I had, in the interval, published two more volumes of verse, A Summer Christmas and In Cornwall and Across the Sea, and I had printed at Florence Edward, the Black Prince, begun during that long visit to Canterbury in the spring of 1886, during which I steeped myself deeper and deeper in the study of Gothic architecture, not yet realising what an important part it was to play in my writing.
When we returned from Constantinople I had The Black Prince properly published in England, and though its sales were trifling, like those of A Summer Christmas, it met with warm commendation from the critics.
Shortly after this we were inspired with the desire to visit the United States in the autumn of 1888, and as we were going so far, we determined so stay in one place while we were in England.
The place we chose was Richmond. I had always loved it since I was a little boy at Temple Grove School in the neighbouring village of East Sheen. It was sufficiently in the country for us to pass a spring and summer there without irksomeness, and sufficiently beautiful and old-fashioned to satisfy my cravings.
At Richmond we took a house in the Queen’s Road, and but for the very large sum demanded for fixtures, we should have abandoned our American trip, and taken the part of the Old Palace which has now been restored at great expense by Mr. J. L. Middleton, for which I had a great inclination. Mr. Middleton is a friend of mine and I have been over it many times with him. It stands right opposite my study window. We liked Richmond as much then as we do now, except for the long trail up from the railway station to the Queen’s Road when we went to the theatre. We were in the Park or on the adjoining commons every day, watching the operations of Nature from the growth to the fall.
It was a busy time, for I wrote The Spanish Armada on the occasion of the Tercentenary of the immortal sea-fight, and I edited two anthologies of Australian verse, Australian Ballads and A Century of Australian Song, for Walter Scott, Ltd. The pleasure of compiling these two anthologies, the first books by which I ever made any money, was enhanced because I did them at the unsolicited invitation of the late William Sharp, the poet and author of the rhapsodies of “Fiona Macleod,” who afterwards became a dear and intimate friend. He introduced me to Charles Mackay, the editor of the famous Thousand and One Gems of English Poetry, who adopted Marie Corelli as his daughter, and was father of Eric Mackay. It was through him that I received the invitation to do the Australian part of the Slang Dictionary, edited by M. Barrére, the French Ambassador’s brother, for which also I received some money.
These encouragements made me ask my friend, the late S. H. Jeyes, who went to Trinity, Oxford, on the same day as I did, and was at the time one of the editors of the St James’s Gazette, from which he afterwards changed to the Standard, whether he thought that I ought to go to America, or stay and pursue my chances in England.
He said, “Go; in America they will take you at your own valuation, and when you get back, it will be your valuation.”
And so it came that we took our passages in the old Cunarder Catalonia from Liverpool to Boston.