McG I L L
UNIVER-
SITY ^
LIBRARY
t
THE
STRANGE AND UNACCOUNTABLE
LIFE
OP
DANIEL DANCER,
ESQUIRE,
WHO DIED IN A SACK,
Though worth upwards of £3000 a Year.
TO WHICH IS NOW ADDED,
THE ECCENTRIC HISTORY
OF
©12©©^ IB (D & A U ^ 3fo
Late of CANTERBURY:
Remarkable for Avarice, Vice, Meanness, and Singular Way
of Life.
LONDON:
Printed for Thomas Hughes, 35, Ludgate Hill;
4nd Sold by aH Booksellers in Town and Country,
PRICB SIXPENCE.
THE LIFE
OF
DANIEL DANCER, Esq.
€< Content is wealth, the riches of the mind,
And happy he who can that treasure find ;
But the base miser starves amidst his store,
Broods o'er his Gold; and griping still for more,
Sits sadly pining, and believes he's poor."
DRYDEN.
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 perus-
ing those true examples of human life, recorded in the vicis-
situdes and incidents which biography presents impartially to
the mind, with the direction of truth for their application to
our own lives and anions, for imitation or avoidance.
\ In this view, however elevated or depressed the hero of the
piece may be, some useful instruction may be gained, as we
find ourselves more or less interested in his transactions. In
relating the splendid actions of ambitious heroes, little can be
adopted or imitated by the most numerous class of society ;
but in detailing events concomitant with the most miserable
penury, a lesson is produced fraught with wisdom, the purport
of which is to shew in what small estimation laches are in tl>c
eyes of God, who wisely and equally condemns to human dis
tress, the miser that scrapes, and the spendthrift that scatters.
Avarice, the most degrading of passions to the understand-
ing, and the most deleterious to happiness, exhibits a humi-
liating picture of human nature, and impressively illustrates
the undeniable truth, that wealth cannot grant ease to its pos-
sessor; but, on the contrary, fills him with the most alarming
fears for the safety of this imaginary good, and suggests the
most consolatory reflection to forbearing poverty, whose un-
equal share in the distribution of wealth is more than coun-
terbalanced by the comparison.
With this view is presented to the public, the following ex-
act particulars of the most remarkable instances of I he misery
which is ever attendant on the mind cursed with the insanity
of saving. It appears by the parish register, that Mr. Daniel
Dancer was born in 1716 > and was the eldest of four children,
fHE LIFE OF
h
three sons and a daughter. His father lived on Harrow-Weald
Common, near Harrow on the Hill, where he possessed pro-
perty to a considerable extent, and which his son, by the most
determined and whimsical abstemiousness, increased to up-
wards of three thousand pounds per annum.
The years of his minority passed unnoticed, as nothing is
recorded of him in his youth, that might indicate the singula-
rity 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 pur-
pose of accumulating Useless riches,
Mr. Dancer had a sister, whose disposition to reserve per-
fectly 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
necessity or condescension drew her out, exhibited the most
perfect resemblance of one of the witches m former times;
Inr it is certain, had not philosophy, and the extension of
knowledge, long ago banished the belief in witchcraft, Miss
Dancer had been taken up by the witch-finders, and most pro-
bably burned for her acquaintance with poverty, which made
her appear in such a questionable form, that even the saga-
cious Matthew Hopkins, witch-hunter to King James, might
have mistaken this bundle of rags for a correspondent with
familiar spirits ; for her appearance might be pronounced not
to be of this fashionable world.
Her accoutrements were usually a mixture of male with fe-
male attire, tied round with a ravelling of hemp; for even in
this part of her dress she studied how to make one cord last
long, by untwisting it to make it go further; and thus equip-
ped, she wuaid sally forth armed with a broomstick or pitch-
fork, to check such daring marauders as had the audacity to
intrude on her brother's grounds; on which occasion her
j v rghbeurs observed she had more the appearance of a walk-
ing dung-hill than one of the fair sex.
The miserable hovel in which this parsimonious pair took
un their earthly residence, was perfectly of a piece with them-
.selves. Like Drake's ship, it had suffered so much by repair,
and still wanted so much, that a bit of the original building
could not be distinguished by the most diligent antiquary ; for
there was not one article of moveable which can be mentioned,
but had at one time or other, been nailed to some part of the
mansion, to keep out the weather; or, which Mr. and Miss
Dancer deemed more troublesome, the neighbouring cats ;
which, strange to declare, often ventured into this house of
famine, lured by the inviting scent of the vermin within, some
of whom often had the temerity to dispute the antiquity of
their right of possession; for it cannot be supposed that this
4 DANIEL DANCER, ESQ,
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 on asking him
the reason, be r< plied, that wanting some nails to fasten a piece
of leather to a hole which time had eifected 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.
M issDancer'sdisposition 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, aa
extravagance w as 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 accumula-
tion of wealth; and it was a long while before they had ar-
rived at the summit of the art of saving, by absolutely den\ *
ing themselves regular repasts, however coarse in quality oi
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 da\ s ;
and this supply, for years, served them week after week ; and
though, during hot weather in summer, the meat might org*
greater expedition, and fresher supplies, yet they never were
observed to relinquish their daily portion, with one cold dump-
ling and a draught of water. Half a bullock's head, w ith oc-
f usion:!!!;, 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 daiiy deprived the dogs.
Tin ir w ay of life suffered no variation; one uniform appli-
ration of the principle of saving pervaded every action of their
lives, and w as the constant object of every point of view. Their
economical arrangements were constantly the sam£, save that
now and then accident might throw something in their way,
which might spare their weekly expenditure for three pounds
of sli king. Mr. Dancer's constant and strict attention in tun
w alks about his grounds, sometimes alVorded him a piece of
delicious viand, w hich the hand of more dainty and more ex-
iravagant appetite had thrown aside; not so much for the sake
of variety, as for the nauseous increase of smell it had acquired j
Which, rendering it unfit for its former owner, seemed, when
picked up, to endear it the more to the parsimonious finder,
who immediately calculated on the saving it would produce
to this thrifty pair in their w eekly commons.
