There they are then, safe in London; a famous stock of bank-notes, so well executed that no human being except the Bank people would be able to discover the counterfeit.  The agent takes a parcel at a time, and drops them in the street in the dark.  This work he carries on for a week or two in such streets as are best calculated for the purpose, till he has well stocked the town.  He may do the same at Portsmouth and other great towns if he please, and he may send off large supplies by post.

Now, Jack, suppose you were up at London with your master’s waggon.  You might find a parcel of notes.  You would go to the first shop to buy your wife a gown and your children some clothes, yourself a hat, a greatcoat, and some shoes.  The rest you would lay out at shops on the road home; for the sooner you got rid of this foundal, the less chance of having it taken from you.  The shopkeepers would thank you for your custom, and your wife’s heart would bound with joy.

The notes would travel about most merrily.  At last they would come to the Bank.  The holders would lose them; but you would gain by them.  So that, upon the whole, there would be no loss, and the maker of the notes would have no gain.  Others would find, and nearly all would do like you.  In a few days the notes would find their way to the Bank in great numbers, where they would all be stopped.  The news would spread abroad.  The thieftakers would be busy.  Every man who had had his note stopped at the Bank would alarm his neighbourhood.  The country would ring with the news.  Nobody would take a bank-note.  All business would be at a stand.  The farmers would sell no corn for bank-notes.  The millers would have nothing else to pay with.  No markets, because no money.  The baker would be able to get no flour.  He could sell no bread, for nobody would have money to pay him.

Jack, this thing will assuredly take place.  Mind, I tell you so.  I have been right in my predictions on former occasions; and I am not wrong now.  I beg you to believe me; or, at any rate, to blame yourself if you lose by such an event.  In the midst of this hubbub what will you do?  Farmer Gripe will, I daresay, give you something to eat for your labour.  But what will become of your five pounds?  That sum you have in the Savings Bank, and as you are to have it out at any time when you please, your wife sets off to draw it.  The banker gives her a five-pound note.  She brings it; but nobody will take it of you for a pig, for bread, for clothing, or for anything else!  And this, Jack, will be the fate of all those who shall be weak enough to put their money into those banks!