Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1891-05-31
A RIDE WITH RUSKIN.
Wakeman Has a Lively Encounter
With che Great Englishman.
A MIGHTY INTELLECT IN DECLINE.
Proposed Visit to Brentwood Spoiled by q
Face at the Window.
DROPPING IN ON A BIG Gypsy CAMP

entire year of 1888 was passed by me In
wandering among the peasantry of Ireland,
with the exception of few days visit with
friends in Northern Lancashire, England.
Journeying from Carnforth to Ulvertson, L
entered a railway carriage in which sat
man muff1ed to his ears in wraps and rugs.
My presence and especially my having
left open the window of the close compart-
partment made him uneasy. He snorted
and fdgeted for time, conveying by unde-
niable token his intense displeasure. Then,
making deliberate grab at the window
strap, he hurled the sash back in its place
with crash, and as he gave his wrappings
tempestuous swirl toreplace them, snarled
at me:
"Do all Americans live out of doors?"
GAIL" responded cheerily, "save those
living in tepees and tents. We haven't
time to build houses. We like it. It's our
way"
My companion instantly shot two spare
legs wide apart out of the rugs; leaned a
thin body and face far forward as if to make
his passionate glare the more effective; and,
cutting swift, large circle in the armament
os the musty compartment with the index
finger of his skinny right hand, piped in q
vociferous treble:
Spurred Into Classic Rage.
"It is not your way, sir; it is Gods way.
You Americans would assume the credit of
creations cosmic plan. Even if you lived
as you falsely assert, you would be unaware
of the dignity you unconsciously, or impu-
IDENTIFY, assumed Supreme intelligence
welded to supreme simplicity are alone
competent to the realization of eternal
TRUTH
1 acceded to all this so quickly and
eagerly that it seemed in manner to shat
ter my nervous companion. He slid back
upon his seat in such helpless sort of way,
that 1 at once gathered the man and his
wrappings together; soothingly adjusted the
latter; and was relieved of some anxiety to
find in little time, as evidenced by certain
rhapsodical snorings, that he had passed
over, if but temporarily, into the poppy
land of dreams.
This gave me an opportunity to crafty
an almost imperative curiosity. 1 went so
far as to examine his hand luggage. The
plain Roman initials ~. r" were all 1
found stamped upon antiquated portmanteau
and rustier handbag. But over in the
corner of his seat was neat brown paper
parcel, which might have held a bit of un-
touched lunch; and saw on this the start
ling legend: 'tFor Mr.. Ruskin."
Not Face for a Happy Heart.
When John Ruskin awoke, we could both
look out of the compartment window and
see the tide sweeping in from Morecambe
Bay across the Leven Sands. 1t seemed to
please him, and his large gray eyes flashed
brightly under the grizzly brows with a
light that transformed his pinched face into
something like kindly radiance. But do
not believe it was the face, despite his i'm
perial fame in the realm of art and letters,
a happy heart since that long ago time
when the mystery of his life left him in
wifeless and childless isolation.
Some impulse of companionship led him
to question me closely and without cere-
mony regarding myself and my then literary
work in Ireland. / answered him honestly,
addressing him by his name, and expressing
regret that Englishmen like him would not
do as had done-visit the lowly of Ireland in
every part of ireland with an honest pur-
pose of discovering misgovernment and its
deplorable results, and protesting against it
in high places where it would be heard.
This threw him into another paroxysm of
rage in which he gave vent to language 1
may be shown by his closing objurgation,
repeated again and again, ''Guns, not gov
ernment, for Ireland!"
Received a Very Vigorous Reply.
Mr.. Ruskin, or no Mr.. Ruskin, I would
not sit silent under that, and at all risks
denounced his barbarous Toryism so round
ly, pointed out his own inexcusable and
wholly ignorant malignity with such daring,
faI iC loci of h,,pn Il
famous before the world as q prophet of
illimitable tenderness and charity, the
logical outgrowth of his endless battle
for the worship of nature, truth and
God, with such unspairing reckless
ness, that its very audacity, or some man
ner of kinda introspection, calmed him,
Just as the train slackened its speed at u
version. Here when l hastily left the car
riage with curt "Good day, sir % he called
to me to return. Reaching his thin hand
out to me he gave my own a hearty grasp,
and said most graciously and friendly:
"Bear away kinder thought of me. You
have been very plain, sir; but you have
done me good. I am not well, sir; not well
at all. But like any man who is not afraid
of me. I'll think about ireland. Come to
my home at Brentwood, any time at your
pleasure.
The grizzled face had everything human
and good in it as he spoke. l thanked him;
said I would come; and hurried away in the
crowd; but with the then many conflicting
emotions in my mind, / said to my welcom-
ing friend at INVERSION, as l mentioned my
ride with the famous Englisman, "If it had
not been John Ruskin, L should have re-
garded the man insane"
A Sad Scene a: Brentwood.
"John Ruskin?" he added sententiously.
"Oh, everybody up Lancashire way knows
he's always been crazy!"
Before 1 could visit Brentwood it was
known to all that the cloud which is sell
dom lifted had dimmed the great mans in
tellect. But little time ago the cable told
American people that he had attempted to
take his own life.
Brentwood itself as seen from the high
way seems like single facade of gray old
stone, set in hanging wood against the
yerdure-covered mountain escarpment. As
stood there for time drinking in the
beauty of the spot and the quaint simplicity
of the structure face appeared at the win
dow. Then another was seen beside it. The
latter was big and rosy. 1t was the face of
keeper. The former was, deathly white,
features, hair and beard. 1t was pressed
against the pane as if with the meaningless
impulse of a babe. In a moment more two
white claw-like hands were raised. These
clutched nervously at the bars of the sash.
The whole picture was that as if the living
shade of Ruskin for an instant implored for
release for imprisonment; despairingly ex-
erted last feeble struggle for liberty;
voicelessly but eloquently cried out to God for
flight beyond the misty purples of the far
mountains to the Ultima Thule of eternal
rest. / could not bear to see it longer; and
a. L -.