An uncommon instance of this kind occurred one summer's
morning, w hich for many w eeks discontinued the enquiries at
THE LIFE OF
the butcher's shop after the allowance of neck-beef; and while
it offered a change in their mode of living-, gratified their dar-
ling avarice, and insatiable propensity to save money. It
happened one morning-, as Mr. Dancer was taking his usual
walk on 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 careful-
ly laid aside, and an immense number of pies made of it, with
proper seasoning; so that Mr. Dancer's house for awhile re-
sembled a perigord pye-maker's shop, preparing to pack up
for exportation. On these they feasted with their accustomed
frugality for several weeks, till the whole were exhausted.
When a miser finds a treasure he is sure to lock it up.
Whether Mr. Dancer thought his sister extravagant in the in-
dulgence of her stomach, at the beginning of the pye-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 tbjm at last, and locked them up in one
of his strong coffers. The truth of this, the following anec-
dote will illustratively supply. The neighbours one morning
observing Miss Dancer rather lower spirited than usual, kind-
I v inquired into the cause, when, after some hesitation, she
acknowledged that her brother Daniel had scolded her for eat-
ing too much of the mutton pies, and told her she w as very
exiravagant, which she observed, with tears in her eyes, was
am exceeding hard case, as she loved to save as well as him-
self ; 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, on the w hole, seems to have
been a very proper companion for her brother; for it would
hme been a difficult case to have matched him any where for
5-i vingness.
This couple never manifested any predeliction 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, m bich happened sometimes in his long walks, it was
only for a little rest; andhewas sure to depart before the col-
lection 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 *
DANIEL DANCER, ESQ.
Predestinarian from the following circumstance ; but, as Mr,
Locke observes, " Let ever so much probability hang on cme
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 w as im-
portuned to afford her some medical assistance ; to which he
shrewdly replied, it would cost him money ; and, besides, OQn*
tinued he, 4t Why should I waste my money in wickedly and
wantonly trying to oppose the will of God ! If the girl is conn
to her latter end, nothing can save her; and all 1 ma\ do, will
only tend to make me lose my money; and she may as well
die now as at any other time. If 1 thought bleeding would
recover her, I would open a vein myself; but I cannot think
of paying for physic fotdyiftg people;" The dread of incurring
expense, and parting with his darling coin was insurmount-
able. Mr. Dancer's reasoning on the conduct of Providence,
even tended towards his favorite penchant — save money.
Perhaps never having felt the iix-onvenience of ill health, 01
from that callosity of heart, ever attendant on* the avaricious
mind, he, at this period, allowed his sister, in her last exigen-
cy, but tit e usual portion of sticking of beef, with the cold
hard dumpling ; to which he added the miser's humanity, 41 If
you don't like it, why go without." But Mr. Dancer's defi-
ciency of care was very amply supplied by the late Lady Tem-
pest, who afforded every attention and kindness necessary to
the case of Miss Dancer. The latter was possessed of more
than £2000, which she intended to leave Lady Tempest for her
extraordinary care of her in her last illness; but she, unfortu-
nately for Lady Tempest, expired before she could sign a will
in her favor; and her property being thus left intestate, and
at the disposit ion 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 \\i1h any propo-
sal they could make; insomuch that, after a long while per-
severing, and obstinately refusing to come to any agreement
of part icipation, a law -suit followed, and Mr. Dancer recover*,
ed £1040 of his sister's fortune, as the regular price of her
hoard and lodging lor thirty years, at thirty pounds peg an-
num, and one hundred pounds for the two last years; fortius
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 equal-
ly divided between the two brothers and Mr. Dancer,
f It is very difficult to account for the miser's motive in say-
ing money ; for he does it at t lie expense of every natural gra-
tification and reasonable indulgence, without any view of ever
enjoying it; tor as age advances, his thirst after riches in-
creases; and the more he acquires, the more he still craves,
and never seems to obtain the end of his pursuit; whilst, on
the contrary, other passions lose themselves in enjoyment,
and ultimately with the decline of advancing years, which on-
THE LIFE OF
7
ly strengthens the miser's inordinate desire after useless
riches; fur, 44 Like the magpie he hides the gold he cannot
make use of."
Mr. ]>ancer's calculations for saving money were systema-
tical and regular; nothing escaped his attention to that sole ob-
ject 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
tfaere w ash 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 co-
lours, and more substances, than the paraphernalia of a
strolling company of players; and yet, notwithstanding all
his curious patching 1 , and artful contrivances of his needles
(for it was the maxim of Mr. Dancer to be his own fcayloiy)
he soiftctimes succeeded so ill in covering the outward man,
that his garments of many sorts could not prevent half expos-
ing what it hut partly concealed : but he generally kept them
together by a strong hay-band, girt round his waist. His
stockings ft ere so much darned, that it was diflicult 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 lie had
a happy talent. This contrivance served him for boots; ami
when he declined them, he could untwist them, and they
served to increase the bulk of his bt*b
For many years it was his opinion, that every man ought to
be his own cobier; and for this employ he had a lucky genius,
uiiich he indulged so far as to keep by him the in ost necessary
tools for mending shoes; but these, it must be impartially of>-
served, cost him nothing; for he had borrowed one at a tiqpe
from different persons until he had possessed himself of a con*-
pftete set of them, and with these he mended his own shoes
so admirably, that what he wore, by the frequent jobs and
coverings they bad received from his thrifty hands, had be -
mine so ponderous, that running a race in them Mould have
hi H n impracticable; and, besides, their dimensions were so
much enlarged, that they resembled hog-troughs more than
shoes. To keep these on his feet, he took several yards of
cdsrd, which lie twisted round his ancles in the manner the aiv-
bSent Romans w r ore their sandals.
Linen was a luxury to w hich, notwithstanding his avaricious
disposition, he v/as not quite a stranger ; for at an early period
of his ;v> iug career, he used to buy two shirts annually; but
for some years previous to his death, he never allowed him-
self fiacre that* one, for which he would constantly bestow at
some old clothes shop two shillings and sixpence, and was ne-
ver but once known to go to so handsome a price as three
I
DANIEL DANCER, ESQ.
shillings. After it had got into his possession, it never under-
went the necessary operation either of washing or mending:;
on his back it was doomed to perpetual slavery till it fell off
in rags. Hence it cannot be doubted, nor will it surprise the
reader to be told, that, notwithstanding Mr. Dancer's pecu-
liarity 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 on the bed; but these he would never
have 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 yearn
his room was never swept. Towards the time of his death,
it was observed to be fdled 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, rum-
maged every corner of the place; but although this domicili-
ary 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
abject of the thieves wan 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
Ihe-spiders; they were hid amongst the cobwebs in the cow-
house, and guineas in holes in the chimney, and aboat the lire
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
should change his shirt, and she would lend him a clean one.
