absorbed train of thought, part pecuniary, part ambitious.

Leonard found the book interesting: it was one of the numerous works,
half-statistic, half-declamatory, relating to the condition of the
working classes, which peculiarly distinguish our century, and ought to
bind together rich and poor, by proving the grave attention which modern
society bestows upon all that can affect the welfare of the last.

"Dull stuff! theory! claptrap!" said Richard, rousing himself from his
revery at last; "it can't interest you."

"All books interest me, I think," said Leonard, "and this especially; for
it relates to the working class, and I am one of them."

"You were yesterday, but you mayn't be to-morrow," answered Richard,
good-humouredly, and patting him on the shoulder. "You see, my lad, that
it is the middle class which ought to govern the country. What the book
says about the ignorance of country magistrates is very good; but the man
writes pretty considerable trash when he wants to regulate the number of
hours a free-born boy should work at a factory,--only ten hours a day--
pooh! and so lose two hours to the nation! Labour is wealth; and if we
could get men to work twenty-four hours a day, we should be just twice
as rich. If the march of civilization is to proceed," continued Richard,
loftily, "men, and boys too, must not lie a bed doing nothing, all night,
sir." Then, with a complacent tone, "We shall get to the twenty-four
hours at last; and, by gad, we must, or we sha'n't flog the Europeans as
we do now."

On arriving at the inn at which Richard had first made acquaintance with
Mr. Dale, the coach by which he had intended to perform the rest of the