The same cold grey clouds and sharp frosty weather which have prevailed for so many days. This is the fourth anniversary of Christmas that I have passed in this house. All the preceding ones have been warm sunny genial days cheering to the spirits and redolent of joy. All in the household too were full of health and spirits. This time the earth looked hard and tightly bound in ice, the sky was dull and gloomy, and inside the walls there were shadows of anxiety in both families for the physical condition of one member of each. Nevertheless, the usual presents made the hearts of the children glad and we afterwards went to the old church in some force. The service as usual disfigured by the substitution of the Athanasian for the Aposle’s creed. The Sermon on the text “Unto us a child is born” and with little force. In the afternoon I took a solitary walk as I have always done, but not this time to see the sun set in his glory. Took my course down the river and not up as before. This167 brought me below Sunbury, from whence I left the back of the Thames and returned by the high road—about six miles. This had the usual sumptuous banquet with the children at table excepting Henry. Nothing in the way of gastronomic surpasses this table. The wonder to me is how the family can preserve their health under such feasting. Owing to the condition of the invalid all the usual festivity was dispensed with, and we had a quiet evening.