Chapter III: Part 3

The purpose of life is for refinement and improvement in some pursuit or other. This couple only lived to save money, therefore every action of theirs only tended to the accumulation of wealth; and it was a long time before they had arrived at the summit of the ART of SAVING, by absolutely denying themselves regular repasts, however coarse in quality, or scanty in quantity; for they, for a series of years, lived as sumptuously as three pounds of _sticking_ of beef, and fourteen hard dumplings, would allow for the short space of seven days; and this supply, for years, served them week after week; and though, during hot weather in summer, the meat might urge greater expedition, and fresher supplies, yet they never were observed to relinquish their daily portion, with one cold dumpling and a draught of water. Half a bullock's head, with occasionally a few stale trotters, made broth for weeks; and this was sometimes rendered more savoury by the addition of a few picked bones which he took up in his walks, and of which he daily deprived the dogs.

Their way of life suffered no variation; one uniform application of the principle of _saving_ pervaded every action of their lives, and was the constant object of every point of view. Their economical arrangements were constantly the same, save that, now and then, accident might throw something in their way, which might spare their weekly expenditure for three pounds of _sticking_. Mr. Dancer's constant and strict attention, in his walks about his grounds, sometimes afforded him a piece of delicious viand, which the hand of more dainty and more extravagant appetite had thrown aside; not so much for the sake of variety, as for the nauseous increase of smell it had acquired; which, rendering it unfit for its former owner, seemed, when picked up, to endear it the more to the parsimonious finder, who immediately calculated upon the saving it would produce to this thrifty pair in their weekly commons.

An uncommon instance of this kind occurred one summer's morning, which for many weeks discontinued the inquiries at the butcher's shop after the allowance of neck-beef; and, while it offered a change in their mode of living, gratified their darling avarice, and insatiable propensity to save money. It happened one morning, as Mr. Dancer was taking his usual walk upon the common, to pick up bones, sticks, or any bit of rag or other matter that might go towards repairing his clothes or his house, that he found a sheep, which had apparently died from natural disease, and most probably was in a putrid state. This was a rare prize for Mr. Dancer; and, incredible as it may appear, he took it up, and bore it home on his shoulder in triumph to his sister, who received it as the immediate gift of heaven, to bless their _poor souls_ with a change of food; for they had not for years tasted any thing like it; and now they were likely to feast for a great length of time uncontrolled, and at no expense neither, which was the most delicate _sauce_ that could accompany such a delicious morsel as carrion mutton to the appetite of a miser.

It was immediately skinned, and cut up, and the fat carefully laid aside, and an immense number of pies made of it, with proper seasoning; so that Mr. Dancer's house, for a while, resembled a Perigord pie-maker's shop, preparing to pack up for exportation. On these they feasted with their accustomed frugality for several weeks, until the whole were exhausted. It is even said that Miss Dancer importuned Mr. Dancer to send two handsome ones to Mr. James Taylor, the Borough usurer.

When a miser finds a treasure, he is sure to lock it up. Whether Mr. Dancer thought his sister extravagant in the indulgence of her stomach at the beginning of the _pie-feast_, or whether it was his pleasure at the thought of living at a small expense, or at the change of diet the pies supplied, he became unusually careful of them at last, and locked them up in one of his strong coffers. The truth of this, the following anecdote will illustratively supply. The neighbours one morning observing Miss Dancer rather lower spirited than usual, kindly inquired into the cause, when after some hesitation, she acknowledged, that her brother Daniel had scolded her for eating too much of the mutton pies, and told her she was very extravagant, which she observed, with tears in her eyes, was an exceeding hard case, as she loved to save as well as himself; but what vexed her more, he had locked them up in his strong trunk, in order to make them last longer, not trusting her with the key. Miss Dancer, upon the whole, seems to have been a very proper companion for her brother; for it would have been a difficult case to have matched him any where for savingness.

