ropose to select a series of anecdotes, arranged by dates, which will
convey a fuller and more detailed notion of the romance and the
vicissitudes of banking life.

The Bank was first established (says Francis) in Mercers' Hall, and
afterwards in Grocers' Hall, since razed for the erection of a more
stately structure. Here, in one room, with almost primitive simplicity,
were gathered all who performed the duties of the establishment. "I
looked into the great hall where the Bank is kept," says the graceful
essayist of the day, "and was not a little pleased to see the directors,
secretaries, and clerks, with all the other members of that wealthy
corporation, ranged in their several stations according to the parts
they hold in that just and regular economy."

Mr. Michael Godfrey, to whose exertions, with those of William Paterson,
may be traced the successful establishment of the Bank, met with a
somewhat singular fate, on the 17th of July, 1695. At that time the
transmission of specie was difficult and full of hazard, and Mr. Godfrey
left his peaceful avocations to visit Namur, then vigorously besieged by
the English monarch. The deputy-governor, willing to flatter the King,
anxious to forward his mission, or possibly imagining the vicinity of
the Sovereign to be the safest place he could choose, ventured into the
trenches. "As you are no adventurer in the trade of war, Mr. Godfrey,"
said William, "I think you should not expose yourself to the hazard of
it." "Not being more exposed than your Majesty," was the courtly reply,
"should I be excusable if I showed more concern?" "Yes," returned
William; "I am in my duty, and therefore have a more reasonable claim to
preservation." A cannon-ball at this moment answered the "reasonable
claim to preservation" by killing Mr. Godfrey; and it requires no great
stretch of imagination to fancy a saturnine smile passing over the
countenance of the monarch, as he beheld the fate of the citizen who
paid so heavy a penalty for playing the courtier in the trenches of
Namur.

On the 31st of August, 1731, a scene was presented which strongly marks
the infatuation and ignorance of lottery adventurers. The tickets for
the State lottery were delivered out to the subscribers at the Bank of
England; when the crowd becoming so great as to obstruct the clerks,
they told them, "We deliver blanks to-day, but to-morrow we shall
deliver the prizes;" upon which many, who were by no means for blanks,
r