former command of temper. For six weeks previous to his death, he went to rest in his clothes, as dressed during the day: he was one morning found fast asleep between the sheets, with his shoes on his feet, his stick in his hand, and an old torn hat on his head. On November 18, he showed signs of total debility, which carried him to his grave in eight days. His appetite was gone; he had but a faint recollection of anything about him, and the last intelligible words he uttered were addressed to his son John, hoping "he had left him what he wished." On the morning of the 26th of November, he expired without a sigh, leaving property to the amount of about 800,000%. he bequeathed to his sons half a million; and the remainder, consisting of entailed estates, devolved to his grandnephew, Mr. Timms, son of Lieut.-Colonel Timms. Till within a short time of his decease, Mr. Elwes exhibited the fine head of an old man, in the style of one of Rembrandt's paintings. In his long life, whatever Cervantes or Molière pictured of avarice might be realized or surpassed in Elwes, but with the paramount quality-the redeeming virtue-of unshaken integrity.

Two remarkable clerical Misers are worthy of note. The Rev. John Trueman, of Daventry, possessed an income of about 4007. per annum, clear; and, by his self-denying management of it, he contrived to leave behind him 50,000l. There were few things too mean for him to do in order to save money: he would visit the different farmhouses in his parish, and steal turnips out of the fields as he passed along. He would then beg a bit of bacon to boil with them. In calling at farmhouses, he sometimes got an invitation to remain all night. Sometimes he would quarter himself without any invitation whatever; and in the room in which he slept, he was known to steal the red-coloured and other worsted out of the corners of the blankets, which he took away with him to darn his stockings.

The Rev. Mr. Jones, Curate of Blewberry, seems to have been even more parsimonious than Elwes. He had no servant, the whole of his household duties being performed by himself. He held his office forty-three years. The same hat and coat served him for his every-day dress during the whole of that period! The brim of his hat had on one side been worn off quite to the crown, but on coming one day across the fields, he met with an old left-off hat, stuck up for a scare

crow. He immediately secured the prize, and with some tartwine, substituted as thread, and a piece of the brim, repaired the deficiencies of his beloved old hat, and ever after wore it, although the old crown was quite brown, and the new brim black as jet. His stockings were also washed and mended by himself, and some of them had scarcely a vestige of the original worsted. He had a great store of new shirts, which had never been worn; but, for many years, his stock in use was circumscribed to one; his parsimony would not permit him to have this washed more than once in two or three months. He always slept without his shirt, that it might not want washing too often, and by that means be worn out; and he always went without one while it was washed, and very frequently at other times, and, as fast as it required to be patched in the body, he ingeniously supplied it by cuttings from the tail then, he was often seen roaming about the churchyard, to pick up bits of stick, or busily lopping his shrubs or fruit trees, to make his fire, while his wood-house was crammed with wood and coal, which he could not prevail on himself to use. In very cold weather, he would get by some neighbour's fire, to warm his shivering limbs; and when evening came, retire to bed for warmth, but generally without a candle, as he allowed himself only the small bits left of those provided for divine service in the church. He was never known to keep dog, cat, or any other living creature; the whole expenses of his house, for the last twenty years of his life, did not amount to half-a-crown a week; and, as his fees exceeded that sum, he always saved the whole of his yearly salary, which never was more than fifty pounds per annum.

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The eccentric French miser Dubois combined a love of ostentatious display with intense covetousness. Mr. Cyrus Redding, in his very interesting account of Misers, tells us that among Dubois's property, by inheritance, was much rich plate, and articles of furniture in excellent taste. His costly sideboard of silver was every day placed in order, as if some splendid entertainment were intended to be given; and he was flattered when any one calling at his house, and being designedly led through his salle-à-manger about the usual dinner-hour, applauded the splendour there laid out. The silver dishes were borne on and off the table, while he was at dinner, as if the covers concealed the best meals, and being

carried through a waiting-room for strangers, on their way back to the pantry or kitchen, gave an idea of that kind of greatness of which their owner was desirous of producing the impression. In the midst of all this empty show and secret meanness, Dubois dined on a few cheap vegetables and a bit of pork or mutton, brought on dishes and covers that mocked the eye of the stranger; for at dinner or supper all was laid out with the same array of plate. Silver dishes contained a single egg or a few olives, accompanied with a glass of poor weak wine. These composed his meal, the miserable fragments of which he would have saved or duly accounted for, and preserved towards the next day's potage. Six noble silver candlesticks were brought into the saloon every evening, and the lights were displayed during the presence of a visitor, but extinguished at the moment of his departure. Then the great man repaired to his bedroom, which was lit with a miserable little taper that only served to throw a dingy light upon the surrounding gloom. When going out, his servants, ill-fed ordinarily, and plainly dressed, attended their master to the seat of justice, or to the court, in fine liveries. These were taken off on returning home, in order to preserve their splendid appearance, and prevent them from being soiled. Dubois, fearing his nearest relation would squander his wealth if he bequeathed it to him, preferred leaving it to a thrifty cousin, who won the niggard's heart by writing to him on a quarter of a sheet of paper. "I will make him my heir," said he, "for he knows how to prevent waste. What would be the use of a whole sheet of paper, when he can say all upon this slip? This is no disrespect to me; he is a good economist, and he shall be my heir."

