renity prevalent in those
households, where the occasional exercise of a beautiful form of worship
in the morning gives, as it were, the key-note 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.

[Illustration]

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 gentlemen-like 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.

[Illustration]

The old mansion had a still more venerable look in the yellow sunshine
than by pale moonlight; and I could not but feel the force of the
Squire's idea, that the formal terraces, heavily moulded balustrades,
and clipped yew-trees, carried with them an air of proud aristocracy.
There appeared to be an unusual number of peacocks about the place, and
I was making some remarks upon what I termed a flock of them, that were
basking under a sunny wall, when I was gently corrected in my
phraseology by Master Simon, who told me that, according to the most
ancient and approved treatise on hunting, I must say a _muster_ of
peacocks. "In the same way," added he, with a slight air of pedantry,
"we say a flight of doves or swallows, a bevy of quails, a herd of deer,
of wrens, or cranes, a skulk of foxes, or a building of rooks." He went
on to inform me that, according to Sir Anthony Fitzherbert, we ought to
ascribe to this bird "both understanding and glory; for being praised,
he will presently set up his tail chiefly against the sun, to the
intent you may the better behold the beauty thereof. But at the fall of
the leaf, when his tail falleth, he will mourn and hide himself in
corners, till his tail com