SNAP RIVERS.
Jack Rivers should have been a gentleman. His family, his property, his early education, entitled him to that dignity. Jack was not a gentleman; with perverted views of ambition he spurned the distinction, and gloried in the well-merited title of knave. Many loftier and nobler minds have been reduced to even a lower point of moral degradation by early indulgence in gross licentious habits. Such was not the case with Jack. Immoderate sensual gratification ranked not in the catalogue of his crimes. He was no toper; was a married man at twenty, and a faithful husband all his life. Yet, Jack was an acknowledged, nay, more, a professed knave, though neither a lover of money nor a spendthrift. Shakspeare it is said, ransacked all nature, and left almost no character untouched; yet neither in his historical portraits, the etchings of his own times, nor his prophetic creations, has he given us a picture that at all resembled Snap Rivers, the faithfully expressive soubriquet assumed by our hero. Nature, whimsical nature, must have been in her drollest mood—must have been actually studying the picturesque when she cast his nativity. He certainly was a model for an artist in that line, for he stood six feet six inches by military standard, was extremely slender, rejoiced in the possession of a hatchet face ornamented with the most splendid Roman nose imaginable, illumined by two small ferret eyes, squinting fiercely inwards, which gave to his countenance the most sinister expression possible. Quite aware of the value of these natural advantages, Jack’s genius and striking taste in dress added considerably to their effect. It was his invariable custom through life to wrap his outer man in a long blue cloak, a garment little used in his day. Summer and winter, a pair of blue rib-and-fur woollen stockings encased his spindle legs, gartered above the knee beneath a pair of gun-mouthed unmentionables; a red nightcap ever maintained its conspicuous place on his elevated poll, while an immense fire-shovel or clerical hat gave a finish to his unique and matchless appearance. He possessed one other accomplishment: he was afflicted—poh!—blessed with a most inveterate stammer in his speech: a word in speaking he could not utter without the most frightful contortion of countenance, and unintelligible splutter, splutter, splutter. Yet, no one of his attributes did he turn to such beneficial effect as this; for when he either wished to gain time, or baffle an opponent, forth came a torrent of manting sounds in all their horrific grandeur, and he who could quell the feelings of pity could rarely resist the ready propensity to laugh at the ludicrous exhibition; so Jack was generally successful. But, notwithstanding this great natural defect, whenever he pleased he could make himself well understood, by falling back upon a species of recitative, or musical method of speaking, peculiar to himself, and always commencing with a loud “ho! ho!” which gave timely warning to all his acquaintances that he was about to favour them with his own sentiments in his own style. One circumstance of his early life must be mentioned, as it may have given a bent to his mind in after years. At the early age of seventeen he had deserted his respectable and happy home, and found himself a private in a dragoon regiment. The act broke his father’s heart. So, having spent three years in that admirable school of morality, Jack purchased out, and returned to his young wife, as well as to the possession of a snug £400 a-year, which fell into his hands by hereditary descent.
Constituted as his mind then was, his principles soon began to develope themselves, and to afford a strong contrast to those which had governed the actions of his father. That he shortly became dreaded by all his neighbours, may be admitted; that he would and did overreach every man with whom he had business transactions, was an admitted fact, because it was his own proud boast; and when checked by his friends for those admissions, he would boldly reply, “Ho! ho! woo-ood you have me tit-tit-too put my lil-lighted ca-handle under a bu-hushal?” But that he was hated, or even disrespected in consequence of his acts, has no foundation in reality. There was nothing mean or grovelling about his knavery—all was above-board, done in clear day-light. There was nothing selfish or avaricious about him; the glory of the deed was all he aimed at, for every body knew he would prefer gaining a pound by open imposition, to the receipt of ten by honourable means. He never used a soothing phrase to human being. He seemed to court the hostility of his species, yet that would not come; for notwithstanding his profane and coarse salutations, he had a humane heart, and a short time sufficed to unmask it. The poor never went hungry from his door, and a distressed acquaintance had a certain resource while there was a penny in the purse of Snap Rivers. He was as welcome to his cash as to his bitterest malediction, and that was ever ready for either friend or foe. But the insolent great man, or the would-be important, who aped a dignity to which he had no fair claim, was the object of his deep immitigable hate; with such he could hold no terms; and did such ever cross his path, he would plot for months till he would circumvent him in some shape. Did ever Shakspeare light on such a character? Yet, notwithstanding all these seeming contradictions, a single trait has not been here placed to his account that was not in a degree beyond description truly his.