44 No, no, (he replied,) it is not necessary. The shirt I have
on is quite new; I bought it only three weeks ago, and Uien
it was clean/'
As Mr. Dancer was a man of no great delicacy of manners,
it had been often doubted if ever he was in love. A certain
female visitor at Lady Tempest's, once asked him if he had
ever made love. To which the old hunks replied, " No,
darau I always get it ready made. But I sha'nt come to you,
I promise you."
His extreme love of money overcame every other considera-
tion; and to this idol Mammon lie even sacrificed brotherly
alfection. From the evident want of this principle, and to his
attachment to gain, may be accounted his strange behaviour
THE LIFJE Otf
as before related, to his sister at her latter end. But in one
singular instance, and to the canine species too, he seemed tti
gome measure, to forego his favorite idea of saving. This wag
• dog, of which he was extremely fond, and which lie called
%y the familiar appellation of Bob, my Child. His treatment
ff this animal oilers 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 on Lady Tempest's pot
liquor and scraps from her kitchen, of which he would cram
«o greedily, that he was frequently under the necessity of roll-
ing himself on the floor before he could go to sleep, he allowed
this dog a pint of milk daily; and this he paid lor as it was
(constantly supplied by a neighbouring farmer, when he had
parted with his farming-stock, and had not one cow left.
Once a complaint being made to him, that his dog Bob ha<f
worried some of his neighbours sheep, he took the dog to a
farrier's shop, and had all his teeth filed down. F'or this bar
barons action he never gave any reason; possibly it might btg
to prevent the like again, as he might shrewdly guess, that
any further damage from his dog's mischievous manner, might
bring ekpeBS£S OH him, as he was certainly liable to be conv-
peljed to pay them.
He was so attentive to every thing that might turn to any
advantage, however remote, that he has walked two mile*,
when compelled by the dictates of nature, rather than not saw
the manure for his own grounds.
Vv henever he went out, he carefully gathered up every frag-
ment of wood he could find. He was so remarkably careful of
[his article, that some carpenters, observing his eagerness af-
fer chips, contrived to place some in his road, that had been
>reviousIy be — t. This stratagem did not deter Dancer from
.■an fully pocketing the bits of timber; and though besmeared
ith something as aromatic as ever came out of Pandora's
box, they found their way to his store-room, where he depo-
6i ted all his gatherings as carefully as if they had been worthy
of 'being presented to the British Museum.
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, thej
took different roads, though both followed the same occupa-
tion; bnly 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, sonic
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 5001. out of w ages which
fo
DANIEL DANGER, ESQ.
had never exceeded 101. per annum. At the time he lived
with Mr. Dancer, he was upwards of sixty, and hired himself
to him for eigfateen-pefice a week. Every trait of so singular
a character is interesting-. Mr. Dancer having' occasion to
come to London 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 beg-
gar, charitably slipped a penny into his hands. Jemmy Tay-
lor, the Borough Usurer, who stood by, was a little surprised;
but Mr. Dancer seemed to understand the gentleman very
well; and observing to Taylor, 4 Every little helps/ he poc-
keted the half-pence, and walked on. Perhaps he might con-
sider this penny as the seed of a pound, to which it might at-
tain by gentle gradations; and as the human mind is always
pleased with prospects of what ic wishes, Mr. Dancer might
contemplate this penny multiplying itself progressively, till it
arrived at thousands; for, as Lord Chestei field 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 gene-
rate years, centuries, and even eternity itself.
Lady Tempest was the only person who had any influence
over tin's 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 the ir intreaties were without
effect Where was he to get the money ? How could he af-
ford it 7 If it was not for some charitable assistance, how
could he live ? One day, however, this lady With a great deal
of persuasion, prevailed on him to purchase a h: t, 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,
heat last told her, that, after much solicitation, he had pre-
vailed on his old man, Griffiths, to give him sixpence profit
on the hat he had purchased by her desire of the Jew, a few
days before.
Mr. Dancer was very partial to trout stewed in claret, with
Which he used to be indulged at Lady Tempest's. That lady
having some in very cold weather, sent him a plateful as a
present; but lying by all night, in the morning it was con-
cealed; and as h<2 mm very liable to the tooth-ache, he did
not dare to eat it till it was * ; *v How to get over this
difficulty was a very serious consideration; for to light a fire
was an expense he could not c.Ford; but his thwfiy genius
loctttj hov/ever, suggested a means of imparting a sufficient
THE LIFE OF
11
degree of warmth to the mess for him to venture to eat it with-
out the molestation of pain; and even without incurring the
most trivial expense. In frosty weather, as it was then, lie
always lay in bed to keep himself warm ; and a lucky thought
coming into his brains, he imagined that he might impart suf-
ficient heat to the fish to venture on eating it, if it was placed
under him in bed. For this purpose, he placed the fish under
his backside, being in the sauce, a nd between two pewter plates,
and sat on it till all was sufficiently warm for him to eat it I
To those who cannot exist without every conveniency in
life, and even without every artificial appendage to luxury,
let them tuwi to this old miser, worth more than three thou-
sand pounds per annum, who for the sake of making that 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
mispent life, in the 78th year of his age, in the month of Octo-
ber, 1794, Lady Tempest accidentally called on him, and found
him laying in an old sack, which came up to Ids chin, and his
head wrapped 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 eould
not afford better; and having come into the world without a
shirt, he was determined to go out in the same maimer. As
he brought nothing with him, he did not think he had any
right to carry any thing away ; and the less he made use of he
thought was the more acceptable to God: so that in his last
moments, he made his saving notions square with his most se-
rious thoughts. Lady Tempest then requested him to have a
pillow to raise his head, which he refused; but ordered his
old servant Griffiths to bring him some litter out of the stable,
to raise his head, as the lady thought he would lie easier.
Though Mr. Dancer never indulged himself in the extrava-
gant luxury of snuff-taking, yet he was always careful to so-
licit a pinch or two from those who did; but it was not to gra-
tify his own nose — no such thing ! it was to lay it by in a box,
which he carried about him for that purpose ; and when full,
he would barter its contents at a neighbouring chandler's-shop
lor farthing candles, which he made to last him till he had re >
plenished his box again. Mr. Dancer never suffered any light
in his house, except what issued from the glimmer of the lire,
unless while he was going to bed.
