It is presumed by philosophers, that the most important study for the
improvement of mankind is MAN; and this knowledge cannot be more
profitably acquired, than in perusing those true examples of human
life, recorded in the vicissitudes and incidents which biography
presents impartially to the mind, with the direction of truth for
their application to the purposes of our own lives and actions, for
imitation or abhorrence.
In this view, however elevated or depressed the hero of the piece may
be, some useful instruction may still be gained, as we find ourselves
more or less interested in his transactions. In relating the splendid
actions of ambitious heroes, little is offered that can be adopted or
imitated by the most numerous class of society; but in detailing the
events concomitant with the most miserable penury, a lesson is
produced fraught with wisdom, the chief purport of which is to show in
what estimation riches are in the eyes of God, who wisely and equally
condemns to human distress, the miser that scrapes, and the spendthrift
that scatters.
Avarice, the most degrading of all passions to the understanding, and
the most deleterious to our happiness, exhibits a humiliating picture
of human nature, and most impressively illustrates the undeniable
truth, that wealth cannot grant ease to its possessor; but, on the
contrary, fills him with the most alarming fears for the safety of
this imaginary good, and naturally suggests the most consolatory
reflection to forbearing poverty, whose unequal share in the
distribution of wealth is more than counterbalanced by the comparison.
With this view is here presented to the public, the following exact
particulars of the most remarkable instances of the misery which is
ever attendant upon the mind cursed with the insanity of saving. It
appears by the parish register, that Mr. Daniel Dancer was born in the
year 1716, and was the eldest of four children, three sons and a
daughter. His father lived on Harrow-Weald Common, near Harrow on the
Hill, where he possessed property to a very considerable amount, and
which his son, by the most determined and whimsical abstemiousness,
increased to upwards of three thousand pounds per annum.
The years of his minority probably passed unnoticed, as nothing is
recorded of him in his youth that might indicate the singularity and
propensity to _save_, which so peculiarly distinguished his maturer
years; but a detail of his actions is now offered to the world, as the
most perfect examples of _saving knowledge_, and how misery may be
multiplied by self-denial, for the purpose of accumulating useless
riches.
Mr. Dancer, as before observed, had a sister, whose disposition to
reserve perfectly accorded with his own; and, as they lived together
many years, their stories are necessarily connected, and will furnish,
in the sequel, the most melancholy and degrading instance of the
infirmity and folly of human nature.
The daily appearance of this lady abroad, when it happened that
necessity or condescension drew her out, exhibited the most perfect
resemblance of one of the witches in former times: for it is certain,
that had not philosophy, and the extension of knowledge, long ago
banished the belief in witchcraft, Miss Dancer had certainly been
taken up by the witch-finders, and most probably burned for her
acquaintance with poverty, which made her appear in such a
questionable form, that even the sagacious Matthew Hopkins,
witch-hunter to King James, might have mistaken this bundle of rags
for a correspondent with familiar spirits; for her appearance might,
with justice, be pronounced not to be of this fashionable world.
Her accoutrements were usually a mixture of male with female
paraphernalia, tied round with a raveling of hemp; for even in this
part of attire she studied how to make one cord last long by
untwisting it to make it go farther; and, thus equipped, she would
sally forth, armed with a broomstick or pitchfork, to check the
progress of such daring marauders as had the audacity to intrude upon
her brother's grounds; on which occasion her neighbours observed she
had more the appearance of a walking dunghill than one of the fair
sex.
The miserable hovel in which this parsimonious and uniform pair took
up their earthly residence was perfectly of a piece with themselves.
Like Drake's ship, it had suffered so much by repair, and still wanted
so much, that a bit of the original building could scarcely be
distinguished by the most diligent antiquarian; for there was not one
article of moveables which can be mentioned, but had, at one time or
another, been nailed to some part of the mansion, either to keep out
the weather, or, which Mr. and Miss Dancer deemed more troublesome,
the neighbouring feline species, which, strange to declare, often
ventured into this house of famine, lured, no doubt, by the inviting
scent of the vermin within, some of which species often had the
temerity to dispute the antiquity of their right of possession; for it
cannot be supposed that this saving pair could think of the
extravagance of keeping a cat, who daily denied themselves the natural
call of appetite.
A neighbour going in one day, found Mr. Dancer pulling some nails out
of the sides of his bellows; and, upon asking him the reason, he
replied, that wanting some nails to fasten a piece of leather to a
hole which time had effected in the boarding of the house, he thought
he could spare some out of this useful piece of furniture, which would
save buying; observing, that undertakers, trunk-makers, and
bellows-makers, were the most extravagant and wasteful fellows in the
world in their profusion of nails.
Miss Dancer's disposition exactly corresponded with his own; and she
lived, or rather vegetated, in this delightful mansion, winter and
summer, making each season keep pace with her frugal maxims; for out
of a _little_ she had learned to _spare_, as extravagance was in her
opinion the most unpardonable fault.
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.
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
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.