privileged season of commune with God; a loving day of social happiness
for home and home ties. And yet, strange to say, it is, to some, the
most hurried, uncomfortable, disagreeable day of all the seven.

Mrs. Channing's breakfast hour was nine o'clock on ordinary days, made
thus late for the sake of convenience. On Sundays it was half-past
eight. Discipline and training had rendered it easy to observe rules at
Mr. Channing's; or, it may be better to say, it had rendered them
difficult to be disobeyed. At half-past eight all were in the
breakfast-room, dressed for the day. When the hour for divine service
arrived, they had only to put on their hats and bonnets to be ready for
it. Even old Judy was grand on a Sunday morning. Her mob-cap was of
spotted, instead of plain net, and her check apron was replaced by a
white one.

With great personal inconvenience, and some pain--for he was always
worse in the morning--Mr. Channing would on that day rise to breakfast.
It had been his invariable custom to take the reading himself on
Sunday--the little time he devoted to religion--and he was unwilling to
break through it. Breakfast over, it was immediately entered upon, and
would be finished by ten o'clock. He did not preach a sermon; he did
not give them much reading; it was only a little homely preparation for
the day and the services they were about to enter upon. Very unwise had
it been of Mr. Channing, to tire his children with a private service
before the public service began.

Breakfast, on these mornings, was always a longer meal than usual.
There was no necessity to hurry over it, in order to hasten to the
various occupations of every-day life. It was taken leisurely, amidst
much pleasant, social converse.