Ostervald, the Parisian banker, when he set out in life, was accustomed to drink a pint of beer for supper daily, at a tavern, whence he would take away with him all the bottlecorks he could lay hands on. Of such corks, in about eight years, he collected as many as sold for 12 louis d'ors. With this sum the banker laid the foundation of his splendid fortune, gained for the most part by stock-jobbing; he left, in French money, three millions of francs. A few days prior to his death, in 1790, he resisted the importunities of his attendant to purchase some meat for the purpose of making a little soup for him. "True, I should like the soup," he said, "but I have no appetite for the meat; and what is to become of

that? It will be a sad waste." The poor wretch died possessed of 125,000l.

Here is a tragical story, reminding one of the legend of Ginevra. Foscue, a farmer-general of Languedoc, had a vault made in his wine-cellar, so large that he could descend into it himself by means of a ladder. At the entrance there was a spring-lock which would cause a trap-door to shut, and it could not be opened except on the outside. Foscue was one day found missing, and every search after him proved to be vain. His ponds were dragged, and all other means taken to discover him. He was given over for lost, and his property duly disposed of. His house was soon afterwards sold. The purchaser being about to make some alterations in it, the workmen discovered the vault in the cellar, and the key in the lock outside. It was opened, and on descending, Foscue was found lying dead on the ground, with a candlestick near him, but no candle, for that it appeared he had eaten. On looking round they discovered his enormous treasure of heavy bags of gold, and large chests of untold wealth. It was supposed that, when he went down into his vault, the door had by some accident closed after him, and being beyond all hearing of his fellow-creatures, he had perished of hunger.

An old woman at Dorchester kept a huckster's shop, and in the latter days of her life formed hangings to her bed of one pound bank notes. These were delicately gummed to curtains of calico; and so the old woman slept and dreamed in an atmosphere of money. She was found dead surrounded by her treasures, and a clause was found in her will, directing that one of her favourite notes should be placed under her head in her coffin.

The story of Miss Elizabeth Bolaine, of Canterbury, a ladymiser in the last century, is thus told by Mr. Redding :

"In early womanhood, Miss Bolaine was not unprepossessing, and had several offers of marriage, which she managed to turn to saving account. Thus, she induced some to defray the expenses of her different entertainments, which she called treats.' She accepted the attention of a gentleman at Faversham, who tempted her with a coach-and-four, but she jilted him. Her next lover, a lawyer, from Canterbury, won her affections, and a bond for 2007., which she was to forfeit if she did not keep her promise. But she relented; and to recover possession of the bond, she simulated increased affec

tion in order to obtain her object, and even made a pretended attempt at suicide in furtherance of her plan, until at last, she having fixed the day and even the hour for their marriage, the lover, in the weakness of his passion, gave her up the bond. The minister was in waiting, the poor deluded bridegroom in attendance; but the bride did not appear.

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"Miss Bolaine also received the visits of a Mr. Bwhom she consented to live, and, when there was any occasion, to adopt his name. He suited her exactly-could wash, iron, sweep the house, and eat a mouldy crust, or tainted meat, for he too was a miser. He invented a new species of very economical fuel, which much recommended him to her. In making this fire he placed cabbage-stalks from the garden, and dead boughs of bushes between grass-turf, laying the latter stratum super stratum, so as to prevent the consumption from being too rapid. The produce of the garden was sold, and Mr. B- was the gardener, working in rags-Miss Bolaine only permitting him to eat the decaying fruit.

"Mrs. B- as she called herself, volunteered to knit stockings for neighbours and friends, and sometimes tendered them assistance with her own hands, but was unluckily detected in charging three farthings an ounce more for the worsted than she had actually paid for it.

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"At length the worthy pair, Mr. and Mrs. Ba carriage, which the owner appears to have painted and decorated himself. A couple of cart-horses were purchased, and a left-off suit of drummer's clothes formed the coachman's livery. The coachman was said to have been a mendicant. The expense of keeping the vehicle was met by letting it out occasionally for hire. The owner himself and his partner together fed the horses; but upon a scale so moderate, that the animals could not have been excelled in leanness by Pharaoh's attenuated kine."1

Not a few misers have carried their penury into the arrangements for their interment. Edward Nokes, of Hornchurch, by his own direction, was buried in this curious fashion :-A short time before his death, which he hastened by the daily indulgence in nearly a quart of spirits, he gave a strict charge that his coffin should not have a nail in it, which was actually adhered to, the lid being made fast with

1 Reminding one of "Starvation Farm," at Islington, where a foreign baron kept his emaciated stock.