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“Please； father；” I answered in a mild voice； “I knew that when you all came in there would be no room for me； so I had my supper first。”
My uncle Fowle was a very humorous man； and the following is an instance of his readiness。 While in France an excited Frenchman rushed up to him at a railway station ejaculating； “Mouton — Monsieur Moutain； n’est…ce pas？”
“Non；” replied my uncle quietly； “Poulet； moi — Poulet！”
When at last he was dying on a certain Christmas Eve； the servants were sent for and filed past his bed bidding him farewell。 When it came to the cook’s turn； that worthy person； losing her head in the solemnity of the moment； bobbed a curtsey and said in a cheerful voice：
“A merry Christmas to you； sir — I wish you a merry Christmas。”
It is reported that a twinkle of the old humour came into my uncle’s eye； and a faint smile flickered on his face。 The tale is of a sort that he would have delighted to tell。
One more story：
Somewhere about the year 1868； my brother Andrew and I were staying at Brinsop Rectory with my uncle and aunt Fowle。 He was a generous man； and； when we boys departed after such visits； used to present us with what he called an “honorarium；” or in other words a tip。 On this occasion； however； no “honorarium” was forthing； but in place of it he gave us a sealed envelope which we were strictly charged not to open until we reached a certain station on the line。 To this day I can see the pair of us fingering the envelope in the railway carriage in the happy certainty that Uncle Fowle had surpassed himself by presenting us with what the thin feel of the paper within assured us was a 5 pound note！
The station was reached at last and we tore open the envelope。 From it emerged a sheet of blue paper on which were inscribed two texts； those beginning with： “Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way？” and “Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth。” We stared at each other blankly； for the state of our finances was such that we had counted on that tip and did not quite appreciate this kind of holy joke。
Oddly enough this piece of blue paper has chanced to survive all the wanderings of my life； as I write I hold it in my hand。 Would that I had acted more closely upon the advice which it conveys！
Chapter 2 YOUTH
Bradenham Hall — Let to Nelson’s sister — Mr。 W。 M。 R。 Haggard； father of H。 R。 H。 — Chairman of Quarter Sessions — His factotum Samuel Adcock — Rows at Bradenham — Their ical side — Mrs。 W。 M。 R。 Haggard — Her beautiful character and poetic nature — Entrance examination for Army — Floored in Euclid — Hunting and shooting at Bradenham — Ipswich Grammar School — Fight with big boy — Dr。 Holden； head master — Left Ipswich to cram for F。O。 at Scoones’ — Life in London — Spiritualist seances — First love affair — Left Scoones’ for Natal on Sir Henry Bulwer’s staff。
Bradenham Hall； in West Norfolk； is a beautifully situated and fortable red…brick house surrounded by woods。 It was built about a hundred and fifty years ago； and my family have resided there for four generations。 The only noteworthy piece of history connected with the house is that it was hired by Mr。 Bolton； the husband of Nelson’s sister； who on more than one occasion asked Lady Hamilton there to stay with them。 When I was a young fellow； I knew an old man in the village called Canham who at that time was page boy at the Hall。 He remembered Lady Hamilton well； and when I asked him to describe her； said “She waur a rare fine opstanding ＇here followed an outspoken and opprobrious term＇； she waur！”
I may add that in my youth the glory of her ladyship’s dresses was still remembered in the village。 After the battle of Trafalgar； Nelson’s personal belongings seem to have been sent from the Victory to Bradenham。 At any rate old Canham told me that it was his duty to hang out certain of the Admiral’s garments to air upon the lavender bushes in the kitchen garden。 A piece of furniture from his cabin now stands in the room that Lady Hamilton occupied。 Honoria； Canham described as “a pale little slip of a thing。”
Notwithstanding his somewhat frequent excursions abroad and certain years that we spent at Leamington and in London when economy was the order of the day； my father passed most of his life at Bradenham； to which he was devotedly attached。 He was a barrister； but I do not think that he practised to any great extent； probably because he had no need to do so。 Still I have heard several amusing stories （they may be apocryphal） concerning his appearance as an advocate。 One of these I remember； the others have escaped me。 He was prosecuting a man for stealing twelve hogs； and in addressing the jury did his best to bring home to them the enormity of the defendant’s crime。
“Gentleman of the Jury；” he said； “think what this man has done。 He stole not one hog but twelve hogs； and not only twelve hogs but twelve fat hogs； exactly the same number； Gentleman of the Jury； as I see in the box before me！”
The story adds that the defendant y father turned his legal lore to some practical use； for he became a Chairman of Quarter Sessions for Norfolk； an office which he held till his death over forty years later。 He used to conduct the proceedings with great dignity； to which his appearance — for he was a very handsome man； better looking indeed than any of his sons — and his splendid voice added not a little。
Most of us have inherited the voice though not to the same degree。 Indeed it has been a family characteristic for generations； and my father told me that once as a young man he was recognised as a Haggard by an old lady who had never seen him and did not know his name； merely by the likeness of his voice to that of his great…grandfather who had been her friend in youth。 Never was there such a voice as my father’s； moreover he was wont to make use of it。 It was a joke concerning him； which I may have originated； that if he was in the city of Norwich and anyone wished to discover his whereabouts； all they needed to do was to stand in the market…place for a while to listen。 Here is a tale of that voice。
My youngest brother Arthur； now Major Haggard； had been lunching with him at the Oxford and Cambridge Club in Pall Mall； and after luncheon bade him farewell on the steps of the club and went his way； to Egypt； I believe。 Presently he heard a roar of “Arthur！ Arthur！” and not wishing to attract attention to himself； quickened his steps。 It was the very worst thing that he could do； for the roars redoubled。 Arthur began to run； people began to stare。 Somebody cried “Stop thief！” Arthur； now followed by a crowd in which a policeman had joined； ran harder till he was brought to a stop by the sentry at Marlborough House。 Then he surrendered and was escorted by the crowd back to the Oxford and Cambridge Club。 As he approached； my father bellowed out：
“Don’t forget to give my love to your mother。”
Then amidst shouts of laughter he vanished into the club； and Arthur departed to catch the train to Bradenham； en route for Egypt。
My father was a typical squire of the old sort； a kind of Sir Roger de Coverley。 He reigned at Bradenham like a king； blowing everybody up and making rows innumerable。 Yet I do not think there was a more popular man in the county of Norfolk。 Even the servants； whom he rated in a fashion that no servant would put up with nowadays； were fond of him。 He could send back the soup with a request to the cook to drink it all herself； or some other infuriating message。 He could pull at the bells until feet of connecting wire hung limply down the wall； and announce when whoever it was he wanted appeared that Thorpe Idiot Asylum was her proper home； and so forth。 Nobody seemed to mind in the least。 It was “only the Squire’s way；” they said。3
3 No doubt some of the characteristics of Squire De la Molle and his factotum George in Sir Rider’s Norfolk tale Colonel Quaritch； V。C。； can be traced to Mr。 W。 M。 R。 Haggard and his servant Sam Adcock。 — Ed。
It was the same with the outdoor men； especially with one Samuel Adcock； his factotum； a stout； humorous person whose face was marked all over with small…pox pits。 About once a week Samuel was had in to the vestib