I know not whence。 In a fold of that cliff lie the blue waters of the Holy Lake； surrounded by wide cedars and huge； immemorial pines that spring two hundred feet without a bough and； at their crown； end always in a single bent plume of green； as though up on high some strong wind shaped them with a steady hand。 Along the foot of the cliff runs a great river that； like the Nile； floods the lands at certain seasons； and makes them bear a hundredfold。 Winding almost at right angles from the mountain slope； it flows across the boundless plain； past a white and wonderful city whose domes and palaces I only see from far away； for here my guide has never led me。 There on its banks soar gracious palms； there willows weep； there spread aspens with leaves just about to quiver； and there； through the sparse woodlands； roam the wild things of the New Creation； seeking their food from God and fearing no hurt from aught that serves Him。 Facing this river； to the right as I see it； but far across the plain； are lovely mountains not so very lofty； where； from the other river of the lake； amidst slender ferns； rush waterfalls that descend in bursts of stirless spray。
There； too； in the east — can it be the east； I wonder？ — is the very well and fount of light： a soft but radiant light that casts no shadow； since it grows and flows above； beneath； around； and everywhere。 Its shape is that of a luminous fan。 While the day increases — how long that day is I do not know — so does the glory of that fan extend till it fills all those celestial skies： till it bends across them beyond the mighty cliff where stand the golden guards； as in the funeral paintings of Old Egypt the image of the goddess Nout bends across the heavens and holds the earth in her embracing arms。 Then； as at length the night draws on； this wondrous fan folds itself again to a cluster of jewelled stars； large as young moons and of every lovely hue； varying from that of a kind of shining blackness to those of steel blue； and scarlet； and red fire； that girdle the firmament with a glittering belt as might do the Milky Way drawn near。
Overlooking all these wonders； at the foot of the cliff； beyond the borders of the lake but at a lower level； in this fantastic dream of mine stands a strange and silent house built for me by hands that I have known。 I see its central hall； where all those I loved or love in life steal in and out。 I see a certain chamber； low and large； which overlooks the dreaming landscape； and； more nearly； the walks of garden trees hung with bells of white and purple blossom； with unknown； golden fruits and creeping strands of vine。 Standing in the recessed doorway of this chamber； I see in its far corner； seated at a desk above a covered terrace； myself； younger than I am now； wearing some sort of white garments and bending over the desk at work； with papers spread before me。
At the sight a kind of terror seizes me lest this fair place should be but a scented purgatory where； in payment for my sins； I am doomed to write fiction for ever and a day！
“At what do I work？” I ask； alarmed； of the guide who； shining steadily； stands at my side and shows me all。
“You write the history of a world” （or was it “of the world”？ — I am not sure）； is the answer； and in my dream I breathe again。
For truly it would be a horrible fate to be doomed from aeon to countless aeons to the position of romance。
Of course what I have set down is but a fancy such as might e to an imaginative child。 Still； that landscape； which I know as well as； if not better than； any on the earth； has charms and glories of its own。 Therefore I have wasted half an hour of my time and some few minutes of my reader’s in attempting very briefly to describe that which in truth no words can carry。
I confess that in any other life I should prefer some change of employment； but if I should be doomed to write there I hope that the subject…matter of my toil may； as in the vision； prove to be not fiction but history； which I love。 In all the worlds above us there must be much history to record。 Also there must be much good work to do； which is fortunate。 At least I can conceive no idle heaven — where it “is always afternoon。” To me such a place would be the reverse of heaven。 To me happiness and work well done； or service faithfully acplished； are words with a like meaning。
And now； with many apologies； I will turn to mundane things again。 Before I do so； however； as I dare say I shall allude