On returning to Brantwood, after his resignation at Oxford, Ruskin took stock of his position:—

(To C. E. Norton.) “ Brantwood,2nd January, 1885.—I am not so well as you hoped, having overstrained myself under strong impulse at Oxford, and fallen back now into a ditch of despond, deepened by loss of appetite and cold feet, and dark weather,— Joan in London, and people all about more or less depending on me; no S. or M. for me to depend on—no Charles—no Carlyle ; even my Turners for the time speechless to me, my crystals lustreless. After some more misery and desolation of this nature I hope, however, to revive slowly, and will really not trust myself in that feeling of power any more. But it seems to me as if old age were threatening to be a weary time for me. I'll never mew about it like Carlyle, nor make Joanie miserable if I know it—but it looks to me very like as if I should take to my bed and make everybody wait on me. This is only to send you love—better news I hope soon.”

He did revive, and four years, with a little of a fifth, remained to him before the beginning of the eternal silence. Ruskin's last literary period is rendered notable by the writing of his autobiographical fragment,Prœterita, which many readers account the most charming of his books.