His opinion of the professors of physic was rather singular,
and seemed to border on predestination. To use his own lan-
guage, the medical tinkers were all a set of rogues ; who, while
they patched up one hole, always contrived to isake ten, for
18
DANIEL DANCER, ESQ.
^ belter job: but he allowed the utility of surgery in repairing
accidental fractures; though not often. without the reflection,
Zh'di they were seldom nothing else than cutting butchers.
His prejudice against the whole tribe pf lawyers was deter-
mined in the extreme, indeed, his inveteracy was the result
of strongly feeling the effects of their chicanery ; and Ids aver-
sion to this class of men was so great, that he w ould even
forego his own interest to gratify his presentment, as the fol-
low-in £ anecdote will prove.
Having, as was usually his half-yearly custom, agreed with
an old clothes woman for ashirtforha]t-a-crown,as he thought,
the dealer called at his house, and left liim one worth three
rJnlli ngs; but for w hich 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 lie pay;
winch the woman as peremptorily refusing, at last applied to
the Court of Requests of the district, to which he w as obliged
to repair, although it cost him iivepence on the journey for
bread and cheese, and the cost of hearings &c. in all upwards
of four shilliifgs and sixpence. This had such an effect on his
mind, that he ever afterwards held the lawyers in abhor-
rence ; for to give, or pay, were not to be found in his vocabu-
lary. Addition and multiplication were his favorite rules, and
usury was the foundation of his good deeds.
The most delightful task of Mr, Dancer's life was to count
IBs gold, to visit the holes where it lay deposited, and to see
all was safe. On one of these nocturnal visits, he was not a
little frightened, while counting the contents of one of his rich
pats in the cow-house; a large Tom-cat, terrified at his un-
timely appearance in that place of concealment, rushing
through a hole in the boarding, left him in such a panic, that
he thought Old Nick himself w as w r atching his motions. To
add to his terror, in returning back to the house, he fell over
something soft that lay in his way; which proved at last to be
a poor Jackass lying on the ground, which had strayed in
through one of the many apertures time had made in the in-
closure of his estate.
Though Mr. Dancer, by his spirit of covetuousness, debased
Himself in this sordid manner, yet he kept a mare, for which
he shewed a great partiality; but he never allowed her monr
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
eon fined in unnatural shoes.
Mr. Dancer was the most perfect picture of human penury
that perhaps ever existed, and the most singular charactei
that ever lived; his habits were those of an hermit; and his
extreme avarice rendered him as abstemious as any ascetic
&>{ the desert-
in this manner lived, and in this situation died, Danie
LIFE OF DANIBL DANCER, ESQ.
13
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 observ-
ed here, had but a very short enjoyment of the great acces-
sion of wealth she acquired by this miser's death ; for she con-
tracted an illness during her attendance on 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. Dan-
cer lived, and which at his death devolved to the right of Cap-
tain Holmes, was a most miserable decayed building, fright-
ful 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 agree*
able 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 25001. 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
!>ank-notes, stuff ed under the covers of old chairs and cushions.
In the stable, the Captain found some jugs of dollars and sibl-
ings. It was observable that Mr. Dancer used to visit this
>lace in the dead of the night, but for w Jiat purpose even old
Griffiths himself could not guess ; but it w as supposed, it was
:o rob one jug to add to a bowl which he had buried, an'. 1 was
nearly full, when taken up from under one of the heartn tiles.
The chimney was not left unsearched, and paid very well
or the trouble ; for in nineteen different holes, all filled with
jBoot, were found various sums of money, amounting together
to more than 2001. Bank-notes to the value of 6001, were
bund doubled up in the bottom of an old tea-pot. Over these
was a bit of paper whimsically inscribed^ " Not to be too
mstily looked over I"
HISTORY OF
BETTY BOLAINE,
WHO DIED JUNE 5, 1805, AGED EIGHTY-TWO
YEARS, WHILST EATING A BROWN CRUST,
ALTHOUGH WORTH UPWARDS
OF £20,000.
THE subject of the following pages, an extraordinary and
well-known character in Kent, was born in Canterbury in the
y :u\ 1723, where her father, Mr. Noah Bolaine, had ao
qui) t <I an independence in the profession of an apothecary.
H<t education was suitable to her father's situation, but nei-
ther that, hot her family's example, could prevent her from
shewing early marks of the insanity of avarice and meanness,
of winch she very early shew ed very extraordinary instances.
She was then said to be pretty, and a coquette in her manner,
hence it is not wonderful if she attracted many admirers,
though at the same time she was so slovenly in her dress as
to be the observation of -ail her acquaintance.
At eighteen, she lost her father, who bequeathed her 15,0001
la good property, and 50001. to his niece, Miss AnnBolaine,
Miss Betty had now as many suitors as a young lady of her
fortune might be expected to have, but not enough to suit her
avarice, for it is even reported she advertised under disguised *
names for a partner, thereby seeking fresh connections, as the
former ones dismissed themselves, finding she only jilted
them for the presents they made her. On these occasions she
Tauntingly boasted of her conquests, and the number of strings
she had to her bow, occasionally shewing the rich presents
•be had received.
Avarice has been aptly compared to a gull that swallows j
all but returns nothing, and this habit of taking favors at that
time, brought her into a dilemma that might have been fatal
to her freedom, had she not h ; id very extraordinary precau-
tion in the final part of the affair.
It happened whilst on a visit at the house of a Mrs. DeLa-
porte iii London, in the year 1745, when the city trained bands
were daily mustered, that a rich grocer, a captain of one of
the companies, became desperately enamoured of her on ac-
count, it is said, of her lively dancing at the Lord Mayor's
ball. This gentleman, on the impulse of the moment, hastily
offered her marriage. But Miss Betty was too wary to be ;
•aught easily, though according to report, she had done as ;
well to have acceded to his oiler. However, she kept him
long at bay, receiving his presents, as they suited her cove-j
tons turn, and having her ready furnished apartment in town
paid for by him. Whether he was in love with her person,
HISTORY OF
15
ot most with her fortune, their parting may give leave to
guess. The gentleman finding entreaties in vain to bring Mft
dzAgn to an issue, aetually one morning enticed her into a
hackney coach, and by the help of his brother, whom he had
persuaded to assist him, brought her to the Fleet, where mar-
riages were then legally performed. But here she totally
refused her hand, and made such a noise that the {.avengers
interfered, and some butchers out of the market rescue d her
from the parson's clutches, who had already began muttering
the service over his book. The captain, mortified at her re-
fusal, though she had promised him its performance at a dis-
tant period, made his farewell bow, and Jell her.
