Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-10-13

lew iIltuuo db HIS uOuot db w luROAS SttSCs
Mr.. Holman Hunt, Mr.. Piggott. Mr.. Watt
Mr.. Chatto, Mr.. Tates, Mr.. Quilter, Mr.
Besant q think), and his doctor and OLE
friend, Mr.. Beard, was constantly by hi
side. With all the surroundings Of an in
valid. he had quite morbid terror Of beinI
written about as q dying man. "My hear
is not affected" he would say, "and there il
nothing amiss with me but what they cal
stomachic nervousness-or something lik'
it." All the same he was dying man dur
ing the whole period of my acquaintance
with him, and this brings me very near X
Willesden Junction on my journey to Lon
don, as we'll as to the last point in my garru
lous talk about Wllkie Collins.
LAuDANUM DRINKER.
One day toward the beginning of 1888,
called upon him at Wimpole street in great
excitement about a difference which ]
had Just had with collaboration ovel
a question of art in the drama. 1 wished
him to adjudicatc in the dispute, and he
cordially undertook to do so. Estate the
difficulty" he said, and 1 stated 1t with
much iulness. He stopped me again and
again-repeated, questioned and com.
mented. Two hours went by like ten min
utes. We were sitting in Wilkes work
shop, with proofs of his current work every
where about us. The point was knotty
one, and very serious issue seemed in
volved in it. Wilkie was much worried.
MY brain is not very clear" he said once
or twice, taking a turn across the room.
Presently, and as if by sudden impulse. he
opened a cabinet and took out a wine glass,
and what seemed to be a bottle of medicine,
and was labelled with the name of we'll
known London chemist. 'I'm going to
show you one of tine secrets of my prison
house" he said with a smile. Then he
poured from the bottle full wine glass of a
liquid resembling port wine in color. do
YOU see that?" he asked: cts laudanum." "
Straightway he drank it off. I was all but
dumfounded.
"Good heaven, wilkie Collins" said,
show long have you taken that drug?"
"Twenty years" he answered.
"More than once day?'
ooh, yes, much more. Don't be alarmed.
Remember that De Quincy used to drink
laudanum out of a Jug"
Then he told me a story, too long to repeat,
of how a man servant os his own had killed
himself by takiug less than half of one OF
bis doses.
"Why do you take it?" asked.
''To stimulate the brain and steady the
nerves."
"And you think it does that?"
Undoubtedly" and laughing little at
nv CONSERVATION he turned back to the diff
fcult subject had come to discuss. "I'll
see it clearer now. Let us begin again." he
said.
"wait." said, "you say, my dear fel-
low, that the habit of taking laudanum
stimulates your brain and steadies your
L. ~ - i,
people?"
SIT had on Bulwer Lytton," answered
Collins, "he told me so himself"
"Well, then, Wilkie Collins" 1 said,
''you know how much I suffer from brain
and nervous exhaustion. Do you advise me
to use this drug?"
He paused, changed color slightly, and
then said quietly, "No."
1t was the old story, and perhaps would
not go back on it. with all its melancholy
side lights of self-deception, and great suf-
fering, borne in persistent self-blindness,
mund Yates "a much older and more re-
sponsible friend of Collins') has openly dis
cussed it.
THE END OF A BRILLIANT MAN.
1 think the last time 1 saw Collins I
lunched with him at Wimpole street. He
was in great spirits. and very full Of
"reminiscences" that he intended to write.
He talked of all his old friends with anima-
ton, the friends of his youth, call gone,
the old familiar faces;" and there was less
than usual of the dull undertone of sadness
that had so often before conveyed the idea
of a man who knew that he had strutted too
long on his little stage. That was nearly
always the sad feeling lett after day spent
with Wilkie Collins. But on this occasion
his spirits were high and almost boyish; he
enjoyed his wine and some old brandy that
came after it, and couple of delicious
little cigars of a new brand, which he loudly
The more serious questions
OF literature and morality were all ban
ished, yarn followed yarn, and one wild
story he told with great glee of some crack
brain who thought he would checkmate the
universal provider" by ordering white
elephant. l can only remember a single
sad note in his conversation and it was
He was talking of Dickens, and
visit at Gad's Hill on the very day that
Dickens died.
A few days later Wilkie wrote inviting
me to lunch, but naming no particular day.
1 was to go what day liked, only remem-
bering to send a telegram two or three hours
in advance of me. So one Sunday morn
ing early In July q think of this year-I
am i'll at these numbers-I wrote him a
letter telling him that meant to visit him
the following day, and asking him for a
telegram saying if the day would do. In
stead of Wilkes telegram there came a
from his afectionate adopted
Mrs. Barley, saying that on the
previous morning our poor dear Wilkie
had been struck down with paralysis.
The two months that followed were an
anxious time for those of us who loved him,
and it seems like doing some violence to
sacred things to set down ones feelings
here.
He is gone now, the good, staunch soul.
He may have had his weaknesses. l know
of very few. He may have had his sins. I
never heard tell OF any. He was loyal and
brave, and sweet and unselfish. He had
none of the vices of the literary character,
envy and malice and uncharitableness. In
The cruel struggle for livelihood that de-
pends on fame he injured no man. He lived
mis- own life, and was beloved by his own
people. A great tree has fallen in the for
est, and left wide clearing.
4
Where was the profession of letters at
Wilkie Collins graveside to-day? 1 saw
very little of it. Art, the drama and jour
1alism were adequately represented; but
.hree or four men of letters were all ESQ far
rs 1 could judge) who stood for the craft
hat the distinguished dead practiced. Was
his as K should have been? Would it
have occurred if Collins had died 20 years
lgo? True indeed it is that the friend of
Dickens, of Reade and of Lytton had out
lived his generation. The race of novelists
S large enough, yet two only of Wilkie
Collins brother novelists followed him to
lis grave. But the great public were there
% see the last of him. He had cheered
many of their heavier hours. nnrifed