The Doctor had a large family and pretty daughters.  One, who wrote verses in John’s note-book, and sang “Tambourgi,” Mrs. Orme, lived until 1892 in Bedford Park; the other lives in Coventry Patmore’s “Angel in the House.”  When Ruskin, thirty years later, wrote of that doubtfully-received poem, that it was the “sweetest analysis we possess of quiet, modern, domestic feeling,” few of his readers could have known all the grounds of his appreciation, or suspected the weight of meaning in the words.

CHAPTER IV

MOUNTAIN-WORSHIP (1830-1835)

Critics who are least disposed to give Ruskin credit for his artistic doctrines or economical theories unite in allowing that he taught his generation to look at Nature, and especially at the sublime in Nature—­at storms and sunrises, and the forests and snows of the Alps.  This mission of mountain-worship was the outcome of a passion beside which the other interests and occupations of his youth were only toys.  He could take up his mineralogy and his moralizing and lay them down, but the love of mountain scenery was something beyond his control.  We have seen him leave his heart in the Highlands at three years old; we have now to follow his passionate pilgrimages to Skiddaw and Snowdon, to the Jungfrau and Mont Blanc.

They had planned a great tour through the Lakes and the North two years before, but were stopped at Plymouth by the news of Mrs. Richardson’s death.  At last the plan was carried out.  A prose diary was written alternately by John and Mary, one carrying it on when the other tired, with rather curious effect of unequally-yoked collaboration.  We read how they “set off from London at seven o’clock on Tuesday morning, the 18th May,” and thenceforward we are spared no detail:  the furniture of the inns; the bills of fare; when they got out of the carriage and walked; how they lost their luggage; what they thought of colleges and chapels, music and May races at Oxford, of Shakespeare’s tomb, and the pin-factory at Birmingham; we have a complete guide-book to Blenheim and Warwick Castle, to Haddon and Chatsworth, and the full itinerary of Derbyshire.  “Matlock Bath,” we read, “is a most delightful place”; but after an enthusiastic description of High Tor, John reacts into bathos with a minute description of wetting their shoes in a puddle.  The cavern with a Bengal light was fairyland to him, and among the minerals he was quite at home.

Then they hurried north to Windermere.  Once at Lowwood, the excitement thickens, with storms and rainbows, mountains and waterfalls, boats on the lake and coaching on the steep roads.  This journey through Lakeland is described in the galloping anapaests of the “Iteriad,” which was simply the prose journal versified on his return, one of the few enterprises of the sort which were really completed.