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resent； it was otherwise。 I toiled at that book morning； noon； and night； with the result that at length my eyesight gave out； and I was obliged to finish the writing of it in a darkened room。
Still I did finish it notwithstanding the pain in my eyes； and then went to London to see an oculist。 To my relief he told me I was not going blind as I feared； but that the trouble came from the brain which was overworked。 He ordered me plete rest and change； during which I was not to read anything。 So we went for a month to Switzerland； where we took lodgings。 The only occupation that I had there was to walk； or； when this was not feasible； like a child to throw a ball against the wall of the room and see how often I could catch it on the rebound。 However； the treatment proved effective。
The book being finished； or nearly finished； and the heroine； Angela； rescued from the untimely death to which she was consigned in the first version and happily married to her lover； once more I sought the assistance of Cordy Jeaffreson； who gave me a letter introducing me to Mr。 Arthur Blackett of the firm of Messrs。 Hurst and Blackett。 It runs：
Dear Blackett； — Some months since I read the MS。 of a novel of which the bearer of these presents； Mr。 Rider Haggard of Ditchingham House； Bungay； is looking for a publisher。 Mr。 Haggard having distinguished himself in another field of literature； I was not surprised to find his first essay in prose fiction a thing of no ordinary power。 It was a tale of character； pathos； incident； and new ground： so good that had it been less I should have advised him to publish it as it came to me。 The goodness of the story； however； made me urge him to rewrite it； so that every chapter should be in harmony with its best and strongest parts。 He has acted on my advice； and if the result of his renewed labour answers my anticipation； he has produced a work that will make your reader rub his hands and say “This will do。” 。 。 。
Messrs。 Hurst and Blackett wrote to me； and well do I remember the jubilation with which I read the letter：
We shall be very happy to undertake the publication of your novel on the following terms。 To produce the work at our own expense and risk。 To pay you the sum of 40 pounds on the sale of four hundred copies and 30 pounds on the sale of every hundred copies after。 The title “Angela” has been used before 。 。 。 。
Needless to say I accepted the offer with gratitude and promised to find another title。 Three days later the agreement arrived under which I sold the copyright to Messrs。 Hurst and Blackett for a period of one year only from the date of publication。 In their covering letter they informed me that they only proposed to print five hundred copies in the three…volume form； leaving me at liberty to make any arrangements I liked for a cheap edition； if one should be demanded。
About this time； namely just after he had read the MS。 of “Angela；” I received the following interesting but undated letter from Mr。 Jeaffreson：
Dear Sir； — Can’t you arrange to dine with us at seven o’clock on the 10th of next month？ We could talk all round the literary question over a cigar in my study after dinner。 Could you succeed in literature？ Certainly up to a certain point： unquestionably up to the point you indicate； though you might never earn as much money as the two novelists you mention； for in that respect they have been singularly fortunate。 But you may not hope to succeed in a day。 You might bee famous in a morning； but you may not entertain the hope of doing so。 You must hope only to succeed by degrees； — by steady work； slow advances； and after several disappointments。 Moderate success in literature is easily attainable by a man of energy； culture； and resoluteness who can afford to work steadily and play a waiting game。 At twenty…one a man is necessarily impatient； at twenty…six a man has neither the excuse of youth nor the excuse of advancing age for impatience。 How I envy you for being only twenty…six。 I am old enough to be your father。 I could not have written as good a novel as Angela’s story when I was twenty…six。 I have already perused your “Cetewayo。” It is a far more difficult thing to interest readers in imaginary persons and incidents than to entertain them with writing about facts and characters in which they are already interested。 It was because I saw you really knew your characters that I urged you to make the most of them。 Do e and see me。
Yours cordially；
John Cordy Jeaffreson。
The following letter from myself to my sister Mary； which she found and returned to me a few years ago； throws some light upon the above：
Ditchingham House： May 5 ＇1883＇。
My dearest Mary； — The enclosed letters may interest you。 I consider Jeaffreson’s very encouraging on the whole； though he is inflicting a lot of extra labour on me。 However； after I have been up for this examination I will go at it； and hope to finish the book in from two to three months。 I do not altogether agree with Mr。 Jeaffreson’s ideas as to changing the end of the book； indeed my own sentiments about it are much the same as those expressed by Miss Barber ＇a schoolfellow of my wife’s who was more or less living with us at the time。 She is a sister of the late Marjorie Barber； “Michael Faireless；” the well…known author of “The Road…Mender；” etc。； and afterwards married my brother； John G。 Haggard； R。N。＇ in the letter that I forward you； because it puts the other side of the question very well。 I wrote and asked Jeaffreson what he meant when he said that I could succeed in literature； and if in his opinion I could hope to pete with men like Payn and Blackmore； and in the very nice letter that he sent me in answer he said that “unquestionably I could succeed to the point I indicated。” This is of course encouraging； but I am not so sure about it。
I am going to dine with him on the 10th； when I shall try to modify his views about changing the end of the book。 。 。 。
To this day I often wonder whether Jeaffreson was right in making me turn my story inside out and give it a happy ending。 My idea was to present the character of a woman already sweet and excellent in mind and body； and to show it being perfected by various mortal trials； till at length all frailties were burnt out of it by the fires of death。 In the second version I continued to carry out this scheme as well as I could； only the final fires through which the heroine had to pass were those of marriage to a not very interesting young man。 I have always found young men — and； if they are to fill the position of heroes； the novel…reader insists that they must be rather young — somewhat difficult to draw。 Young men； at any rate to the male eye； have a painful similarity to each other； whereas woman is of an infinite variety and therefore easier to depict。 With elderly men； such as old Allan Quatermain； to take an instance； the case is different。 With these I have had no trouble； perhaps because from my boyhood my great friends have always been men much older than myself； if I except the instances of Sheil or Brother Basil； and that other friend who died； of whom I have already written。 Now I am reaping the sad fruits of this idiosyncrasy； since nearly all of those to whom I was deeply attached have gone before me； although； thank Heaven！ a few still remain； such as Arthur Cochrane； Andrew Lang； and Charles Longman。
My criticism on “Dawn” considered as a whole — that is； so far as I recollect it； for I have not reread the book for many years — is that it ought to have been cut up into several stories。 However； it has pleased； and apparently still continues to please； a vast number of persons； and not long ago I was much amused to see in an article in The Times that at Pekin — or Hong…Kong — it is one of the favourite subjects of study among the Chinese students of English literature。 Perhaps an old aunt of mine； who still lives at the age of nearly a hundred； was right when she declared that the book was too full of “amateur villains。”
However； in due course it appeared in charming type； such as we do not get in novels nowadays； and three nice volumes bound in green； which I admire as I write。 Certain of the reviews of it still remain pasted in a book。 They were not very many nearly thirty years ago； or perhaps； as there were no Press…cutting agencies； one did not see them。 On the whole； however； they seem to have been fairly favourable。 Since 1883 I have read hundreds； if not thousands； of reviews of my books； good； bad； and indifferent； but I can safely say that few if any of them have pleased me more than that which appeared of “Dawn” in The Times。
“Dawn” ＇said The Times＇ is a novel of merit far above the average。 From the first page the story arrests the mind and arouses the expectation。 。 。 。 This is； we repeat； a striking and original novel； breathing an elevated if somewhat exaggerated tone。
I wonder who wrote that notice！ Be he living； which is scarcely probable； or dead； I offer him my gratitude。 And yet I know not whether I should be grateful to this kindly critic； since his words； more than any other circumstances； encouraged me to try another novel。
As regards “Dawn” itself； it was more or less of a failure — of course I mean at that