The rays of a bright morning sun had a
dazzling effect among the glittering foliage. A robin, perched upon
the top of a mountain ash that hung its clusters of red berries just
before my window, was basking himself in the sunshine, and piping a
few querulous notes; and a peacock was displaying all the glories of
his train, and strutting with the pride and gravity of a Spanish
grandee, on the terrace walk below.
I had scarcely dressed myself, when a servant appeared to invite
me to family prayers. He showed me the way to a small chapel in the
old wing of the house, where I found the principal part of the
family already assembled in a kind of gallery, furnished with
cushions, hassocks, and large prayer-books; the servants were seated
on benches below. The old gentleman read prayers from a desk in
front of the gallery, and Master Simon acted as clerk, and made the
responses; and I must do him the justice to say that he acquitted
himself with great gravity and decorum.
The service was followed by a Christmas carol, which Mr. Bracebridge
himself had constructed from a poem of his favorite author, Herrick;
and it had been adapted to an old church melody by Master Simon. As
there were several good voices among the household, the effect was
extremely pleasing; but I was particularly gratified by the exaltation
of heart, and sudden sally of grateful feeling, with which the
worthy squire delivered one stanza; his eye glistening, and his
voice rambling out of all the bounds of time and tune:
"'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
With guiltlesse mirth,
And givest me Wassaile bowles to drink
Spiced to the brink:
Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand
That soiles my land:
And giv'st me for my bushell sowne,
Twice ten for one.
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