ushden, and the entertaining author of "What I remember,"
was, at the time of Waterloo, the expected heir to Julians, and of
Adolphus Meetkerke, Esq., the then head of the family. Young Trollope
visited Rushden as a boy and gives us a graphic picture of family life,
Church services, and the squire of the village {123} playing the part
of Sir Roger de Coverley. The house-keeping at Julians, we are told,
was in the hands of "Mrs. Anne," an old maiden sister of the squire,
who, though a prim, precise little woman, sometimes came down to
breakfast a little late, "to find her brother standing on the
hearth-rug, with his prayer-book open in his hand, waiting for her
arrival to begin prayers to the assembled household. He had a
wonderfully strong rasping voice, the tones of which were rarely
modulated under any circumstances. I can hear now his reverberating,
'Five minutes too late again, Mrs. Anne' 'Dearly beloved brethren,'
etc.; the change of person addressed, and of subject having been marked
by no pause or break whatever, save the sudden kneeling at the head of
the breakfast table; while at the conclusion of the short, but never
missed prayers, the transition from 'Amen,' to 'William, bring round
the brown mare after breakfast,' was equally unmarked by pause for
change of voice or manner."

To this is added a glimpse of the villagers assembled in Church under
the ministry of the Rev. Mr. Skinner. "Whether there was any clerk or
not I do not remember," says Mr. Trollope, "but if any such official
existed, the performance of his office in Church was not only overlaid
but extinguished by the great rough 'view-holloa' sort of voice of my
uncle. He never missed going to Church, and never missed a word of the
responses, which were given in far louder tones than those of the
Vicar. Something of a hymn was always attempted, I remember, by the
rustic congregation; with what sort of musical effect may be imagined.
* * * * But the singers were so well pleased with the exercise that
they were apt to prolong it, as my uncle thought, somewhat unduly, and
on such occasions he would cut the performance short with a rasping
'That's enough!' which effectually brought it to an abrupt conclusion.
The very short sermon * * * having been brought to an end, my uncle
would sing out to the Vicar, as he was descending the pulpit stairs,
'Come up to dinner, Skinner!' and then we all marched out while the
rustics, still retaining their place