Among monastic communities, the ritualized almsgiving that followed the death of a brother was a crucial step in the dying process—the act served to aid the dead and remember their persisting ties to the community as the individual embarked on his post-mortem journey. The practice of social welfare on behalf and for the benefit of the dead was given further meaning by the source of the alms: the almoner would take the alms from the departed individual’s own prebend or allotment of food, drink, or clothing, sometimes for up to thirty days after his or her death. The act not only symbolized the ritual participation of the dead individual in communal life, but was also crucial relief for the soul undergoing purgatorial penance.

For such an important funerary practice, the almoner could not afford to be stingy or uncharitable—the wellbeing of his brother’s soul was at stake after all. Othlo of St. Emmeram, a German monk in the eleventh century, recalls in his Liber visionum what might happen if the alms-giver became too tight-fisted with another's alms. It was told that at the abbey of Fulda, a monk had drowned by accident and that his body was recovered and buried a few days later. Drawn from the dead brother’s allotment, the alms were distributed per usual, but after a few days the cellarer in charge of the distribution refused to release any more, claiming that the drowning was in fact a suicide—and therefore the departed deserved none of the benefits of almsgiving. Soon after, however, the dead monk appeared to the cellarer in a dream. Accusing him of being too presumptuous, the enraged ghost proceeded to beat the miserly cellarer for having cast judgment and denied a brother what was, in a very real sense, access to the community of believers.

Basically, don't get too stingy with the dead, not everyone gets let off the hook as easily as Scrooge.

My favorite frugal historical figure is Lydia Maria Child, who wrote the best-titled household hints book in the history of time: The American Frugal Housewife: dedicated to those who are not ashamed of economy. Every book should be dedicated thus. She opens the book by firmly telling you all members of the household should either be earning or saving money, even the children, who should be doing some sort of household work instead of "wearing out their clothes in useless play." DAMN RIGHT.

She also wrote the Thanksgiving song "Over the River and Through the Woods" lest you think she was totally grim. Pretty cool lady.

One of my favourite instances of 'cheating the dead' is from the second burial from Borum Eshøj, a mound in Denmark from the Middle Bronze Age, 1351 BC. The dead were buried in sealed oak log coffins, which, together with the clay encapsulating the burials, preserved them and the contents of the grave. Grave 2 is a young man, wrapped in textiles and was also given a bronze weapon, except instead of a sword they buried him with a short dagger in a full-size sword scabbard. When the dagger is inside the scabbard, the deception is invisible.

In the early 19th century, there was a Welshman named Morgan Jones, who was quite the thrifty bastard. This, combined with the fact that he was Vicar of Blewbury, lead to his nickname of "Blewbury Jones the Miser". He had some fairly culturally unacceptable/odd ways of saving money. For instance, he stole all of his clothes from scarecrows. That is, except his favorite coat, which he patched over and over again until none of the original threading was left. Lastly, he always visited parishioners during dinner so that they would give him free food and he would not have to buy it himself! His whole life, people believed him to just be a poor man with no clothes and no food, but when he died, he left a fortune of £18,000 (in 1824 money). His legacy is that the character "Blackberry Jones" from Dickens' Our Mutual Friend is based on him.