On one occasion Jack was invited to an evening party in the house of his brother-in-law, a plain honest man, an extensive farmer, wealthy and respectable, in every point the very antithesis of his eccentric relative. The district was remarkable for the peace and harmony which prevailed throughout its entire population. Party strife and sectarian animosity were here totally unknown, while intermarriages among all sects cemented a union and fostered a spirit of Christian charity and forbearance, which, while it ameliorated the heart and breathed peace around it, shed also a lustre on the humble community beyond the dignity which vain pomp confers on the fleeting distinctions which gorgeous wealth creates.
But Jack was an invited guest; so was his own amiable minister, the virtuous and respected Protestant rector, Mr B——; so was Dr D——, a pretty tolerable wag; and so was the Rev. Mr K——, the parish priest, between whom and the rector there existed a sincere unfeigned friendship. The priest had studied in France; was a man of high attainments, polished manners, possessed a vast fund of sparkling wit, with as ready and as happy an expression as ever distinguished man; but his brilliant qualities were ever under the control of strict decorum, and, further, restrained by a lofty sense of that dignity which should inhedge the minister of religion. He was consequently an especial favourite with all classes, and an honoured guest at every social board. No man revered him more than Snap Rivers, and none was more anxious, or better knew how, to draw out his conversational powers.
The party was all assembled with the exception of our hero, and as his presence and pungent remarks always contributed to the hilarity of his friends, the kind-hearted host was not half satisfied with his absence. “What the devil’s keeping Jack?” had just escaped from Mr Anderson’s tongue, as the door opened, and the head and shoulders of Snap Rivers made their welcome appearance. When he had fairly entered the room, he raised himself to his full height, stared deliberately around him, pulled off his hat with some attempt at grace, and exclaimed in his own fashion, “Ho! ho! a goo-hoodly company, by Ju-hupiter! Ho! ho! the bla-hack-coats!” Then casting up his eyes in the most fervent manner, he added—
“From daw-hocters and praw-hoctors, lil-lawyers and cla-hargymen, good Lord deliver us!”
“Early in the attack, Mr Rivers,” said the priest.
“Ho! ho! Mr Lil-long-tongue, sure you nee-heedn’t care; you’re always prepared. I wo-wo-wish your brother co-co-corbie there would bib-bib-bib-borrow some of your chin-whack.”
“Listen to him noo,” said the host; “he’s begun, an’ the diel would na stop his tongue; we’ll a’ get a wipe in our turn.”
“Never mind,” said the rector. “Mr Rivers, I am happy to perceive, is charitably inclined to-night. He wishes to increase my usefulness for the benefit of his neighbours, as he never condescends to occupy his seat in church.”
“And never will, Mr Modesty, till you think fit to change your tune.”
“Pray inform me how I shall accommodate myself to your taste, Mr Rivers.”
“There are tit-two mim-methods open to you. Either you shall pra-hactise what you pre-heach, or pre-heach what you pra-hactise!”
“You are pleased to speak in riddles, Mr Rivers; be kind enough to explain.”
“Ho! ho! tha-hat is mim-more than I intended. Fu-hoo men blame me for con-ce-ling my thoughts. But I shall try to be clear. You pre-heach cha-harity, and you pra-hactise rir-rir-robbery. Ho! ho! but you are a saint! Now, I am a knave; and how lies the difference? In my fif-favour to be sure, for I give the world fif-fair play—every body knows my cha-haracter.”
“Your character is generally known,” interposed the priest; “and, as you admire candour, allow me to add, as generally execrated.”
“And what is that yoo-hoore affair, Mr Law-long-tongue. Why meddle in other men’s fif-fif-feuds?”
“You mistake, Mr Rivers; he who interrupts the harmony of society is accountable to every member. You have rudely burst the bounds of decorum to-night; you have unfeelingly assailed a mild and amiable gentleman; your charge is as unjust as your manner is coarse and vulgar, and both are as execrable as any thing, save the malice that prompted the attack.”
“Ho! ho! I might as well have rir-roused a hive of hornets. You black-coats fight among you-yourselves like cat and dog, but you will not allow others to interfere with the claw-hoth, I perceive.”
“The deevil stop your tongue, but it’s gleg the nicht, Jack Rivers,” said the host; “can you no gie us peace?—sure nae ither man would insult the rector.”
“Ho! ho! but you’re in a wonderful pucker, Mr Numskull. Let the rector defend himself.”
“Mr B—— is too gentle a character to manage you,” said the priest.
“Your greatest enemy wo-on’t brand you with that crime,” replied Rivers, “for you ride rough-shod over all that come in your way.”
“Nothing gives me greater pleasure, I admit, when I meet such characters as you; for history furnishes no likeness of you, and among living men we would seek in vain for your fellow.”