This couple never manifested any predilection for any mode of worship. Religion did not teach how to save money; so that whenever Mr. Dancer happened to stray into a church or meeting, which happened sometimes, in his long walks, it was only for a little rest; and he was sure to depart before the collection was to be made, as he thought the gift of a penny was parting with the seed of a guinea, which might by little and little increase to an hundred. He might indeed be deemed a Predestinarian from the following circumstance; but, as Mr. Locke observes, "Let ever so much probability hang on one side, and a covetous man's reasoning and money in the other, it is easy to foresee which will outweigh." It was during the last illness, which terminated his sister's life, that he was importuned to afford her some medical assistance; to which he shrewdly replied, it would cost him money; and, besides, continued he, "Why should I waste my money in wickedly and wantonly trying to oppose the will of God? If the girl is come to her latter end, nothing can save her; and all I may do will only tend to make me lose my money; and she may as well die now as at any other time. If I thought bleeding would recover her, I would open a vein myself; but I cannot think of paying for physic for dying people." The dread of incurring expence, and parting with his darling coin, was insurmountable. Mr. Dancer's reasoning on the conduct of Providence, even tended towards his favourite penchant--SAVE MONEY.

Perhaps never having felt the inconvenience of ill health, or, from that callosity of heart ever attendant upon the avaricious mind, he, at this period, allowed his sister, in her last exigency, but the usual portion of _sticking of beef_, with the cold hard dumpling; to which he added the miser's humanity, "If you don't like it, why, go without." But Mr. Dancer's deficiency of care was very amply supplied by the late lady Tempest, who afforded every attention and kindness necessary to the case of Miss Dancer. The latter was possessed of more than 2000l. which she intended to leave Lady Tempest for her extraordinary care of her in her last illness; but she, unfortunately for Lady Tempest, expired before she could sign a will in her favour; and her property being thus left intestate, and at the disposition of the law, her two brothers wished equally to divide it with Mr. Dancer; but to this proposal he would not agree, and obstinately refused to comply with any proposal they could make, insomuch that, after a long while persevering, and obstinately refusing to come to any agreement of participation, a law-suit followed, and Mr. Dancer recovered 1040l. of his sister's fortune, as the regular price of her board and lodging for thirty years, at thirty pounds per annum, and one hundred pounds for the last two years; for this charge he declared to be very _reasonable_, as during that time she had done nothing but _eat_ and _lie in bed_. The remainder of her fortune, after these extraordinary deductions, was equally divided between the two brothers and Mr. Dancer.

Mr. Dancer's calculations for saving money were systematical and regular; nothing escaped his attention to that sole object of his soul; and so rigid was his avarice, that he rarely washed his face or hands, because soap was dear, towels would wear out, and, besides, when dirty were expensive washing. However, to obviate the too great inconvenience of the accumulation of filth, he would, once in two or three weeks, in summer time, repair to a neighbouring pond, and there wash himself with sand, and afterwards lie on his back in the grass to dry his skin in the sunshine.

His wardrobe might very justly boast more sorts and colours, and more substances, than the paraphernalia of a strolling company of players. His stockings were so much darned, that it was difficult to discern what they were for patches; for none of the original could ever be discovered; and in dirty or cold weather, they were strongly fortified with ropes of twisted hay, for which he had a happy talent. This contrivance served him for boots; and when he declined them, he could untwist them, and they served to increase the bulk of his bed.

For many years it was his opinion that every man ought to be his own cobbler; and for this employ he had a lucky genius, which he indulged so far as to keep by him the most necessary tools for mending shoes; but these, it must impartially be observed, cost him nothing; for he had borrowed one at a time from different persons until he had possessed himself of a complete set, and with these he mended his own shoes so admirably, that what he wore, by the frequent jobs and coverings they had received from his thrifty hands, had become so ponderous, that running a race in them would have been impracticable; and, besides, their dimensions were so much enlarged, that they resembled hog-troughs more than shoes. To keep these upon his feet, he took several yards of cord, which he twisted round his ancles in the manner the ancient Romans wore their sandals.

