The “Fors” page is different from, and not so symmetrical as that of the octavo “Works Series,” although both are printed on the same sized paper—­medium 8vo.  Then there is the “Knight’s Faith” and “Ulric,” in both of which the type (pica modern—­“this delightful type,” wrote Ruskin) and the size of the page are different from any other; yet both were his choice.  The “Ulric” page was imitated from an old edition of Miss Edgeworth.  The first proof he criticised thus:  “Don’t you think a quarter inch off this page, as enclosed, would look better?  The type is very nice.  How delicious a bit of Miss Edgeworth’s is, like this!” “Ida” was another page of his choice, and greatly approved.  His title pages, too, were arranged with great care; he used to draw them out in pen and ink, indicating the size and position of the lines and letters.  He objected to ornaments and to anything like blackness and heaviness, but he was very particular about proportions and spacing, and about the division of words.

In the morning everybody is busy.  There are drawings and diagrams to be made, MS. to copy, references to look up, parcels to pack and unpack.  Someone is told off to take you round, and you visit the various rooms and see the treasures, inspect the outhouse with its workshop for carpentry, framing and mounting, casting leaves and modelling; one work or another is sure to be going on; perhaps one of the various sculptors who have made Ruskin’s bust is busy there.  Down at the Lodge, a miniature Brantwood, turret and all, the Severn children live when they are at Coniston.  Then there are the gardens, terraced in the steep, rocky slope, and some small hot-houses, which Ruskin thinks a superfluity, except that they provide grapes for sick neighbours.

Below the gardens a path across a field takes you to the harbour, begun in play by the Xenophon translators and finished by the village mason, with its fleet of boats—­chief of them the “Jumping Jenny” (called after Nanty Ewart’s boat in “Redgauntlet"), Ruskin’s own design and special private water-carriage.  Outside the harbour the sail-boats are moored, Mr. Severn’s Lily of Brantwood.  Milliard’s boat, and his Snail, an unfortunate craft brought from Morecambe Bay with great expectations that were never realized; though Ruskin always professed to believe in her, as a real sea-boat (see “Harbours of England”) such as he used to steer with his friend Huret, the Boulogne fisherman, in the days when he, too, was smitten with sea-fever.

After luncheon, if letters are done, all hands are piped to the moor.  With billhooks and choppers the party winds up the wood paths, “the Professor” first, walking slowly, and pointing out to you his pet bits of rock-cleavage, or ivied trunk, or nest of wild strawberry plants.  You see, perhaps, the ice-house—­tunnelled at vast expense into the rock and filled at more expense with the best ice; opened at last with great expectations and