A summer’s day, with the glass over 70°—rather sultry than hot. I went with Brooks who was in town again this week to the city to church. We strayed into a building which proved to be St Bennets, Paul’s Wharf, one of Sir Christopher’s designing as I saw immediately. It is curiously but not badly contrived. On the south or street side, one very large windows which let in abundance of light, thus remedying the difficulty occasioned by the closing of the three other sides. The care that this architect always bestows on this subject is one of his most remarkable attributes. The gallery runs only on two sides, but is large and deep. The pulpit between the windows15 near the corner, much as in St Swithins. Pilasters all round, I think, corinthian, support a plain ceiling with a light decorated moulding. Pews oak, and panneled sides with some carving. On the whole risk and respectable. About fifty present. The services for Whitsunday including the detestable athanasian creed. There was a curious moral monument or two, but I could not examine them, as the Communion was to follow the service. Inigo Jones was buried her, but the fire swept off his tablet. After luncheon I walked out and paid a visit to Mr Schleiden and Mr W. Stuart, the British Secretary of Legation at Washington. We had to dine with us Dr and Mrs Pancoast and Mr Milnes Gaskell. Afterwards Mrs Parkes and a nephew, a Mr Wainwright, as well as Mr Bigelow Laurence and Miss Chapman came in.