Such was the silver and gold whose intrinsic value Ruskin was at this time considering and possessing.

He was a pioneer, it will be seen, in the new form of enjoyment which of late years has become popular with many English people, and has given Switzerland a winter season :—

"December 15.-There was no rowing to be done, for fear of getting run down by the steamer; and no drawing, for nothing could be seen. I... went out in spite of it-climbed the nearest spur of Pilate, and behold, the fog was only a lake of fog, a thousand feet deep. Dead level, white, unbroken, over a hundred square leagues; above, summer, and the Alps. Not a shadow, nor a breath of air. Purest and entire sunlight, and all the Alps one mighty peaked shore of the great Cloud Sea. It was worth a week's darkness to see it."

“Christmas morning.-It is darkish to-day, but yesterday was a clear, cloudless frost again, and I have made up my mind that the finest things one can see in summer are nothing, compared to winter scenery among the Alps when the weather is fine. Pilate looked as if it was entirely constructed of frosted silver, like Geneva filigree work-lighted by golden sunshine with long purple shadows; and the entire chain of the Alps rosy beyond. I spent an hour pleasantly enough throwing stones with Couttet, at the great icicles in the ravine. It had all the delight of being allowed to throw stones in the vastest glass and china shop that was ever 'established,' and was very typical to my mind of my work in general."

Ruskin during his stay upon the Lake of Lucerne did much drawing, and two of his sketches of the time are here given (Plates I. and II.). He wrote during this year (1861) little or nothing; but he read much:

"At Lucerne," he writes (October 23), "I have got quite into regular days. Morning I get up a little before seven-breakfast at eight, reading Livy; write my letters; read on at Livy till I've had enough; go out and draw till about one or two, taking care not to tire myself-then row, quietly, with little pauses and landings and sketches till five; dress for dinner at six, read Xenophon in evening-the papers at tea, at eight."

The nature of his studies and bent of his thoughts appear in