On March 4th, the Turner Exhibition opened, and day by day the bulletins from Brantwood announcing his condition were read by multitudes of visitors with eager and sorrowful interest.  Newspapers all the world over copied the daily reports:  in the Far West of America the same telegrams were posted, and they say even a more demonstrative sympathy was shown.  Nor was the feeling confined to the English speaking public.  The Oxford Proctor in Convocation of April 24th, when the patient, after the first burst of the storm was slowly drifting back into calmer waters, thought it worth while, in the course of his speech, to mention that in Italy, where he had lately been on an Easter vacation tour, he had witnessed a widespread anxiety about Ruskin, and prayers put up for his recovery.

By May 10th he was so much better that he could complete the catalogue with some gossip about those Alpine drawings of 1842 which he regarded as the climax of Turner’s work.  The first—­and best in some ways—­of the series was the Spluegen.  Without any word to him, the diligence of kind friends and the help of a wide circle of admirers traced the drawing, and subscribed its price—­1,000 guineas, to which Mr. Agnew generously added his commission—­and it was presented to Mr. Ruskin as a token of sympathy and respect.  He was not insensible to the personal compliment implied, and by way of some answer he spent the first few days of his convalescence in arranging and annotating a series of drawings by himself, and engravings, illustrating the Turners, to add to his show during the remainder of the season.  When they were sent off (early in June) to Bond Street, he left home with the Severns to complete his recovery at Malham.

There was another reason why that spontaneous testimonial was welcome at the moment, for a curious and unaccustomed ordeal was impending for his claims as an art critic.  On his return from Venice after months of intercourse with the great Old Masters, he found the Grosvenor Gallery just opened for the first time, with its memorable exhibition of the different extra-academical schools.  It placed before the public, in sharp contrast, the final outcome of the Pre-Raphaelitism for which he had fought many a year before, and samples of the last new fashion from Paris.  The maturer works of Burne-Jones had been practically unseen by the public, and Ruskin took the opportunity of their exhibition to write his praise of the youngest of the Old Masters in the current numbers of “Fors,” and afterwards in two papers on the “Three Colours of Pre-Raphaelitism” (Nineteenth Century Magazine, November and December, 1878).  But in the same “Fors” he dismissed with half a paragraph of contempt Mr. Whistler’s eccentric sketch of Fireworks at Cremorne.  Long before, in 1863, when he was working with various artists connected with the Pre-Raphaelite circle, Mr. Whistler had made overtures to the great critic through Mr. Swinburne the poet; but he had not been taken seriously.