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 was 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.