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on in Hertfordshire because of a burglary that took place at his house which seems to have frightened him very much。 His son； William Henry； settled in Norwich； and is buried in St。 John’s Maddermarket in that city。 His only son； also named William Henry； my great…grandfather； after living a while at Knebworth； Herts； bought Bradenham Hall in this county of Norfolk。 It would seem； oddly enough； that Bradenham once belonged to old Sir Andrew Ogard； or Agard； in right of his wife； but whether this circumstance had or had not anything to do with its purchase by my great…grandfather I cannot say。
His son； William Haggard； like some others of the family； was concerned in banking in Russia； and in 1816 married a Russian lady； the eldest daughter and co…heiress of James Meybohm of St。 Petersburg。 My father； William Meybohm Rider Haggard； was the eldest child of this union。 He was born at St。 Petersburg April 19； 1817； and in 1844 married my mother； Ella； the elder daughter and co…heiress of Bazett Doveton； of the Bombay Civil Service； who was born at Bombay in June 1819。
I am the eighth child of the family of ten — seven sons and three daughters — who were born to my father and mother。 As it chanced I first saw the light （on June 22； 1856）； not at Bradenham Hall； which at the time was let； but at the Wood Farm on that property whither； on her return from France； my mother retired to be confined。 A few years ago I visited the room in which the interesting event took place。 It is a typical farmhouse upper chamber； very pleasant in its way； and to the fact of my appearance there I have always been inclined； rather fancifully perhaps； to attribute the strong agricultural tastes which I believe I alone of my family possess。
Here I will tell you a little story which shows how untrustworthy even contemporary evidence may be。 On the occasion of this visit I was acpanied by a friend； Sir Frederick Wilson； and his niece； who were anxious to see my birthplace。 Now near to the Wood Farm at Bradenham stands another farm； which for some unknown reason I had got into my head to be the real spot； and as such I showed it to my friends。 When I had finished a farmer； the late James Adcock； who was standing by and who remembered the event； ejaculated：
“What be you a…talking of； Mr。 Rider？ You weren’t born there at all； you were born yinder。”
“Of course；” I said； “I remember；” and led the way to the Wood Farm with every confidence； where I showed the window of the birth…chamber。
As I was doing so an old lady thrust her head out of the said window and called out：
“Whatever be you a…talking of； Mr。 Rider？ You weren’t born in this ’ere room； you were born in that room yinder。”
Then amidst general laughter I retired disfited。 Such； I repeat； is often the value of even contemporary evidence； although it is true that in this case James Adcock and the old lady were the real contemporary witnesses； since a man can scarcely be expected to remember the room in which he was born。
It seems that I was a whimsical child。 At least Hocking； my mother’s maid； a handsome； vigorous； black…eyed； raw…boned Cornishwoman who spent most of her active life in the service of the family； informed me in after years that nothing would induce me to go to sleep unless a clean napkin in a certain way was placed under my head； which napkin I called “an ear。” To this day I have dim recollections of crying bitterly until this “ear” was brought to me。 Also I was stupid。 Indeed； although she always indignantly denied the story in after years； I remember when I was about seven my dear mother declaring that I was as heavy as lead in body and mind。
I fear that I was more or less of a dunderhead at lessons。 Even my letters presented difficulties to me； and I well recollect a few years later being put through an examination by my future brother…inlaw； the Rev。 Charles Maddison Green； with the object of ascertaining what amount of knowledge I had acquired at a day school in London； where we then were living at 24 Leinster Square。
The results of this examination were so appalling that when he was apprised of them my indignant father burst into the room where I sat resigned to fate； and； in a voice like to that of an angry bull； roared out at me that I was “only fit to be a greengrocer。” Even then I wondered why this affront should be put upon a useful trade。 After the row was over I went for a walk with my brother Andrew who was two years older than myself and who； it appeared； had assisted at my disfiture from behind a door。 Just ain street； I think it is Westbourne Grove — at any rate in those days Whiteley had a single little shop not far off at which my mother used to deal — there is； or was； a fruit and vegetable store with no glass in the window。 My brother stood contemplating it for a long while。 At last he said：
“I say； old fellow； when you bee a greengrocer； I hope you’ll let me have oranges cheap！”
To this day I have never quite forgiven Andrew for that most heartless remark。
After all it was not perhaps strange that I did not learn much at these London day schools — for I went to two of them。 The first I left suddenly。 It was managed by the head master and an usher whose names I have long forgotten。 The usher was a lanky； red…haired； pale…faced man whom we all hated because of his violent temper and injustice。 On one occasion when his back was turned to the class to which I belonged； that I presume was the lowest； I amused myself and my panions by shaking my little fists at him； whereon they laughed。 The usher wheeled round and asked why we were laughing； when some mean boy piped out：
“Please； sir； because Haggard is shaking his fists at you。”
He called me to him and I perceived that he was trembling with rage。
“You young brute！” he said。 “I’ll see you in your grave before you shake your fists at me again。”
Then he doubled his own and； striking me first on one side of the head and then on the other； knocked me all the way down the long room and finally over a chair into a heap of slates in a corner； where I lay a while almost senseless。 I recovered and went home。 Here my eldest sister Ella； noticing my bruised and dazed condition； cros