Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1897-10-16
: GONE TO THE CONTINENT.
Back in Ten Minutes.
A. II. H.

The editor was very much disappointed at
this, for he had come over to Europe main
ly to set us two at each other, SO that We
might give expression to various learned
opinions in the pages of his paper, but 1
pointed out to him that this absence was
providential, for the pitfall of the inter-
viewer ig the inevitable denial which fol-
lows the publication of the interview; II
Mr.. Anthony Hope should fit to disown
in the columns of the papers the express
sions 1 attribute to him, L can answer con-
ciusively that be was not there at the time
he Was interviewed. and consequently
doesn't know what he is talking about
therefore now set out to interview Anthony
Hope, not knowing at the moment of writ
ing where h D.. Is, ard he not knowing where
l avn.
My acquaintance with Anthony Hope be-
gan on a yacht off the Norway coast and
on that occasion also he wasn't there. On
a steamer chair lay a book, entitled "Mr
Wits Widow" which picked up, and be-
came interested in the lady, as one SO often
does on board ship. The greatest compii-
ment a mar can pay author is to buy
his books, and that tribute Anthony Hope
had from me as soon as l reached London.
Somehow 1 feared Mr.. Wits Widow"
was a first book: it had all the humorous
eXuberance of youth in 1t, but / learned
that there were others, and L read them
with avidity.
Various mutual friends promised me an
Introduction to the writer OF these charm
ing books, but the meeting never came off
Perhaps the author had an intuition that
L was to interview him in his absence and
SO endeavored to make that absence as
permanent as possible; anyhow, the god
was never in the car when 1 was there to
witness its descent. The man of mark re-
manned invisible.
From the languorous humor that pervaded
his books, perhaps it might be called Lam
berOuS humor. quiet, quaint, non -insistant
fun, together with the evident love of the
country indicated in "A Change of Air." /
was led to the conclusion that Anthony
Hope lived In some delightful rural viii
lage, possibly in Surrey, revcling on the
royalties that poured in upon him from
grateful publishers. therefore 1 was sur
prised when friend. walking with me
jerked his thumb over his shoulder in a
casual sort of way, and said:
Those are Anthony Hopes rooms.
Let us call on him. said /, stopping
short.
I'VE don't know him." objected the other.
What difference does that make? We
represent his public; We are his customers;
he Is bound to be civil to u.s."
I'm not so sure about that. He's Bal
liol man. and these Balliol chaps are prone
to be high and mighty
I'm that case" suggested !. ''let us fol-
low the example of the Oxford guide with
handful of gravel at his windows and
when he appears we will bow to him.
He'll not appear; he'll merely send for
the police"
in London through fear of the force, and
|, enterprises of great pith and moment, with
sthis regard, their currents turn awry and
ilcse the name of action. After all. the
author, in sending forth his books, was
asking for bread. so what right had we to
throw him a handful of stones? We passed
on. leaving Anthony Hope unaware of our
vicinity. The world seems to become more
sedate as 1t grows older. On that very
spot Charles Lamb used to play tricks with
the fountain, and no bobby molested him.
The genial Charles says: what col
legiate aspect has that fine Elizabethan
hall. where the fountain plays, which I
have made to rise and fall, how many
times! to the establishment of the young
urchins, my contemporaries. who not be-
ing able to guess at its reconcile ma
chinery. were almost tempted to hail the
wcndrous work as magic"
Later this same fountain played merrily
to Tom Pinch and his sister. persons quite
as real to most of us as Mr.. Charles Lamb
or Mr.. Anthony Hope.
And so ''Mr. Wits Widow" had come to
US from the Temple; from a room with
windows looking out on Lambs fine Eliza
bethan Hall. and this. too. in direct con-
travention of the rules for the guidance OF
the Templars written by St Barnard, first
abbot of C1airvaux, composed of no less