Linen was a luxury to which, notwithstanding his avaricious disposition, he was not quite a stranger; for at an early period of his saving career, he used to buy two shirts annually; but for some years previous to his death, he never allowed himself more than one, for which he would constantly bestow at some old clothes shop two shillings and sixpence; and was never but once known to go to so _handsome_ a price as three shillings. After it had got into his possession, it never underwent the necessary operation either of washing or mending; upon his back it was doomed to perpetual slavery until it fell off in rags. Hence it cannot be doubted, nor will it surprise the reader to be told, that, notwithstanding Mr. Dancer's peculiarity of disposition induced him to shun the world, he never was without a numerous retinue about him, whose lively spirit, and attachment to his person, made his acquaintance, as well as his neighbours, extremely cautious of approaching him.

After his sister's death, a pair of sheets, as black as soot bags, were discovered upon the bed; but these he would never suffer to be removed; and when they were worn out, were never replaced; so that after that time he relinquished the use of linen to sleep in.

He would not allow any one to make his bed, though Lady Tempest often solicited him to permit it; and for many years his room was never swept. Towards the time of his death, it was observed to be filled with sticks, which he had stolen out of the different hedges. A considerable quantity of odd shapen gravel stones were also found in a bag, but for what use these were intended is unknown.

The report of his riches, and the idea of its concealment about the house, once brought a troop of house-breakers, who very easily entered, and, without any search-warrant, rummaged every corner of the place; but although this domiciliary visit cost the lives of some of them, they took away but little property. Old Dancer had been long on his guard; and his mode of hiding was so peculiar to himself, that the grand object of the thieves was never discoverable by them. Mr. Dancer concealed his treasure where no one could ever think of seeking for it. Bank notes were usually deposited with the spiders; they were hid amongst the cobwebs in the cow-house; and guineas in holes in the chimney, and about the fire-place, covered with soot and ashes. Soon after the robbery, when the thieves were apprehended, and to be tried, it being very necessary that Mr. Dancer should attend the trial, Lady Tempest requested that in order to appear a little decent, he would change his shirt, and she would lend him a clean one. "No, no," he replied, "it is not necessary. The shirt I have on is quite _new_; I bought it only three weeks ago, and then it was clean."

His extreme love of money overcame every other consideration; and to this idol, Mammon, he even sacrificed brotherly affection. From the evident want of this principle, and to his attachment to gain, may be accounted his strange behaviour, as before related, to his sister at her latter end. But in one singular instance, and to the canine species too, he seemed, in some measure, to forego his favourite idea of saving. This was a dog, of which he was extremely fond, and which he called by the familiar appellation of, _Bob my child_. His treatment of this animal affords an instance of that inconsistency of human acting, which philosophy seeks in vain to account for.

While his self-denial was so severe that he denied himself a penny loaf a day, and existed entirely upon Lady Tempest's pot liquor and scraps from her kitchen, of which he would cram so greedily, that he was frequently under the necessity of rolling himself upon the floor before he could go to sleep, he allowed this dog, he called Bob, a pint of milk daily; and this he paid for as it was constantly supplied by a neighbouring farmer, when he had parted with his farming stock, and had not one cow left.

Once upon a time a complaint being made to him that his dog Bob had worried some of his neighbour's sheep, he took the dog to a farrier's shop, and had all his teeth filed down.

For this barbarous action he never gave any reason; possibly it might be to prevent the like again; as he might shrewdly guess, that any further damage from his dog's mischievous manner might bring expenses upon him, as he was certainly liable to be compelled to pay them.

