Three French Men were travelling into Spain, over the Mountains of Biscay:  One of them trundled before him a Wheelbarrow, with Implements for grinding Knives and Scissors; another carried a Load of Mouse-Traps and Bellows; and the third had a Box of Combs and Pins.  A poor Spaniard, who was travelling into France on Foot, with his Cloak on his Shoulder, met them half Way on the Ascent of a craggy Hill.  They sate down to rest in the Shade, and began to confer Notes.  They asked the Spaniard, whither he was going?  He replied, into France.  What to do? says one of the Frenchmen:  To seek my Fortune, replies the Spaniard:  He was asked again, what Trade he was of?  He answered, of no Trade at all:  of late, says he, we Spaniards have been bred to no Trades; but those of us that are poor, and honest, either beg or borrow; those, that are not, rob or cheat, as they do in other Countries.  How did you live in your own Country? says one of the Frenchmen.  Oh! says the Spaniard, very well for a while; I had a great many thousand Pistoles left me by my Ancestors.  What have you done with them? says one of the Frenchmen:  I put them into a Policy, says the Spaniard, where I was to have a great Interest for them.  And what became of that Policy? says one of the Frenchmen.  The Spaniard replied, that at first the Interest was paid, and then Things went merrily enough; but that in a little Time the Body Politick became Bankrupt, and paid neither Principal nor Interest.  And did all the Adventurers lose their Money? says one of the Frenchmen.  All, replies the Spaniard, except those that were concerned in the Management:  and is Money plenty in Spain now? says one of the Frenchmen.  Never so scarce, answers the Spaniard; for all Degrees of Men, all Artificers, and Mechanicks left off their Trades, and put their Effects into this Policy, that they might live at their Ease; and now they’re all ruined; and of all the immense Sums that were put into this damned Policy, there is not the hundredth Part to be found, and that is in the Hands of those few that cheated the rest; but whether it be sunk again into the Bowels of the Earth, or where it is gone, we cannot tell.  At this one of the French Men smiled, and told the Spaniard, he could let him into the Secret; while your Nation was in Pursuit of this imaginary Mountain of Gold, says he, and all your People neglected their Employments; we, with such Trumpery as these, have drawn away the Wealth of your Indian Mines; we sell our Ware in your Country, and carry your Money back to our own; By which Means we inrich our own Country, and impoverish yours:  Of all the Treasures that come into Spain, you enjoy only the Name; for while you are busy in Chimera’s, our Industry drains all the Treasure from you; and take this with you, that all Projects must end like the Searches for the Philosopher’s Stone, that is, in Smoke, where the Interest is paid out of the Principal Stock, and is not supported by any industrious Traffick.