This adventure gave her a distaste for London, and she re-
turned to Canterbury. Mr. Slade, a gentleman of great for-
tune at Feversham, was soon after this her admirer, and of-
fered her a coach and livery ; but Miss Bolaine was too good
a judge of the world to part with her independency, and right
of aiuvmi raiiig it her own way, on such unstable grounds a*
this jM'itileman's promises. To him succeeded an attorney of
Canterbury, who, by some lucky intrigue, not only won tier
affections, but cajoled her to give him a bond of forfeiture of
2001. should she afterwards change her mind. She must have
been greatly prejudiced in favor of this lawyer, to grant hrna
such a proof of the stability of her inclination, if we may judge
by her forme? and subsequent transactions.
Whether her aifections were sincere or otherwise, it is cer-
tain : hc look uncommon pains to convince him of their re li
ty ; yet the lawyer must have sometimes found that iove hart
not any share in the connection; and Miss, thinking that jea-
lousj w 8 s a ftecessayy proof of affection, she made an objec-
tion to every thiijtg he proposed or did, she followed him every
where with a suspicious eye, seeking fresh objects for re-
proach to exert herself in afterwards, liis house became a
desert^ and his life was spent in restless anxiety and domestic
strife. Her jealousy carried every thing to an extremity;
even his clients in the office were objects of Miss Bolaines
aversion, who reproached them with the opprobrious epithets
of pimps, whores, or bawds; and made an objection to his
going any where without her, and which her grotesque ap-
pearance made very objectionable, even at that time, while
M youth was in her train."
We cannot help inserting here, an anecdote of her penurious
meanness at this period, on the best authority. At an assem-
bly at Canterbury, when large hoop petticoats were universal-
ly worn, the ladies complained of the inconvenience of X\m
fashion, and agreed to lay aside their hoops for a while. Miss
Bolaine objected to this proposal, fearing her saving contri-
vance would make her laughed at. However, her objection*
were overcome by her companions ; and instead of a cane hoop,
she exhibited a straw one, stitched with packthread and red
tape, covered by an old dirty apron of her father's. This was
BETTY BOLAINE
the accoutrement of Miss Bolaine, a lady of 20,0001- fortune,
and the mistress of a lawyer of extensive practice in the coun-
ty of Kent. It may be wondered here, how her protector
could support such treatment ; but the prospect of her for-
tune, which was constantly increasing', and the expectation of
a fresh accumulation from the falling in of her mother's, who
was very aged, no doubt, sweetened all his bitterness ; and,
in fact, she duped him so far as to make him believe she was
going to stab herself for the love of him, seizing a blunt knife,
and violently sticking it against her bodice, where she knew
it could not penetrate. This action produced what she wish-
ed ; ftjr it made the lawyer agree to give up his bond, on con^
dition she named the day of their union for life. A license
was procured ; and on the morning of their intended marriage
he gave her the bond, as she was dressing herself, as he thought
to go to church with him. Relying on appearances, he set
out first for St. Peters, with her promise of immediately fol-
lowing him ; where, after waiting more than two hours, he
retired at last, amidst the ridicule of the spectators, who wit-
nessed his disappointment and mortification ; while she at
home destroyed the bond, exulting in the idea of having out-
witted a lawyer.
This action dissolved that connection, and she returned to
her mother, who, poor good creature, was the reverse of her
daughter. Her usage of this venerable parent is too atrocious
to be laid before our readers: suffice it to say, that raising
her hand against her was the least offence she disgraced her-
self by; for this penurious wretch daily left her mother to
starve in the midst of plenty ; and even when the poor old lady
resigned her breath, the only eatable that was found in the
house was a few musty beans. By her death, 30001. more de-
volved to her by her father's will, and 1500L to her brother,
a very worthy character, whose name ought not to mentioned
with hers. Her mother, during the time of her widowhood,
had accumulated 5001. which she bequeathed to her son; but
Miss Bolaine, actuated by her usual covetous disposition, and
the opportunity she had, actually forged her mother's signa-
ture, by which she converted the total sum to her own use*
Her brother was not ignorant of the fact, though he never
stirred in the affair, only shewed a coolness which she never
forgave; for years afterwards she made a bold attempt to
murder him! A fall from his horse having confined him to
his room, under pretence. of inquiring about his health, she
made her way up stairs, when, after securing the door, sli©
made two thrusts at him with a carving knife. By Provi-
dence's help, disabled as he was, he disarmed her, and turned
her out of doors. Thus was she prevented from adding fratri-
cide to the long catalogue of her crimes ; and the gentleman,
though he never forgave it, passed it over in silence, unwill-
ing to disgrace his family, by bringing her to the punishment
#he merited*
HISTORY OF
1?
Miss Farnham, sister to the Countess of Denbigh, married
Mr. Bolaine, by whom he had an amiable daughter, and left
her an orphan. At his death, Mrs. Bolaine thought it prudent
to keep on good terms with her sister-in-law, induced no doubt,
by the advantage she hoped her infant daughter might after-
wards reap. But this solicitude proved fatal to the young la-
dy ; for her aunt was so delighted in causing pain and uneasi-
ness in others, that after much oppression, this tender and
beautiful girl went in a deep decline, occasioned, as their ac-
quaintance said, by the caprice, terror and severity of her
ways, which hastened her death, and removed her mother soon
afterwards, regretted and lamented by all her friends.
