No 42. NOVEMBER 9, 1815.

The Character of Clincher Closefist.

WHAT is a miser? The great English lexicographer answers, "a wretch covetous to extremity." No explanation could be given more just or more energetic than this. Still, as every man is apt to be partial to his own definitions, I shall say that I take a miser to be a two-legged animal that hoards as much as possible, lives as meanly as possible, and gives away nothing. It is a nauseous task to fill up such an outline; but it must be attempted, in order to inspire a due abhorrence of the character. And luckily, to facilitate my work, here resides near me old Clincher Closefist, a living example of the thing. I have nothing to do but to describe him to you.

The father of Clincher was a miser before him, an idolater of gold; and transmitted the said idolatry, (the only religion he ever had,) together with a handsome beginning estate, to this favourite son. Clincher set out in life animated with one single passion, the desire to be rich. To this point all the faculties of his soul, which are naturally far from the weakest, have been most strenuously devoted. He is capitally skilled in the making of bargains, and makes a great many. On this subject his maxim is, "all the world is a cheat, and he is a fool that has no hand in the game." To deceive the simple, to cerreach even the cunning, are his constant study. He does not care for reputation; all his precaution is to keep clear of the laws against fraud. But such is his avarice that he sometimes falls into their gripe, and suffers severely for his dishonest practices; without gaining the least inward cure of his shameful propensity to make the most he can out of every body that comes in his way. No man who knows him puts the smallest confidence in his word, as to the qualities and value of any thing he has to sell. In the shaving business he has many rivals, but no equal within a hundred miles around.

When any man offers to sell him paper, he is so artful that you would think some familiar spirit must aid him in finding out the precise degree of the seller's distress; and he feels no scruple to purchase a bond at one half of its real value in a fair monied market. In lending money, he takes only legal interest, for fear of the laws against usury. But he has invented a trick for which the whole brotherhood of misers should honour him with a statue; I mean that of compelling the borrower to take off his hands, along with the mo ney loaned, an equal or greater amount in useless horses, unsaleable cattle, or bad debts, at whatever price Clincher pleases to demand. It would require a volume to describe all his contrivances for accumulating wealth; the specimens which I have given must suffice.

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Clincher is as famous for saving money as for getting it. The reason he assigns for living a bachelor to his present age of sixty is that it costs too much to maintain a wife. 'No man of sense,' he says, 'will waste his money upon such a gewgaw.' In his person, he is a moving nuisance, a spectacle the most loathsome and disgusting. No razor touches his stern, gloomy visage, except on the sabbath day. Whoever sees him wearing clean linen reports it as a phenome non. His clothes are of the coarsest materials; so ancient and threadbare that they scarcely hide his nak edness; so begrimed with dirt and filth that it is felt as a calamity to be near him. His table is as mean as his dress; and that table he has all to himself, as he never entertains a friend, and indeed has not a friend upon earth to entertain. He eats no bread until it is a week old, as stale bread goes farther than fresh. The rest of his meal consists of such scraps and trash as no culinary ingenuity, were it applied, could render inviting to a civilized taste. His chosen dish at home is what he calls soup; that is, boiled water, thickened with crusts and garden stuff, but extremely destitute of scasoning. Now and then, however, he con

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trives to sit down to a good dinner without cost to himself; in which case he shows no dislike to the richest viands, and in point of quantity gormandizes like a wolf. His house has very much the appearance of a well tenanted pig sty of long standing. No one gifted with the senses of seeing and smelling will ever voluntarily enter this temple of nastiness a second time. The few slaves whose destiny it is to be about him live in a purgatory of hunger, cold, and various misery. Poor creatures! It is a problem that would puzzle the acutest philosopher to tell how they keep bolly and soul. 'together. While I contemplate and pity their suffer ings, it is some comfort to me to reflect that those of their cruel master are unquestionably yet more severė.

