How Froude came to leave these secret manuscripts behind him is not perfectly clear. Mr. Keble had advised burning them, long before. During the months and even years when there was natural opportunity for disposing of all his affairs, Froude had abstained from destroying his papers. The only explanation is that he was too completely indifferent, in all such matters, to make a move of any sort. He belonged to a journal-keeping age and a journal-keeping family: to write, and to dismiss the writing from memory, were to him easy matters. Neither his kind of memory, nor his degree of self-attentiveness, would have helped him to produce an _Apologia_. His diaries, properly speaking, have absolutely no egotism: he is merely dramatically concentrated on R. H. F. as a moral ‘dummy’ convenient for observation and correction, and it was quite in keeping with his habit that he should have taken no thought whatever of a testamentary nature, towards the end. He could, of course, have had no suspicion of the ultimate use to which his confessions were soon to be put. Besides, he would harbour no fear of depreciation, but would rather have desired that, even in the grave. On the fly-leaf of the finished book they placed a sweet motto from the _Adeste, sanctæ conjuges_, the midnight hymn appointed for the Office of the Commemoration of Holy Women. It came from the Parisian Breviary, in which Froude had delighted. Newman was editing the Hymns included in it at this very time. ‘_Se sub serenis vultibus Austera virtus occulit, Timens videri, ne suum, Dum prodit, amittat decus._’ Isaac Williams’ sensitive translation is a fit mate for the Latin: ‘Neath [a] look serene concealed, Stern Virtue hid her shield, Fearing to lose that Love, within, Which half is lost by being seen.’ Such a motto, it might be urged, was both too personal and too deprecatory. The perfect posy for the venture would have been, instead, a word of Felippo di Boni: ‘_Son soldato Ancor io: Stringo una spada Che forte in pugno Ed immortal mi sta. Dio mi l ha data; Equando morto io cada, Fatta spirito mio, Combatterà!_’ The Editors felt, no doubt, that anything like this, for all of its fitness, would have imported a note of unnecessary defiance. To print the _Remains_ at all was certainly war-cry enough.