One of Miss Bolaine's favorite amusements was making
matches. As void of real friendship as sincerity, she took de-
light in bringing parties together, and making them miserable
afterwards. Thus she secretly abetted and encouraged a young
lady of considerable fortune, at Westgate, in a clandestine mar-
riage below herself, and much against her parents inclinations :
but no sooner was the ceremony performed, than she hasten-
ed to Mr. Lloyd, and advised him by all means to disinherit
his daughter for her disobedience. But that gentleman, dis-
covering more than she thought he knew of her intrigues, only
k forbade his children any further connection; andMissBolaine,
from that moment, became a stranger to the house. The co-
vetous insanity of saving, prevailed over every other con-
sideration in her mind. About a t welvemonth after her bro-
ther's death, she went to board at Westgate Court, allured nf>
doubt by the riches of a gentleman who resided in that neigh-
bourhood, a widower about forty years older than herself,
hectic and consumptive. She soon worked herself into his
good opinion, and persuaded him to marry her. Though old,
he was fond; and artful, she was kind, the wedding-clothes
were made, a new chariot provided, and every thing ready,
except the gentleman's settling the whole of his fortune on
her; but she, too wary to yield hers on any terms, declined
the connection for that time, yet consented to accept of tern*
of settlement. This connection was a great affliction to this
gentleman's family, who finding her actuated by nothing but
a desire of gain, and depending too much on her power over
him, one morning in a passion pushed him violently down
stairs, for having had the temerity to order something for his
dinner. This coming to the knowledge of his friends, they
contri ved to get him out on an airing one day, and never suf-
fer d him to return ; and she was soon afterwards ejected from
the house, Exasperated at this, she brought an action for a
breach of promise of marriage, laying her damages at 20001.
which was tried by Judge Chappel, and she was nonsuited, as
it was proved she tacitly had refused to marry him. Still dis-
contented, notwithstanding this gentleman bequeathed her
60L and the old chariot, she sent in to the family an enormous
bill of expenses soon after his death, but never obtained a
shilling;.
.8
BETTY BOLAINE
It was surprising to every one, how she could like to live
any longer near the place of her nativity, where her notoriety
was too conspicuous to pass unnoticed. She next took a large
house in Westgate, which she advertised to let out. Her first
tenant was a respectable gentleman, whose house was repair-
ing ; and she succeeded in wheedling him to pay the whole ex-
penses of their joint house-keeping; but soon after his return
home, she presented him with an extravagant bill, which im-
position, though against his judgment, he was forced to com-
ply with. She kept two servants at this time: one as penu-
rious as herself endured her caprice, and almost starvation,
near seven years; the other younger, and not so patient, lost
her place one day, for having the audacity to kindle a little
tire, and eat too much of the scanty fare allowed for two days.
Miss Bolaine, on this occasion, threatened to stab the poor
girl with her scissars ; but she luckily escaped through the
kitchen window, amidst the applause of the populace, who
followed her mistress with execrations to the next magistrate,
where the girl obtained her wages, and Miss Bolaine was se-
verely reprimanded for her rash conduct.
Notwithstanding this forbidding temper, she still received
some visits from the neighbouring gentlemen round Canter-
bury, amongst whom was one an exact counterpart with her-
self. His name was Box, and it is certain the love of money,
not affection, induced this union. They existed in a large
house, and with the help of a garden, which they cultivated
together, made shift to supply themselves with every thing
they wanted, which was but little, for even necessaries were
denied, and they kept no servant. She found in him a man
she could easily govern, a thorough patient slave, and one
bit with the same madness of saving as herself. With this man
she could eat a mouldy crust, with frowzy or stinking meat,
sometimes picked up in the road, and cooked on cabbage
stacks, burnt with turf, which was constantly stole from the
commons by night. These, with dried furze bushes, and dead
stalks from their garden, constantly supplied fuel for the year
round, every day exhorting each other more and more to parsi
mony ; and Miss Bolaine was so pleased with his saving ways,
that she at last assumed his name, pleased to partake in the
honor of such a penurious character. Thus for some years
they lived, or rather starved together, not allowing themselves
the produce of their garden till it was spoiled for want of sate,
but would steal any trifle from their neighbours, which they
were sure to keep till it stunk, or was rotten. As to clothing,
she was never known to buy any; for what she had spunged
from her admirers, and what her mother left, lasted her all
her days. At this time, she was sometimes seen in a jacket,
crimped round her waist, and made of bed furniture, having
monkeys, mackaws, and frogs, depicted in needie-work, with
a black patched petticoat, which she called being in mourn-
ing for Sir Charles H. a distant relation.
HISTORY OF
19
Their garden work becoming heavy, they came at last to
the determination of having an assistant; and fearing that Ire
should not have enough to do, determined on bringing out
their old chariot, which had now stood by more than twenty
years, and getting a couple of horses to draw it; accordingly
two old blind cart-horses were purchased for eight guineas,
and two or three pounds of paint used to cover the injuries
time had made on the outside of this old fashioned vehicle. The
first man they hired for four pounds a year, to be their facto-
tum, had no nose, and when equipped in the paraphernalia
of a discharged drummer, looked very grotesque on the box.
He was soon succeeded by a boy, who likewise wore the drum-
mer's coat, but not being strong enough to do every thing, a
pauper out of the road supplied his place. This poor wretch
having a scabby head, was advised to lose his hair; and an old
wig of his master's, furbished up to the life, had a noble ap-
pearance : but Miss Bolaine, hinting that these expenses would
ruin them, her paramour was obliged to mount the box him-
self, and pay the coachman; who refusing to return the wig,
was taken before a justice, whose sentence was, that he might
keep it, as he had been prevailed on to have his hair cut off.
To support all these extra expenses, Miss Bolaine's fruitful
invention now first thought of lending the coach out to hire:
hand-bills were accordingly issued, but her caution M ould not
suffer any one to have it without having first secured a seat ir
it herself, lest any ill-disposed person should run away with
such a noble equipage. This saving pair resumed all the work
again themselves, Miss frequently feeding the horses, or at
least taking care they should not overfeed themselves. By
this economical plan, the animals became so lean, that they
attracted the notice of the passengers, which was often increas-
ed by the heavy loads they had to drag; for Mr. Box having
a house at St. Lawrence, in the Isle of Thanet, which was let
out furnished during the summer, many materials were often
in motion towards this country house. One of these journeys
caused much diversion, and it is much to be lamented that
Jefl'ery Gambado was not on the road to see it. The lady was
seated amidst pickle jars, crockery, glass and tin waue, while
the roof of the machine, and the box, bore a considerable
share of lumber, the most prominent of which was a ladder,
warming-pan, and sundry garden utensils. Mr. Box sat on
one of the horses, which in the second street fell clown by weak-
ness, and immediately the whole pile overset by the othef
horse plunging, and the crash alarmed all the neighbourhood*
They had soon plenty of assistance, 'and many jokes were crack-
ed on the occasion by the standers by; however, with a deal
of scolding between the pair of travellers, they were at last
set a going, but not without being reproached, and told by
the boys jeering, that the horses would die before night, which
was somewhat verified that day, for as they arrived at Sarr,
as was foretold, the horse that "stumbled dropped down dead!
