It was clear and very cool when I sallied out once more with Brooks to try our fortune for a cold seabath. The result found that on Sunday no bath of any public kind is provided for. Ablution is not among religious rites in England, if it be elsewhere. After a long stroll we came back as we went. After breakfast, we went on an expedition of another kind. This was to attend Divine service at the old Church of St Mary’s, not far from the castle, or rather what remains of it. The crowd was so considerable that I succeeded in gaining seats only by a few to the urger. The interior has been rebuilt as far as possible retaining what was left from the violence of the civil wars in Charles’s time. This consisted of a part of the wave, with a number of the old Roman short columns. The effect of the whole, with its dense mass of well dressed worshippers was much more cheerful than in common in the midst of cold and damp store walls. The service much as usual. The exception was that one of the choristers was taken out in a fit. There was chanting as in a chapel or cathedral. When the service was over we walked up to the castle. Nothing remains of the old nook but the outer wall, and parts of one or two towers. It is however occupied by a part of a regiment of infantry who live in barracks of brick of modern work. The site is high and commanding. Like most of the old strong holds of feudalism, it was crushed in the uprising of Puritanism against old abuses in church and state. In the afternoon we all walked to the beach, which is hard sand daily washed by the tide. There were many people out, and the scene and pretty, though the air was scarcely general. Evening quietly at home. I read some of Mr Senior’s book of biographies.