e。 It was to the effect that I should like to emulate Arthur Young； who more than a century before had travelled through and written of the state of agriculture in the majority of the English counties。 Second thoughts showed me that the enterprise was very vast。 It had taken Arthur Young about thirty years； if I remember right； not to plete it — for this neither he nor any one else ever did — but to deal with about twenty…six counties； travelling leisurely on horseback and for the most part； I think； as an official of what in those days answered to the present Board of Agriculture。
I may add that about a year ago I paid a visit to Arthur Young’s home； Bradfield bust； more monly called Burnt Bradfield； near Bury St。 Edmunds； which was then for sale。 The house； of course； is rebuilt； but all the rest — park； ancient oaks； and little lake — remain much as they were in his day； a hundred years ago。
Readers of his Life will remember how he instructed his delicate daughter — who afterwards died； poor child — to walk in certain places； such as in the Round Garden or on the flagged path where it was dry — “the little garden where I have so many times seen her happy。”
There they are to this day； and； standing among them alone； I could almost re…create the figure of pale little Bobbin as she obeyed the orders sent from France in her father’s letters。 There； too； is the great avenue of limes which were； I believe； planted by Mr。 Arthur Young； running from the house across the timbered grounds to the highway by the church。 Here in the churchyard lie the mortal remains of this great man； for； when his prescience and his patient industry are taken into account； I think he may be fairly described as great。 In the church； actually underneath his pew； is buried his sweet Bobbin； and on a tablet in an annexe appears a touching memorial inscription to her； which I regret I had no time to copy。 It does not； I think； appear in the Life by Miss Betham Edwards。
How sadly read his words written at Bradfield in the year 1800：
I never e to this place without reaping all the pleasure which any place can give me now。 It is beautiful and healthy； and is endeared to me by so many recollections； melancholy ones now； alas！ that I feel more here than anywhere else。 Here have I lived from my infancy； here my dear mother breathed her last； here was all I knew of a sister； and the church contains the remains of my father； mother； and ever beloved child！ Here； under my window； her little garden — the shrubs and flowers she planted — the willow on the island； her room； her books； her papers。 There have I prayed to the Almighty that I might join her in the next world。
Well； his sorrows are done and； had she lived the full life of woman； by now Bobbin’s days would have been counted out twice over。 Let us trust that long ago her broken…hearted father’s petition has been granted； and that this pathetic pair once more walk hand in hand in some celestial garden； never to be parted more。
If I may venture to pare myself with such a man； there is a considerable similarity between our aims and circumstances。 We have both been animated by an overwhelming sense of the vital importance of British agriculture to this country and its citizens。 We are both East Anglians and born of the class of landed gentry or “squires。” We have both been official servants of the State。 We have both written novels and much connected with the land。 We were both practical farmers； which many who write on such things are not； and in the same counties。 We were both tall； thin； with pronounced features； and possessed a nervous temperament and somewhat similar powers of observation。 We both suffered a terrible loss that saddened our lives； though happily for him the blow fell in his later days。 Both of us have been animated by the same hopes。
Such are some of the resemblances； and I dare say others could be found； for instance； if Young wrote of rural France； I have written of rural Denmark。 Only I am thankful to say I have been spared his domestic separations； as I hope I shall be spared his blindness and the religious mania； or something approaching it； that darkened his last years。
To return； in the end I determined to cling to my inspiration and to follow old Arthur Young’s example； if in any way I could manage to do so。
My chance came in connection with this South African agreement。 In answer to Pearson’s suggestion that it should be cancelled； I requested my agents； Messrs。 A。 P。 Watt & Sons； to inform him that I was prepared to agree； on the condition that； in place of it； he would substitute another — namely； that the articles should deal with rural England。 Otherwise I would proceed to South Africa； as I had made all my plans to do。 Pearson considered and； in the end； assented。 I do not know that he was particularly anxious to exploit rural England in the columns of the Daily Express； but at any rate it was a fresh cry； whereas that of South Africa had bee very stale indeed。
