As it was a fine day I went with my son Brooks into the city to church. My design was to go to St Catharine, Cree—but by some confusion in my mind I fell upon St Catherine Coleman. This edifice was not answered in the fire, but it’s reconstruction dates from about the same time as that of St Botolph. It is very plain, without caring, stained glass or a sign of the royal arms or authority. The only marked feature was the dark oaken panels and pews with the same simple gravity carried out in the pulpit. The service much as usual. On the whole, the two latest of my city visits have not compensated me. I fear I have exhausted all the most curious buildings. At home devoted myself to making up the arrears of this Diary, which have been accumulating under the constant demands of society on my evenings. The last week has been one continuous strain altogether unexampled so early in the year. Parliament has now adjourned for Easter, sot hat we shall have a fortnight quiet. A walk with Brooks afterwards. In the evening we had Mr Morse and his daughter, Mr Lampson, Mr Palmer, Mr Weston and Mr Somerby. Mr Lampson seemed to be in good spirits about the project of the subscription to the Sanitary commission. Some of the hesitating had manifested a desire to return. He alluded more particularly to Mr Morgan. He showed me a note which he proposed to address earnestness he made a good report. But I fear Mr Bates will scarcely survive to execute his purpose. Mr Morse gave me a long account of his operations on the Rappahanock, which he keeps very safe at Calais.607