have the gratification to find that my writings have made a far greater impression, and amongst a much more varied class of readers, than I at all anticipated. At the same time, I have strictly adhered to my principle before stated, of abstaining from all artificial means of forcing a circulation. Though, as far as I have touched upon political subjects, I have used equal freedom towards all parties, I have been quoted by almost every, if not every daily paper in London, as well as by many other periodicals-by some frequently and very copiously, and I take this opportunity of offering my acknowledgments for this spontaneous notice. I have the same acknowledgments to make in respect to several provincial papers, some of which have been kindly forwarded to me through unknown channels. Since my last address I have also continued to receive letters from private sources, couched in still stronger terms of approval than those I have heretofore alluded to. The demand for my work has from the beginning been steadily and progressively increasing, and I have every reason to be satisfied with my undertaking. I mention these facts, gentle reader, because, if you reflect upon them, I think they must appear to you of a gratifying nature in respect to the reception of truth and reasonableness, and because I hope they will create in you a confidence that there will be no relaxation in my efforts to preserve your good opinion. I will now give you a few particulars of a different description, which may probably be of some interest to you. After my first six numbers, all the articles till the eighteenth number inclusive, except one article on the Horrors of War, five entitled Letters from the Continent, and eight extracts from my pamphlet on Pauperism, were written as they were wanted; and in the last eight numbers every article, with the exception of the short one in praise of wine from Shakspeare, was composed within the week it was printed. Sometimes I have been driven to the last moment, and how I have got through at all, on such occasions, is to me utterly unaccountable. In my

perplexity I have taken a subject I never considered before, and written down I scarcely knew what, thinking I should be ruined, but finding to my surprise the direct reverse; for some of my moral pieces, for which I have received the most commendation, were composed in that hazardous manner, while the few articles I had by me for years, written at perfect leisure, and frequently revised, have been comparatively unnoticed. This practice of delaying to the last is a very common one, but much to be deprecated. I make continual resolutions to leave it off, but continually yield to the temptation or humour of the moment. I try to avoid invitations, but they constantly come upon me, and are seldom refused. Then come the dangers of good cheer, which I always flatter myself I shall be able to avoid, and am always deceived-not that I commit excess in the ordinary sense, but that the habits of society lead me, in spite of myself, to overstep those limits of temperance which it is absolutely necessary to observe in order to command the clear and vigorous use of the faculties. I find that by taking tea and toast with or without eggs, instead of dinner, and, when I have finished my labours, a light supper, I can work the longest, the most easily, and the most pleasantly, both at night and next morning. Dinner, according to the present system, totally incapacitates me for mental exertion for the remainder of the day, and affects me disadvantageously even after a night's rest. I owe it to myself and to you to follow that line which I know to be the best, and if I adhered altogether to what I have laid down on the subject of health, I have no doubt my numbers would exhibit proofs of the beneficial consequences. I have indeed made some progress in self-management since I began this work, and I hope to accomplish much more; but, as Portia says in the Merchant of Venice, "I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow my own teaching." My mode of composing I apprehend to be very different from what could be supposed, and from the usual

mode. I write in a bed-room at an hotel, sitting upon a cane chair, in the same dress I go out in, and with no books to refer to but the New Testament, Shakspeare, and a pocketdictionary. Now and then, when much pressed for time, and without premeditation, and with my eye upon the clock, I have written some of the short moral pieces above mentioned at the Athenæum, at the same table where others have been writing notes and letters; and sometimes I snatch an interval at my office. Moreover, most of these short pieces have been written by measure to fill up certain spaces. I write down a title, and then wait for the first sentence; then for another, and so on, without any plan, till I have got as many lines as I want, and I have generally found that the more unsatisfactory the process has been to myself, the more satisfaction I have given to others. I can only attribute my succeeding under such circumstances to the extent I am told I have done, to my formerly having read with great attention, not crammed, many of the best authors, and to my habitual cultivation for many years of the pure truth, unmixed with party feeling, or any bias whatever. The disposition and the hidden materials seem to bring me through my emergencies. I shall conclude with a tribute which I feel to be due. In former times, printers appear to have been the torment of authors; but mine are to me the reverse, for they render me every assistance, and in each individual in the office with whom I have to do, I find so complete an understanding of his business, such punctuality in execution, so much intelligence, and such a desire to accommodate me, as make what might be very irksome very agreeable. With my publisher, to whom I applied without any previous knowledge, from his contiguity to the printing-office, my business is less frequent and less urgent, but I can speak of him with equal praise; so that with readers, printers, and publisher, I consider myself altogether most fortunate.

In my first address to you I expressed a hope that we should

soon be on intimate terms. In what I have just written I have assumed that we are so, and have let my pen talk as if I were talking in person to a familiar acquaintance.

SAVINGS BANKS.

In looking over some papers, I found a little tract entitled, "Observations on the Utility and Management of Savings Banks," which I wrote a long time since in reference to the village where I first turned my attention to the subject of pauperism. Though savings banks are now well understood, which was not the case when I wrote, I subjoin a few extracts, as placing some of their advantages in a familiar point of view, and as having relation to the article in my twenty-fifth number on a bank for seamen. Some of the reasoning, too, is applicable to those who are above the condition of the classes to whom I was addressing myself.

"Should a young man of eighteen begin to save two shillings a week, and go regularly on for ten years, he would at the age of twenty-eight have in bank, reckoning his savings and the interest, about sixty pounds; the value of which, observe, consists very much in the manner of acquiring it. For suppose him to have spent those ten years, as is too commonly the case, working half his time, and drinking and idling the rest, and suppose the sum of sixty pounds to be then given him, what effect would it have? Would he not most likely drink more and work less? Does money make bad habits into good ones? It is rather like putting manure upon weeds -it only makes them ranker. But when a man has set his mind upon saving, he will almost necessarily contract such habits as will make his savings useful. He will find hard work grow easier, because it increases his gains; he will shun idleness because it stops them; he will turn away from the

alehouse, because it swallows them up; he will be content with frugal fare, because it adds to his savings, and though he may look forward to the comforts of marriage, he will be in no hurry to bring upon himself the charges of a family. Being careful himself, he will look about for some careful young woman, and they will resolve not to be married till they can furnish a house and have some money in store. This will make them doubly industrious and doubly careful, and then their savings will mount up so fast, that perhaps they will begin to have higher notions, and will put off their marriage a little longer, till they have saved enough to set up on a small farm, or in some business, where they think they can, by joining their savings, become richer, though married, than they could separate. Here marriage is indeed a blessing! The children will have advantages in education, which their parents did not possess; and though all this cannot happen to all, it is yet impossible to foresee what benefit may arise to a man and his descendants, from placing a portion of his early earnings in a savings bank. One shilling a week saved will, with the interest, amount to twenty pounds in seven years. Three shillings a week will amount to sixty pounds in the same period. If a man who earns thirty shillings a week deposits ten, he will possess at the end of five years one hundred and forty pounds; and if he should marry a female who has been able to accumulate half as much, they would together possess no less a sum than two hundred guineas to begin the world with.

"It is true that a savings bank holds out the best, prospect to those who are young and unincumbered; but almost all may derive some advantage from it—at least they may point out to their children the easy means of securing their own comfort, and it will be strange, if out of a large family, some do not prove able to assist their less fortunate parents in their old age. Teach but a child to put part of his first little earnings in the bank, and in all probability poverty will not