His sister being dead, and finding himself lonesome, he hired a man for his companion; and in his choice he shewed much discernment; for his man Griffiths was a proper counterpart of himself--both miserable alike. When they went out, they took different roads, though both followed the same occupation; only that the servant indulged more taste for strong beer; a liquor which Mr. Dancer carefully avoided, as costing money; but Griffiths would tipple a little, which was the cause of much altercation at night when these _saving_ souls met. However, Griffiths generally came loaded with bones, some of which having some fragments of flesh on, served to heighten their repast, and quieted the master's impending storm. This fellow had, by as severe parsimony as that exercised by Mr. Dancer, contrived to accumulate 500l. out of wages which had never exceeded 10l. per annum. At the time he lived with Mr. Dancer, he was upwards of sixty, and hired himself to him for _eighteen pence a week_. Every trait of so singular a character is interesting. Mr. Dancer having occasion to come to London one day for the purpose of investing _two thousand_ pounds in the funds, a gentleman, who did not _know_ him, met him near the Royal Exchange, and mistaking him for a beggar, charitably slipped a penny into his hands. Jemmy Taylor, the Borough usurer, who stood by, was a little surprised; but Mr. Dancer seemed to understand the gentleman very well; and observing to Taylor, _every little helps_, he pocketed the half-pence, and walked on. Perhaps he might consider this penny as the seed or a pound, to which it might attain by gentle gradations; and as the human mind is always pleased with prospects of what it wishes, Mr. Dancer might contemplate this penny multiplying itself progressively, until it arrived at thousands; for, as Lord Chesterfield observes, _take care of the pence, and the pounds will take care of themselves_. In fact, the truth is, that wealth is at first acquired by very minute particles: small sums are the semina of great ones, and may very aptly be compared to seconds of time, which generate years, centuries, and even eternity itself.

Lady Tempest was the only person who had any influence over this unfortunate miser; and though she knew his fortune was at last to devolve to her and Captain Holmes, yet she, with that gentleman, with the utmost solicitude, employed every contrivance to make him partake of those conveniences and indulgences, which his fortune could supply, and which his advanced years required; but all their entreaties were without effect. "Where was he to get the money? How could he afford it? If it was not for some charitable assistance, how could he live?" One day, however, this lady, with a great deal of persuasion, prevailed upon him to purchase a hat, which he did at last, of a Jew, for a shilling, having worn the one he then possessed upwards of fourteen years; but yet it was too good in his eye to throw away. When Lady Tempest visited him the next time, she, to her great astonishment, perceived him still with his old hat on. On importuning him for the reason, he at last told her, that, after much solicitation, he had prevailed on his OLD MAN GRIFFITHS to give him SIXPENCE profit upon the hat he had purchased, by her desire, of the Jew, a few days before.

To those who cannot exist without every conveniency in life, and even without every artificial appendage to luxury, let them turn to this old miser, worth more than THREE THOUSAND pounds per annum, who, for the sake of making that sum still more, foregoes even that superlative comfort, a fire in winter time! Ye spendthrifts, read this anecdote and blush.

Mr. Dancer had arrived at his 78th year before he felt any serious cause of complaint to call in a doctor. His antipathy to the medical tribe has been already mentioned; therefore it was in vain to advise him to take any medicine, even when there was a necessity for it.

During the illness which terminated this miserable man's misspent life, in the 78th year of his age, in the month of October 1794, Lady Tempest accidentally called upon him, and found him lying in an old sack, which came up to his chin, and his head wrapped up in pieces of the same materials as big as a bee-hive. On her remonstrating against the impropriety of such a situation, he observed, that being a _very poor man_, he could not afford better; and having come into the world without a shirt, he was determined to go out in the same manner.

His opinion of the professors of physic was rather singular, and seemed to border upon predestination. To use his own language, the _medical tinkers_ were all a set of rogues; who, while they patched up one hole, always contrived to make ten, for a better job; but he allowed of the utility of surgery in repairing accidental fractures.

His prejudice against the whole tribe of lawyers was determined in the extreme. Indeed, his inveteracy was the result of strongly feeling the effects of their chicanery; and his aversion to this class of men was so great, that he would even forego his own interest to gratify his resentment, as the following anecdote will prove.