20
BETTY BOLAINE.
To hire they found too expensive, so sold the companion ske-
leton for a trifle, and the chariot itself for eight pounds, con-
tenting themselves to finish the journey on foot, and have the
things brought after them in a cart. She performed her half
yearly journeys to London on foot, not even permitting her-
self the indulgence of a cart; only a little NIG, the name she
called gin by, a small quantity of which, with what she could
beg or purloin from her acquaintance at home, always supplied
her. When it was winter, she constantly gave Mr. B. strict
charge to lay a bed all day, observing that he might thereby
save his fuel till she came back. Her dishonesty and pilfering
disposition discovered itself on many occasions; and it is won-
derful she never had her deserts for it one time or another.
At the bank, where she attended for her half yearly dividends,
she once received a 101. note more than her due. It was in
vain the clerk that paid her remonstrated letter after letter;
she would refund nothing: but when the next half yearly as-
sets came to be paid her, she was shamed out of part of the
sum, for no more in the whole than eight guineas and a half
were ever refunded.
This observable pair were fond of bathing in hot weather,
but could not think of paying for the use of a machine a shil-
ling a turn, so they adopted another mode, which was singu-
lar, and peculiar to themselves. After sauntering a long way
among the sands under the cliffs, the lady wrapped herself i«
an old horse rug from her stable, took to the briny waves, as
did her gentleman, exulting in the idea of having saved two
shillings. After dressing, this rug was carefully hid under
some stones for the next occasion; and in their stroll home,
they carefully loaded themselves with abundance of cow *
dung, which they observed the poor cottagers burn with peat
or turf.
Their dispositions being so exactly alike, it is no wonder
she gained such an ascendancy over him as to command his
fortune, which she entirely alienated from his son by his will
to herself, leaving him only one shilling! Her demeanor to-
wards the conclusion of his life, gave him so much uneasiness,
that he complained; but as he had made over his property to
her many years before, to secure it from his creditors, having
been a bankrupt, it was passed out of his reach; however,
he imde a will, as before observed; and it is a fact 1oo noto-
rious to be denied, that he had nothing during his last illness
but cow-heel broth; and some time before he expired, she
drew the bed from under him, leaving the body on the sack
ing, with the marks of blows and scratches. He was no sooner
a corpse, than she shut up the house, and set off on foot for
St. Lawrence, where she secured all the property ; and at her
return the next night, ordered the bell to be tolled only a few
strokes, and it being a rule with her never to pay for any thing
she could avoid, persuaded a relation of his to order the fune-
ral, who thinking he might be in her will, foolishly did; noi
in STORY OF
2*
did she ever pay it, or even buy a black rag to cover her, but
borrowed a black bonnet of one, and a bit of black crape of
another person, which she never returned : she even converg-
ed the black gloves and hat-bands to her own use, A single
circumstance of her unnatural and covetous disposition can-
not be avoided here, as it shews herjheart was callous to com-
mon feelings. When the undertaker's men brought the coffin,
she refused to let them put the body in, saying, she would do
that herself. This seeming strange, when they came to secure
it with screws, they had the curiosity to peep into it, and to
their astonishment found the corpse robbed of the shroud;
thus she sent him out of the world as naked as he came into it.
Neither did she pay any regard to that part of his will which
related to his place of interment; for instead of interring him
at St. Lawrence, in his grandfathers vault, she sent him off
unattended to Ramsgate; where, when the hearse arrived
With the body, they found no grave dug* nor any preparation
« hatever for his interment. He was therefore for the moment
placed in the church, and afte wards buried at the expense of
a friend, in the church yard. As his certificate had never been
signed, many claims were made on Miss Bolaine, who some-
times asserted, and sometimes denied, being married to him.
These clamours at last brought her to ask advice of counsel,
when, on being told, her repeated contradictions had placed
her in danger of the pillory, she coarsely abused the gentle-
man, saying, she had once being too many for a lawyer, and
she would abide its consequences, let it come to what it might
rather than part with her money. She then sold every thing,
and the creditors, after having harassed themselves a long
time for nothing, at last gave up the pursuit, and left her in
undisturbed possession of the property. After this affair, she
had the address to get possession of a large furnished house,
to keep for the proprietors, who were obliged to be abroad
on affairs of consequence, which she took the liberty to Let
out more than two years and a half, without paying either
rent or taxes.
She then returned to her own house, which had by this time
so gone out of repair, that she caught the rain in dishes even
in her bed-room, which served her for drink, for she never
wanted water for any other occasion. A country wench was
sent one day by the neighbours, to hire herself to her for a
cook-maid, but Betty drove her from the door, saying, she
wondered at the people's impudence, seeing she had not any
thing to eat herself. Yet her industry was so great, that she
seldom remained at home, even if the weather was bad. A
considerable time was spent in strolling about the streets.
About ten o'clock, she generally made her way to old Phillips,
a shoemaker inWincheap, who always supplied her with water
for breakfast, when she ate what crusts she had picked up in
the streets in her way thither. After this she would sit till
dinner time, over a small pan of coals in tne cobler's shop,
BETTY BOLAINE.
when two days out of seven poor Phillips would find the din-
ner ; and when he did not, she went to the houses of those she
inspired with the idea of the great sums she would leave them
in her will. The number of friends she made by these inuen-
does, Mas very considerable; and several were of the first
quality in Canterbury, Her apology usually concluded with,
"Well, I'm sure, I'm lucky to catch you just at dinner-time;
far as they say one volunteer is better than two pressed men/'
\U( v :\\w « ?\ being liberal of nothing* but her company, she
would make her excuse, and withdraw to make the same pro-
lyl s somewhere else for a dish of tea; and if not asked to
stay supprr, the next time she called, was sure to relate how
hum 7 ami restless she was the last night she was at their
house; but if they gave her a glass of any liquor, she always
blessed it with — " Well, the Lord will pay you when I am
dead ; I shan't forget this civility of yours/'
Notwitb standing her forbidding appearance, she received
many valuable presents; and though some were of perishable
matters, yet she never had the heart to touch them, but even
let them spoil ; and after she was dead, such a warehouse was
found, as perhaps could not be equalled for variety of things
in decay. V.viv; of the vii'ts wen- of considerable value, and
she had the artifice to excite a kind of emulation among her
friends, by relating how fond she was of such a thing, and
how generous it was to send such a poor w oman as she such
a quantity, and so fine. Thus every one was ready to help
her, little dreaming, that a reverend black coat would clear
all before him !
