ts, unflagging industry, and
powers of writing such as have seldom been given to any of the sons
of men. While at Manchester he composed The Cat's Pilgrimage, the
earliest of his Short Studies in date. The moral of this fanciful
fable is very like the moral of Candide.

The discontented cat, tired of her monotonously comfortable place on
the hearthrug, goes out into the world, and gets nothing more than
experience for her pains. She finds the other animals occupied with
their own concerns, and enjoying life because they do not go beyond
them. Not a very elevating paper, perhaps, but better than The
Nemesis of Faith, and Froude's last word on the subjects that had
tormented his youth.

He recoiled from materialism, finding that it offered no explanation
of the universe. Faith in God he had never entirely lost, and on
that he founded his henceforth unshaken belief in the providential
government of the world. Whatever might be the origin of the
Christian religion, it furnished the best guide of life; and
spiritual truth, as Bunsen said, was independent of history. He had
no sort of sympathy with those who rejected belief in Christianity
altogether, still less with those who abandoned Theism. Although he
could not be a minister of the Church, he was content to be a
member, understanding the Church to be what he was brought up to
think it, the national organ of religion, a Protestant, evangelical
establishment under the authority of the law and the supremacy of
the Crown.

Froude returned to Manchester immediately after his marriage, but
his wife did not like the place nor the people. They looked about
for a country home, and were fortunate enough to find the most
enchanting spot in North Wales. Plas Gwynant, the shining place,
stands on a rising ground surrounded by woods, at the foot of
Snowdon, between Capel Curig and Beddgelert. Beyond the lawn and
meadow is Dinas Lake. A cherry orchard stood close to the house
door, and a torrent poured through a rocky ravine in the grounds,
falling into a pool below. A mile up the valley was the glittering
lake, Lyn Gwynant, with a boat and plenty of fishing. Good shooting
was also within reach.

To this ideal home Froude came with his wife in the summer of 1850.
Here began a new life of cloudless happiness and perfect peace. His
spiritual difficulties fell away from him, and he found that the
Church in which he had been born was comprehensive enough for him,
as for others. He w