A fine, mild spring morning. I started early in order to be sure to get to the city in season. And so I was. There were not many present at the Church of St Stephen’s, Walbrook when I reached it. The sky was cloudy so that the lights were burning in it, neither did any great number come in at all. The outside is old, and crowded up, if not disfigured. But the interior remains as Sir Christopher Wren planned it. The design is peculiar. The church appears nearly square, with columns so arranged to support the dome as not to obstruct the observations, and yet to give elegance and lightness to the whole. No gallery, and only little oval openings for light on the sides, which like the end were filled with stained glass. It is curious how much I prefer such an edifice for worship to the chilly repulsive formality of what is called the gothic. The service was much as usual with the exception of the repetition of the shocking Athanasian creed. The sermon was upon the account in Matthew’s gospel of the ascension. I remember a discourse on the same text by Dr Greenwood which attracted me by the simplicity and clearness of its narrative. This had the usual characteristics. I walked home and read a sermon of Dr Walker on the character of Paul among the Apostles full of his clear sense and just reasoning. The remainder of the day at home until dinner time when I went to Mr Sturgis’s. Several at dinner. A Mr Eaton Colonel Hawley, Mr Cleveland, but no ladies. Staid there until eleven.