He left home again early in October; by the end of November he was settled with his wife at Hotel Danieli, Venice, for the winter.  He expected to find without much trouble all the information he wanted as to the dates, styles and history of Venetian buildings; but after consulting and comparing all the native writers, it appeared that the questions he asked of them were just the questions they were unprepared to answer, and that he must go into the whole matter afresh.  So he laid himself out that winter for a thorough examination of St. Mark’s and the Ducal Palace and the other remains—­drawing, and measuring, and comparing their details.

His father had gone back to England in September out of health, and the letters from home did not report improvement.  His mother, too, was beginning to fear the loss of her sight; and he could not stay away from them any longer.  In February, 1850, he broke off his work in the middle of it, and returned to London.  The rest of the year he spent in writing the first volume of “Stones of Venice,” and in preparing the illustrations, together with “Examples of the Architecture of Venice,” a portfolio of large lithographs and engravings in mezzotint and line, to accompany the work.  It was most fortunate for Ruskin that his drawings could be interpreted by such men as Armytage and Cousen, Cuff and Le Keux, Boys and Lupton, and not without advantage to them that their masterpieces should be preserved in his works, and praised as they deserved in his prefaces.  But these plates for “Stones of Venice” were in advance of the times.  The publisher thought them “caviare to the general,” so Mr. J.J.  Ruskin told his son; but gave it as his own belief that “some dealers in Ruskins and Turners in 1890 will get great prices for what at present will not sell.”

Early in 1850, his father, at his mother’s desire, and with the help of W.H.  Harrison, collected and printed his poems, with a number of pieces that still remained in MS., the author taking no part in this revival of bygones, which, for the sake of their associations, he was not anxious to recall—­though his father still believed that he might have been a poet, and ought to have been one.  This is the volume of “Poems J.R., 1850,” so highly valued by collectors.

Another resurrection was “The King of the Golden River,” which had lain hidden for the nine years of the Ars Poetica.  He allowed it to be published, with woodcuts by the famous “Dicky” Doyle.  The little book ran through three editions that year.  The first issue must have been torn to rags in the nurseries of the last generation, since copies are so rare as to have brought ten guineas apiece instead of the six shillings at which they were advertised in 1850.

A couple of extracts from letters of 1850 will give some idea of Ruskin’s impressions of London society and the Drawing Room: 

     “MY DEAREST MOTHER,