Before speaking of this matter； however； which only matured in the beginnings of 1901； I will return for a moment to my travels which menced at Florence。 I had arranged verbally with Moberly Bell of The Times to visit Cyprus and the Holy Land； and to write for that journal some articles upon the affairs of the Near East。 I did visit Cyprus and the Holy Land； but the articles were never written。 For this reason： I took with me a nephew； now a respected lawyer verging on middle age and； I may say； a relative for whom I have the greatest regard and the warmest affection； who was to act as my secretary。 But if ever his eye should fall upon these lines I hope he will not be offended if I add that then； in the heyday of his very fascinating and festive youth； he proved the most erratic secretary with whom I have ever e in contact。 I could never find him when I wanted him； and as for the heavy typewriter which we dragged about with us； all he did with it was to drop it on my toes out of the rack of a railway train。 At last I got sick of the article； which alone clung to us after he had lost all the luggage on the Italian railways； causing us to proceed to Cyprus with practically nothing but the clothes in which we stood； and sent it home from that romantic isle packed in the remains of a mule…saddle； or something of the sort。
After this there was for a year or two a certain coolness between me and The Times； which had never received the promised articles； for of course I was unable to explain the real reason of my delinquencies。 However； my affectionate nephew enjoyed himself enormously； both in Cyprus and the Holy Land； whither I had taken him because I understood that he intended to enter the Church。 As we sailed from Limasol for Beyrout he said； in a hushed voice； that he had something to tell me。
“Speak up；” I answered； wondering； with an inward groan； whether he had engaged himself in marriage to the barmaid of the Nicosia Club。
It turned out； however； that what he had to confide was that he had changed his views about entering the Church； and up to this point had concealed the matter for fear lest I should refuse to take him on to the Holy Land； but spoke now； perhaps because he did not wish to make the visit sailing under false colours。 I reflected to myself that this bouleversement would be attributed to my evil influence； but said nothing。 It all came right in the end； as such things do； and I am bound to add that； although he did not shine as a secretary； a trade for which Nature never fashioned him； this dear nephew of mine was perhaps the pleasantest panion with whom I ever travelled。
In the intervals of getting him up in the morning and generally attending to his wants and my own； I managed to make some notes； out of y book； “A Winter Pilgrimage。”
The Holy Land impressed me enormously； although it is the fashion of many travellers to say that there they find nothing but disappointment。 But of all these matters I have written in the “Winter Pilgrimage；” so I will say no more about them。
By the way； this “Winter Pilgrimage” is； I think； unique in one respect： the first half of it was published serially after the last had already appeared。 The managers of the Queen newspaper； who had agreed to bring out all the portions of the book which dealt with the Holy Land in this form； found the instalments so popular among their readers that they asked to be allowed to print the remainder； which dealt with Italy and Cyprus。
Before I pass to the subject of “Rural England” I will dwell for a moment upon my only novel with a purpose； which appeared about a year previous to my journeyings in the Near East。 It is called “Doctor Therne；” and deals with the matter of the Anti…Vaccination craze — not； it may be thought； a very promising topic for romance。 I was led to treat of it； however； by the dreadful things I had seen and knew of the ravages of smallpox in Mexico and elsewhere； and the fear； not yet realised； that they should repeat themselves in this country。 It was a dangerous move。 Said the Lancet：
In conclusion we must mend Mr。 Haggard’s courage in thus entering the lists against the Anti…Vaccination party。 As a novelist and a politician alike it is evidently to his advantage to take no step that would be likely to alienate him from any large body of possible supporters。 Yet he has risked losing many readers and creating a fanatical opposition to whatever he may do in a public or private capacity for the sake of telling the truth。
Although so different in matter and manner from my other works； this tale has been widely read； and will in due course appear in one of those sevenpenny editions which have bee so popular of recent years。 I dedicated it （without permission） to the Jenner Society。 The Executive mittee of this society on December 22； 1898； passed a warm and unanimous resolution thanking me for the work。
Of “Rural England；” the heaviest labour of all my laborious life； there is really not very much to say。 There it is。 I shall never forget the remark of my daughter Dolly； a young lady with a turn for humour； when these two great volumes — they contain as many words as would fill five novels — arrived from Messrs。 Longmans and； portly； blue and beautiful； stood before us on the table。 “My word； Dad！” she said； “if I had written a book like that； I should spend the rest of my life sitting to stare at it！”
I confess that before all was finished I was inclined to share in this opinion。 What a toil was that！ First there were the long journeys； one of them took eight months without a break； though； happily； that summer was very different from this more disastrous year of cold and floods； 1912。 Then there were the articles for the Daily Express and Yorkshire Post； which must be pleted in my spare time； sometimes at midnight； of which I wrote more than fifty。
I do not think I could have pleted the task at all without the assistance of my friend Mr。 Arthur Cochrane； who took the notes while I did the talking； and also helped very much in the preparation of the series of agricultural maps。 These maps； I regret to say； it was found impossible to include in the cheaper edition because of the cost of reproducing them。
But making the investigations was not all。 After these came the writin