A clear and cool day. We attended Divine service at a very small church close by the limits of Lord Cransworth’s grounds, belonging to the little village of Keston. Service as usual, but the Sermon was preached by a stranger, and it was an appeal for aid to the missionary cause considering the extremely small edifice and few attendants, the labor seemed to me rather in vain. Afterwards we went to look at the grounds, which are remarkable for two things. First, that they belonged to William Pitt, who has left traces of himself in the plantations of fine trees that adorn them. Second, that they contain the remains of an extraordinary line of treble fortifications the banks have been levelled, but the traces of them are left. These are called Roman, because coins are sometimes dug up in them; but in reality there is no record of any kind left to213 explain their true character. At present the rabbits are doing their best to change their shape. This Estate is high and very finely diversified in hill and dale. But I have rarely seen a more barren spot. It seems to be gravel on flint and chalk. There is a little coating of short soft turf, good for sheep and nothing else. The rabbits are every where. There are about three hundred and fifty acres, about one third of which is arable. Evening in quiet family circle.