As to articles of dress, she was never known to buy any for
the last forty years of her life, except in one singular instance,
sud then it could not be truly called buying, for a young trades-
man in the linen line, gave her out of pity a new gown; when
from motives of gratitude, and to encourage him, as she said,
she took another, but forgot to pay for it; but this was not
the only instance of the failure of her memory, only it passed
over, like many other instances of the kind, in hopes of fii-
ture amnio remuneration. Her w ashing was carried on in as
singular a manner, as her extensive acquaintance made it easy
to her, by taking one rag to each at a time, so that in the
course of v short time, all Canterbury and its vicinity had as-
sisted her in this necessary work : and if any refused or excu-
sed themselves from cleaning her nasty things, or she thought
were backward, she would then throw out hints like, if people
would stand i« their own light, she could not help it; uhe
could but be sorry for them, that they were so blind to their
own interest, but perhaps they might soon repent of their
error, when it was too late; and they were surely very bad
people that would not wait for God's time. Thus by holding
out such prospects of rewarding her friends, she contrived to
slip through life with more case, though less honorable means
than the * est of the world.
HISTORY OF
23
Mumping and beggary must certainly have attractions whick
have never been diseove»ed but by the professors, and thhi
vv-is the case with Betty Bolaine. Bits of candles, pinches of
snuff, and matches, she was daily borrowing; so that it cost
her nothing for those articles, and as for fuel, as we observed
before, the streets supplied her with all she wanted, for the
short time she condemned herself to be in her wretched dwel-
ling. She was never known but once to be indisposed ; and
after Dr. P. had attended her for a long time, she was quite
enraged at his assurance in bringing her in a bill of five gui-
neas. She called on him one day with a guinea, but his daugh-
ter refused it; and the debt was not discharged till after her
death. Wherever she visited, her friends were always sure to
miss trifles, as thread, needles, tape, sugar, foe. and her dis-
honesty did not stop there, for she was more than once de-
tected in bad practices ; but those were all passed over on the
del score of future remuneration; however, one instance may
be given, as it is as authentic as nefarious. Being in London
to £et her dividend from the Bank, she went there accompa-
nied by a Mrs. H. a person whose expectations were very con-
siderable from her. The paying clerk by mistake gave her a
101. note more than was right, which when he discovered, he
applied to Mrs. H. informing her that he was under the neces-
sity of making good the money himself. Letters on letters
were written to Miss Bolaine, but to no effect; a refund of so
much money was impossible to be obtained, not even when
Mrs. H. went to Canterbury on this affair. However, when
her dividend again became due, the clerk demanded his 101.
which she meanly denied, and meaner still, went down on her
knees in the bank to this clerk, when she pulled out eight gui-
□eas and a half out of her stays, nor could entreaties or threats
draw any more, notwithstanding the severe reprimand she
received from him. The same lady refusing to connive at
her meanness in stealing meat out of a butcher's shop in Can-
terbury, was threatened with the entire obliteration of her
name in her will, if she ever spoke of the affair again. This
lady had possessed her confidence, and put up with her ca-
prices more than twenty-five years, makingher house her home
when in London, yet refused her the loan of a few pounds to
save her goods from execution ; and Mrs. H. not knowing the
depth of her duplicity, brooked a deal more of her caprice,
and suffered her depredations after this, no doubt, in hopes
of being in her will at last.
tier mind as she increased in years, seemed to give way to
pilfering, and she might have had serious consequences to suf-
fer, but she always had the good luck not to be severely no-
ticed, only sometimes hissed and hooted at for it, which she
aever seemed to mind. Her general appearance was wretched
in the extreme, and indicative of the greatest poverty; she
would pick up crumbs, shaken from a table cloth at a door,
and refuse a shilling, if sent out to her as alms, in a disdainful
BETTY BOLAJNE.
manner, saying sne wanted no charity, though she would glad-
ly have received the mouldy clearings of a cupboard, could
she have remained unknown.
We have observed that she never bought any clothes; the
row ring of her head was as curious as the rest of her habili-
ments, which were the concomitants of penury. Her upper
bonnet ( for she wore two) consisted of thirty-six pieces of b t dck
staff, curiously joined together; the under one was an old chip
hat she lound on a dunghill in a garden, and which she was
remembered to have worn nineteen years at least. Over this
covering sometimes she would throw pieces of gauze, silk
brocade and tilfany, to make herself fine, as she thought; in
this manner she once paid a wedding visit to a lady, who per-
ceived she had no heels to her shoes, and that they were pack-
ed together with cord, and her pattens were not even a pair,
in this manner did she call every Sunday evening on the
Dean of Canterbury, stumping through the hall, and up the
great staircase into the drawing-room, more like a moving
dunghill than any other thing, regardless of the observations
of any person there.
Finding her hair grow grey, she bethought her of a notable
device to cover that defect, for Betty did not wish to be thought
so old as she was; so she rummaged up old Box's wig, which
not curling to her liking, she put it in a pan covered with
brown paper, and took it to the oven. The baker wishing to
know what dainty old Betty was going to treat herself with,
took up the cover to see, when he discovered the old caxon :
he soon closed it, satisfied that his customer had brought him
nothing fit to eat. However, the wig was worn under these
bonnets, and with her dirty face, and ragged appearance, made
her look grotesque, and an object of risibility to all. The
house she lived in was large, but she occupied only two small
rooms below, in which were crammed four beds, and so much
old furniture as made the pl*ace look like a broker's shop. On
the worst of these beds she slept, to save the better ones. Her
covering was only rags, and there were evident marks that
site very often got into bed without taking off her rigging, for
dress it surely could not be called.
She lived in this wretched manner till the 5th of June, 1805,
when she was taken ill while drinking tea at a friend's house;
that friend saw her home, after administering some cordial
to her, and not coming out as usual next morning, was found
a lifeless corpse, with most of her clothes on, and a hard piece
of brown crust near her, which seemed to have fallen from her
hand. Almost the last words she uttered contained a gross
falsehood, for on being asked if she had any thing comfort-
able to drink, she answered she had nothing ; while at the same
time she had four dozen and a half of excellent old Madeira
wine, a present from some friend, which her ill-timed parsi-
mony still forbade her to use.
Finis,
ttg>
iff