Continued warm and clear weather. I made another of my expeditions to Church in the City, and this time brought up at St Edward, the King and martyr, and St Nicholas Acon in Lombard Street. It appears that this patron Saint was King of the East Angles and in the year 870, was shot by the Danes at Hoxton, on account of his adherence to the Christian faith. A thousand years have swept away all but the name. The old Church was a victim to the great conflagration, and the new one makes me of the fifty two which were supplied by the inventive genius of Sir Christopher Wren. In many respects it is altogether the simplest edifice of his that I have seen. A plain rectangular room with a gallery across one end. The other at which the altar is placed has behind it a large window of painted glass put in during the reign of Queen Anne, as the inscription says, in memory of the happy union 1707, between Great Britain and Scotland. On each side are smaller windows with the figures of St Peter and St Paul. More light is obtained from a glass central aperture over head. The only ornament is in the curvature of the ceiling which takes off the box-like effect of right angles, and in the fine carving of the dark oaken panel week, pulpit and altar. I much prefer this style to the gothic for social church worship. The services were tame and spiritless. I counted about twenty persons as the whole congregation, and got home nearly as soon as I should have done from the Portland Street Chapel. I ought to note that the last incumbent of this church was the Reverend Thomas Hartwell Howe, whose works on the Scriptures are among the best authorities of modern times. At five o’clock I drove down and took the train to Walton, to join my family at Mrs Sturgis’s. Reached the Station a little before six, and walked up to the House in company with Sir Henry Holland, who had come out only to dine there. The circle was smaller and more quiet than usual. Sir William Alexander and Mr Critchley, two of the habitués, but not the third. Mr and Mrs Sturgis are always cordial and kind. But I cannot pardon him for his utter and total defection from the principles of his New England race in the present struggle. So I cannot feel at home in his house.410