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But one day the old miser ran foul of a snag. A market-man had watched him for some time purloining his vegetables, and on the first of the year, sent in a bill of several dollars, for turnips, potatoes, parsnips, etc. The old miser, of course, refused to pay the bill, denying ever having had “the goods.” But the countryman called, in propria persona, refreshed his memory, and added, that, if the bill was not footed on sight, he should prosecute him for stealing! This made the old miser shake in his boots. He blustered for awhile; then reasoned the case; then plead poverty. But the purveyor in vegetables was not the man to be cabbaged in that way, and the old miser called him into his sitting-room, and ordered his son, a wild young scamp, to go up stairs and see if he could find five dollars in any of the drawers or boxes up there. The young man finally called out–

“Dad, which bag shall I take it out of, the gold or silver ?”

“Odd zounds!” bawled the old man–“the boy wants to let on I’ve got bags of gold and silver!”

And so he had, many thousands of dollars in good gold and silver; he hobbled up stairs, got nine half dollars, and tried to get off fifty cents less than the countryman’s bill; but the countryman was stubborn as a mule, and would not abate a farthing–so the old miser had to hobble up stairs and fetch down his fifty cents more, and the whole operation was like squeezing bear’s grease from a pig’s tail, or jerking out eye-teeth.

The miser never waylaid the market-men again; and not long after this, he got a spurious dollar put upon him in one of his “exchanging” operations, and that wound up his penny shaving.

Time passed–Death called upon the wretched man of ingots and money bags,–but while power remained to forbid it, the old miser refused to have a physician. When, to all appearance, his senses were gone, his friends drew the miser’s pantaloons from under his pillow, where he had always insisted on their remaining during his sleeping hours, and his last illness–but as one of the attendants slowly removed the garment, the poor old man, with a convulsive effort–a galvanic-like grab–threw out his bony, cold hand, and seized his old pantaloons!

The miser clutched them with a dying grasp; words struggled in his throat; he could not utter them; his jaw fell–he was dead!

Much curiosity was manifested by the friends and relatives to know what could have caused the poor old man to cling to his time-worn pantaloons; but the mystery was soon revealed–for upon examination of the linings of the waistbands and watch-fob, over $30,000 in bank notes were there concealed!

The Lord’s pardon and human sympathy be with all such misguided and wretched slaves of–money, say we.