Thick, smoky morning. I went out in quest of a church, and finally, after failing in an attempt to get into one, by reason of the crowd, succeeded in another which proved to be a Scots church of the simplest form. The worshippers were not numerous and all of the shopkeeping class were evidently scotch. The style of the preacher was plain, but it was earnest and taking. It addressed itself directly to the hearers and certainly fixed their attention. I take more pleasure in listening to such a man, than in all of the paraphernalia of the English church. I went on my return home to return a visit to Mr Moffat, and this led me a long rumble into narrow streets which showed me new varieties of London life. Afterwards I took a walk with my daughter Mary, and in the evening, read more of the Essay and reviews.