“You are not much altered,” said Thornberry, as he retained Endymion’s hand, and he looked at him earnestly; “and yet you have become a man. I suppose I am ten years your senior. I have never been back to the old place, and yet I sometimes think I should like to be buried there. The old man has been here, and more than once, and liked it well enough; at least, I hope so. He told me a good deal about you all; some sorrows, and, I hope, some joys. I heard of Miss Myra’s marriage; she was a sweet young lady; the gravest person I ever knew; I never knew her smile. I remember they thought her proud, but I always had a fancy for her. Well; she has married a topsawyer—I believe the ablest of them all, and probably the most unprincipled; though I ought not to say that to you. However, public men are spoken freely of. I wish to Heaven you would get him to leave off tinkering those commercial treaties that he is always making such a fuss about. More pernicious nonsense was never devised by man than treaties of commerce. However, their precious most favoured nation clause will break down the whole concern yet. But you wish to see the works; I will show them to you myself. There is not much going on now, and the stagnation increases daily. And then, if you are willing, we will go home and have a bit of lunch—I live hard by. My best works are my wife and children: I have made that joke before, as you can well fancy.”

This was the greeting, sincere but not unkind, of Job Thornberry to Endymion on the day after the meeting of the Anti–Corn-Law League. To Endymion it was an interesting, and, as he believed it would prove, a useful encounter.

The print-works were among the most considerable of their kind at Manchester, but they were working now with reduced numbers and at half-time. It was the energy and the taste and invention of Thornberry that had given them their reputation, and secured them extensive markets. He had worked with borrowed capital, but had paid off his debt, and his establishment was now his own; but, stimulated by his success, he had made a consignment of large amount to the United States, where it arrived only to be welcomed by what was called the American crash.

Turning from the high road, a walk of half a mile brought them to a little world of villas; varying in style and size, but all pretty, and each in its garden. “And this is my home,” said Thornberry, opening the wicket, “and here is my mistress and the young folks”—pointing to a pretty woman, but with an expression of no inconsiderable self-confidence, and with several children clinging to her dress and hiding their faces at the unexpected sight of a stranger. “My eldest is a boy, but he is at school,” said Thornberry. “I have named him, after one of the greatest men that ever lived, John Hampden.”

“He was a landed proprietor,” observed Endymion rather drily; “and a considerable one.”

“I have brought an old friend to take cheer with us,” continued Thornberry; “one whom I knew before any here present; so show your faces, little people;” and he caught up one of the children, a fair child like its mother, long-haired and blushing like a Worcestershire orchard before harvest time. “Tell the gentleman what you are.”

“A free-trader,” murmured the infant.

Within the house were several shelves of books well selected, and the walls were adorned with capital prints of famous works of art. “They are chiefly what are called books of reference,” said Thornberry, as Endymion was noticing his volumes; “but I have not much room, and, to tell you the truth, they are not merely books of reference to me—I like reading encyclopaedia. The ‘Dictionary of Dates’ is a favourite book of mine. The mind sometimes wants tone, and then I read Milton. He is the only poet I read—he is complete, and is enough. I have got his prose works too. Milton was the greatest of Englishmen.”

The repast was simple, but plenteous, and nothing could be neater than the manner in which it was served.

“We are teetotallers,” said Thornberry; “but we can give you a good cup of coffee.”

“I am a teetotaller too at this time of the day,” said Endymion; “but a good cup of coffee is, they say, the most delicious and the rarest beverage in the world.”

“Well,” continued Thornberry; “it is a long time since we met, Mr. Ferrars—ten years. I used to think that in ten years one might do anything; and a year ago, I really thought I had done it; but the accursed laws of this blessed country, as it calls itself, have nearly broken me, as they have broken many a better man before me.”

“I am sorry to hear this,” said Endymion; “I trust it is but a passing cloud.”

“It is not a cloud,” said Thornberry; “it is a storm, a tempest, a wreck—but not only for me. Your great relative, my Lord Roehampton, must look to it, I can tell you that. What is happening in this country, and is about to happen, will not be cured or averted by commercial treaties—mark my words.”

“But what would cure it?” said Endymion.

“There is only one thing that can cure this country, and it will soon be too late for that. We must have free exchange.”

“Free exchange!” murmured Endymion thoughtfully.

“Why, look at this,” said Thornberry. “I had been driving a capital trade with the States for nearly five years. I began with nothing, as you know. I had paid off all my borrowed capital; my works were my own, and this house is a freehold. A year ago I sent to my correspondent at New York the largest consignment of goods I had ever made and the best, and I cannot get the slightest return for them. My correspondent writes to me that there is no end of corn and bread-stuffs which he could send, if we could only receive them; but he knows very well he might as well try and send them to the moon. The people here are starving and want these bread-stuffs, and they are ready to pay for them by the products of their labour—and your blessed laws prevent them!”

“But these laws did not prevent your carrying on a thriving trade with America for five years, according to your own account,” said Endymion. “I do not question what you say; I am asking only for information.”

“What you say is fairly said, and it has been said before,” replied Thornberry; “but there is nothing in it. We had a trade, and a thriving trade, with the States; though, to be sure, it was always fitful and ought to have been ten times as much, even during those five years. But the fact is, the state of affairs in America was then exceptional. They were embarked in great public works in which every one was investing his capital; shares and stocks abounded, and they paid us for our goods with them.”

“Then it would rather seem that they have no capital now to spare to purchase our goods?”

“Not so,” said Thornberry sharply, “as I have shown; but were it so, it does not affect my principle. If there were free exchange, we should find employment and compensation in other countries, even if the States were logged, which I don’t believe thirty millions of people with boundless territory ever can be.”

“But after all,” said Endymion, “America is as little in favour of free exchange as we are. She may send us her bread-stuffs; but her laws will not admit our goods, e............