Having, as was usually his half yearly custom, agreed with an old clothes-woman for a shirt for half a crown, as he thought, the dealer called at his house, and left him one worth three shillings; but for which he refused to pay any more than his original agreement of 2s. 6d. Notwithstanding the party urged the goodness and the fineness of the article, Mr. Dancer was impenetrable; and no more than the half-crown would he pay; which the woman as peremptorily refusing, at last applied to the court of Requests of the district, to which he was obliged to repair, although it cost him fivepence on the journey for bread and cheese, and the cost of hearing, &c. in all upwards of four shillings and sixpence. This had such an effect on Mr. Dancer's mind, that he ever afterwards held the lawyers in abhorrence; for to give, or pay, were not to be found in his vocabulary. Addition and multiplication were his favourite rules, and usury was the foundation of his good deeds.

Though Mr. Dancer, by his spirit of covetousness, debased himself in this sordid manner, yet he kept a mare, for which he showed a great partiality; but he never allowed her more than two shoes at one time, deeming it an unnecessary expense to shoe the hind feet of the animal; and he used to say, it was more pleasant for a horse to feel the naked grass, than to be confined in unnatural shoes.

Mr. Dancer was the most perfect picture of human penury that perhaps ever existed, and the most singular character that ever lived; his habits were those of an hermit, and his extreme avarice rendered him as abstemious as any ascetic of the desert.

In this manner lived, and in this situation died, Daniel Dancer, Esquire, a monumental proof to the world, that the advantages of fortune, unless properly directed, will not make their possessor happy. Lady Tempest, it ought to be observed here, had but a very short enjoyment of the great accession of wealth she acquired by this miser's death; for she contracted an illness during her attendance upon Mr. Dancer's last hours, that in a few months closed the period of her own life, which happened in January, 1795.

The house, or rather the heap of ruins, in which Mr. Dancer lived, and which, at his death, devolved to the right of Captain Holmes, was a most miserable decayed building, frightful and terrific in its outside appearance; for it had not been repaired for more than half a century. But though poor in external appearance, the ruinous fabric was very rich in the interior. It took many weeks to explore its whole contents; and Captain Holmes and Lady Tempest found it a very agreeable task to dive into the miser's secrets. One of the late Mr. Dancer's richest scrutoires was found to be a dung-heap in the cow-house; a sum little short of £2500 was contained in this rich piece of manure; and in an old jacket, carefully tied, and strongly nailed down to the manger, in bank-notes and gold, five hundred pounds more.

Several large bowls, filled with guineas, half-guineas, and quantities of silver, were discovered, at different times, in searching the corners of the house; and various parcels of bank-notes stuffed under the covers of old chairs and cushions. In the stable the Captain found some jugs of dollars and shillings. It was observable, that Mr. Dancer used to visit this place in the dead of the night; but for what purpose even old Griffiths himself could not guess; but it is supposed, it was to rob one jug to add to a bowl which he had buried, and was nearly full, when taken up from under one of the hearth tiles.

The chimney was not left unsearched, and paid very well for the trouble; for in nineteen different holes, all filled with soot, were found various sums of money, amounting together to more than 200l. Bank-notes to the value of 600l. were found doubled up in the bottom of an old tea-pot. Over these was a bit of paper, whimsically inscribed, "Not to be too hastily looked over."

Mr. Dancer's principal acquaintance, and the most congenial companion of his soul, was the penurious Jemmy Taylor, of the Borough of Southwark. This genius became acquainted with him accidentally at the Stock Exchange, where they chanced to meet to transact some money affairs: and they often visited each other afterwards; for it was a certain satisfaction to each to edify by the other's experience. No doubt their conversation ran much upon refinements in _hard living_; for Jemmy was as rigid an ascetic as the other, though he did not go quite in so beggarly a style.

FINIS.

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Transcriber's note:

Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed.

The Table of Contents was not present in the original text and has been produced for the reader's convenience.