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I afterwards understood that early morning service was read on every
Sunday and saints' day throughout the year, either by Mr.
Bracebridge or by some member of the family. It was once almost
universally the case at the seats of the nobility and gentry of
England, and it is much to be regretted that the custom is falling
into neglect; for the dullest observer must be sensible of the order
and serenity prevalent in those households, where the occasional
exercise of a beautiful form of worship in the morning gives, as it
were, the keynote to every temper for the day, and attunes every
spirit to harmony.
Our breakfast consisted of what the squire denominated true old
English fare. He indulged in some bitter lamentations over modern
breakfasts of tea and toast, which he censured as among the causes
of modern effeminacy and weak nerves, and the decline of old English
heartiness; and though he admitted them to his table to suit the
palates of his guests, Yet there was a brave display of cold meats,
wine, and ale, on the sideboard.
After breakfast I walked about the grounds with Frank Bracebridge
and Master Simon, or, Mr. Simon, as he was called by everybody but the
squire. We were escorted by a number of gentlemanlike dogs, that
seemed loungers about the establishment; from the frisking spaniel
to the steady old stag-hound; the last of which was of a race that had
been in the family time out of mind: they were all obedient to a
dog-whistle which hung to Master Simon's button-hole, and in the midst
of their gambols would glance an eye occasionally upon a small
switch he carried in his hand.
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