as not called upon to solve problems which had
baffled the subtlest intellects, and would baffle them till the end
of time. Religion could be made practical, and not until its
practical lessons had been exhausted was it necessary to go farther
afield. "Do the duty that lies nearest you," said Goethe, who knew
art and science, literature and life, as few men have known them.
Froude was never idle, and never at a loss for amusement. Although
he wrote regularly, and his love of reading was a passion, he had
the keenest enjoyment of sport and expeditions, of country air and
sights and sounds, of natural beauty and physical exercise. It was
impossible to be dull in his company, for he was the prince of
conversers, drawing out as much as he gave. No wonder that there
were numerous visitors at Plas Gwynant. He was the best and warmest
of friends. In London he would always lay aside his work for the day
to entertain one of his contemporaries at Oxford, and at Plas
Gwynant they found a hospitable welcome. He would fish with them, or
shoot with them, or boat with them, or walk with them, discussing
every subject under heaven. Perhaps the most valued of his guests
was Clough, who had then written most of his poetry, and projected
new enterprises, not knowing how short his life would be.

Besides Clough, Matthew Arnold came to Plas Gwynant, and Charles
Kingsley, and John Conington, the Oxford Professor of Latin, and Max
Muller, the great philologist. A letter to Max Muller, dated the
25th of June, 1851, gives a pleasant picture of existence there.

"I shall be so glad to see you in July. Come and stay as long as
work will let you, and you can endure our hospitality. We are poor,
and so are not living at a high rate. I can't give you any wine,
because I haven't a drop in the house, and you must bring your own
cigars, as I am come down to pipes. But to set against that, you
shall have the best dinner in Wales every day--fresh trout, Welsh
mutton, as much bitter ale as you can drink; a bedroom and a little
sitting-room joining it all for your own self, and the most
beautiful look-out from the window that I have ever seen. You may
vary your retirement. You may change your rooms for the flower-
garden, which is an island in the river, or for the edge of the
waterfall, the music of which will every night lull you to sleep.
Last of all, you will have the society of myself, and of my wife,
and, what ought to weigh with you too, you will