But the most detestable part of Clincher is still to come. Avarice, and the habits generated by it, have made his heart as hard as the nether millstone. When he perceives an opportunity for the exercise of gainful oppression, the tears of distress touch him not; the groans and cries of the widow and the orphan have no more power to discompose his feelings, or arrest his progress, than the idle wind. And he never gives away a cent for any public er benevolent purpose whatever. You wish to make up a collection for an honest man, reduced to poverty by a fire. Clincher tells you 'he is very sorry for the unfortunate creature's losses; to be sure, there is much of misfortune in the world, and always was; but in such times as these money is very difficult to be gotten, and charity begins at home;" and he gives you nothing. You want to institute or to help a seminary of learning. He declares that 'he sees no use in learning; the world would go on about as well without as with it; especially as to latin, and greek, and geography, and all those things, he is sure: they are of no account to any body;' and he gives you nothing. You are anxious to build a church for the worship of God, or to raise a stipend for the support of a pastor. He says 'the religious people are a parcel of hypocrites, and the preachers aim at nothing

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but money and living at their ease; he does not think it worth while to go to church himself;' and he gives you nothing. You attempt to form a bible society, that you may send the best of books abroad freely to the poor of the land. For his part, he reckons that any body desiring to have a bible is able to buy one; as he keeps no bible in his own house, he does not feel bound to assist in bestowing it on other people; his money must be saved for more necessary purposes;' and he gives you nothing.

But I have to correct myself. Clincher did, some months ago, achieve an act of liberality. A public object of the highest importance was pathetically urged. upon the assembled neighbourhood; and while every man and woman above the lowest circumstances were putting down their dollar apiece, our hero, who is barely worth about fifty thousand, plucked up a spirit, and gave the full sum of twelve cents and a half, hard money, all in a lump! What a blaze of benevolence must have warmed his bosom at that singular moment! And how potent must the eloquence have been which kindled such a blaze in that icy dungeon!

When Clincher began his career, he had a sort of idea how much money would make him rich. But this idea has been ever becoming more indefinite; his rage of acquisition has grown stronger and stronger to the present day. Without a wife to love, or chil dren to provide for, he is now more solicitous, if possible, to add to his estate another fifty thousand dollars, than Howard was to alleviate the sorrows of his fellow men. With this insatiable coveting, one other passion has latterly commenced the manifestation of its symptoms in the language, features, and conduct of Clincher Closefist. A very delectable and enviable inmate forsooth it is; even the fear of perishing, one day or other, for want of the necessaries of life!

My delineation is finished. And now I fancy a generous, uncorrupted young man looking at it with. a glow of indignation, not altogether free from a mix

ture of doubt. I hear him exclaim, 'can this be a reality? Can such a terrae filius, such a monster as this, have a real existence?' Yes, my dear youth, such things have been, and such abominable things do exist. In proportion as you are filled with horror by the picture, pray and strive that you may never bear its resemblance.

No. 43. NOVEMBER 23, 1815.

A Dream.

NOT many days ago I attended the wedding of a pair of my friends. An agreeable company was collected on the occasion, sufficiently numerous for social enjoyment, without the inconveniencies of a crowd. After we had formed a circle, awaiting the solemn.ceremony, only a few moments passed until a door was opened, and my Philo appeared, leading his Rosanna forward with a manly and graceful air. His face was radiant with love, and with triumph in the conquest of a heart so precious. The maid shone upon us, beauteous as spring in its prime. With her fine dark eyes bent to the ground, her cheeks now deeply suffused with a blush, and now pale as a lily; her steps timid and tottering; it was evident she could not have advanced without the tender support of her lover. In return for that support, she visibly struggled for composure, and not without some success. By the time they had arrived at the centre of the room, her countenance wore a mixture of modesty, affection, and joy, the most interesting in the world. Rising from our seats with spontaneous respect, we heard them plight their mutual faith, and joined in fervent prayer for the blessing of Heaven upon their union. The kiss of friendship now went round, and congratulations on the happy event resounded on every side. Mine were given and accepted among the rest; but a weight of sadness was already pressiug upon my spirits. It was not envy, detested passion! No; my thoughts had