Stretton by Henry Kingsley

Roland and James were safe at Belpore, sleepily wondering at the wonderous temple which rises from the edge of the lake, and Eddy was on the broad sea following them, when there took place, at Pulverbatch Grange, a great corroborree, or palaver, of which it now becomes necessary for me to give an account.

Miss Evans usually was very sweet-tempered, and was accustomed to sleep the sleep of the just, particularly after a good day's market in Shrewsbury. She had had a good day's market that day. She had watched the prices, had in the "steamer, " thrashed out three ricks, and sold at 60s., which, as she remarked, would do for those who had no rent to pay. "Why!" she said, as she was riding home on her cob alone, rubbing her nose, "it was only 76s. in Berlin, in 1806: and they did well by it. I wish, though, that we had the prices of 1801 and 1812. Fancy getting 140s. What cottages I'd build--what schools I would have." She was a Radical, in her way, and a great professed admirer of the late Mr. Cobden. Still, given a farm of 700 acres, and 240, or thereabouts, of them in wheat every year, 140s. becomes very tempting. Few farmers are free-traders in corn in their hearts. They hanker after the flesh-pots of Egypt. They have been out-talked and out-argued, and are glad to hold their tongues; but any one who fancies that love for protection is dead will be deceiving himself utterly.