Chilly, blustering, uncomfortable day. Went with Mr Alward, to the Church in Wells Street which is another of those that represent the tendency of a part of the established faith to approximate towards the Roman. The edifice itself has no particular merit. It is modern, of the simpler form of Gothic, disfigured by the introduction of a very heavy and broad gallery which makes the parts underneath dark and close. It is free to the public, being supported by voluntary contribution. It was densely packed with people of the better class. A large proportion of the service was sung, whilst the rest was intoned both by priest and people. An Anthem which was beautiful and well executed. Indeed, nothing could be more dramatically effective, than the whole service. Far more effective than any Oratorio I ever witnessed. I took great pleasure in it, but I fear that I could not appreciate as worship so much as an exhibition. To attend there regularly would dry out of me all simplicity of piety. The sermon was indifferent as possible. A really eloquent preacher would establish the fortunes of this edifice. As it is I doubt if it endure long in this form. One step more would land it in Romanism. At home where I had a meeting of persons to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting. The resolutions were covered over, and struck me as full of words. They are Mr Morse’s—and though I shall alter them, they will not meet the level of the occasion. How bare London is of educated Americans! This always strikes me when every thing of this kind is to be done. I also had visits from Miss Motley, Mr Forster, and Sir Roderick Murchison. Then a walk to the Zoological gardens. But my mind was overcharged with anxiety about what I was to say an opening the meeting tomorrow, I applied myself to the draught which kept me until after midnight.