A very foggy, dark day. I attended Divine service with my daughter Mary at St George’s Church. It was so obscure that the preacher found difficulty in reading his sermon. Day spent quietly at home reading the last number of the Edinburgh Review. Sunday is now unpleasantly associated by me with the reception of news from America. This day it was so meagre that it produced no effect at all. Took a long walk before dinner and in the evening, finished Whitelock. It is a curious book in many ways—as a picture of the manners of the time—as connected with the policy of Cromwell, and as illustrative of the man himself.