He went towards the fireplace, and suddenly to his
surprise discovered an immensely tall man in evening dress lying
prostrate on the hearthrug, his face downwards, in an attitude of
prone despair. While he gazed, the stranger rose to his feet,
looked fixedly at him, and said, "I must introduce myself; I am
Octavius, the most morbid of the Tennysons."
With Ruskin we have a different case. He was brought up in the most
secluded fashion, and though he was sharply enough disciplined into
decorous behaviour by his very grim and positive mother, he was
guarded like a precious jewel, and as he grew up he was endlessly
petted and indulged. The Ruskins lived a very comfortable life in a
big villa with ample grounds at Denmark Hill. Whatever the
wonderful boy did was applauded and even dangerously encouraged,
both in the way of drawing and of writing. Though he seems to have
been often publicly snubbed by both his parents, it was more a
family custom than anything else, and was accompanied by
undisguised admiration and patent pride. They were his stupefied
critics, when he read aloud his works in the family circle, and his
father obediently produced large sums of money to gratify his
brilliant son's artistic desire for the possession of Turner's
paintings.
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