“Ho! ho! your French politeness is less polished than stringent to-night, I think. I don’t admire it much. I would rather see your native talent in its native Irish dress. Out with the sentiments of your heart, plainly, man, and at once say, ‘Out of h——, Rivers, you’re matchless.’”
“Oh no, I cannot profit by your advice. I felt my own want of ability, and therefore left the picture to be dashed off by an abler hand. The truthfulness of your sketch no person will venture to dispute.”
The laugh was against Jack, and he bore the punishment with good temper, collecting himself, however, for a renewal of hostilities. After tea, as was the custom on such occasions, the ladies and such of the young men as preferred female society withdrew to another apartment, while the majority of the elderly gentlemen, including the clergymen, the doctor, and Snap Rivers, collected round the host to enjoy the comforts of the bottle; and as the steam began to rise, the hilarity of the party got up in proportion. After various gay sallies, Rivers said,
“Well, Master Galen, how goes trade now? You-oo and the se-hexton are se-heldom idle, I believe.”
“Always doing a little,” said the good-natured doctor, “but nothing worth notice. Any snaps with yourself of late, my conscientious friend?”
“Good, doctor, good; seldom at a loss for a sly hit. A-a-and to tell you the truth, I have mere trifles to boast of since I diddled the fellows in the pa-harish of Billy.”
“I am not aware of the circumstance; pray what was it?” said the doctor.
“Lil-lil-let our brilliant host tell you; he was a witness to the transaction,” said Rivers; “besides, unfortunately, my tongue was not made by the same craftsman that manufactured my brains.”
“How happy for your neighbours!” said the priest; “could your tongue give ready expression to the subtle plottings of your skull, we would be deluged with a torrent of knavery. But, Mr Anderson, do favour us with the story.”
“By my conscience, then, it will do but little credit to Jack, in any honest man’s mind; but if you will hae it, then you must hae it. About three months ago there was a property to be sold by public cant in B——ls, and, to be sure, the devil drives it to Jack’s ears. Weel! the lease was a perpetuity, very valuable, and fifty pun’ o’ a deposit was to be paid doon on the nail. Very weel, he comes owre and engages me to gang alang wi’ him to buy the place. But on the morning of the sale when I called on him, what was my surprise to see him dressed up in a rabbitman’s coat, tied roun’ wi’ a strae rope, a hat owre the red nightcap, no worth thrippence, wi’ breeks, shoes, and stockings that would disgrace a beggarman. Weel, in spite o’ a’ I could say, aff he starts in that fashion, and you’ll grant a bonny figure he cut among respectable men; but diel hait he cared; for while the folk was gathering, he sets himsel up on a kind o’ a counter, and begins beating wi’ his heels, and glancing roun’ him like a monkey, and jabbering the purest nonsense. I actually thought I would hae drapped through the earth wi’ perfect shame, though I was a little relieved when I saw he was set down for an idiot, and heard the gentlemen freely crack their jokes on him. Weel, the auction commenced, and when twa or three bids were gi’en, he looks up at the cant-master so innocently, and says, in his ain style, ‘Ho, ho, may I gie a bid?’ ‘To be sure, my fine fellow,’ says the man, laughing doon at him; ‘bid up, and nae doot ye’ll get the property.’ The bidding was up to £150. ‘£200,’ cries Jack, the roars o’ the company. ‘£250,’ says another. ‘£300,’ says Jack, and he skellied up at the cant-master in such a fashion as nae living man could stand. You could hae tied the hail gathering wi’ a strae, while Jack kept glowering about and whistling, and beating time to the tune wi’ his heels.”
“And what tune did he whistle?” said the doctor.
“The diel a mair or less nor ‘the Rogue’s March,’” said the narrator. “But when the roars had subsided, the cant-master, to humour the joke, takes up Jack’s bid, and he says, ‘Three hundred pounds once—three hundred pounds twice—three hundred pounds, three—three—three—all done?—three times!’ and down, in fine, he knocks a property worth three thousand, adding, ‘The place is yours, my man.’ ‘Yes, by my sowl,’ says Jack, springing off the counter, ‘the place is mine;’ and pulling a bag out of a side pocket, and placing it on the table, he added, ‘And there’s your required deposit for you!’ But he may tell the rest himsel.”
“And what followed, Mr Rivers?” said the doctor.
“Wha-hat followed! Why, you-oo would have thought the fellow was stuck, or af-flicted with my own impediment; but after some attempts he stammered out, ‘Oh, every person knows I was only in jest.’ ‘Ho! ho! my boy,’ said I, ‘but every person here shall know that I ne-ever was more in earnest. If I be a fool, my money’s no fool. Ho! ho! gentlemen, you enjoyed your jokes at my expense; but it’s an old saying, he may laugh that wins; the tables a-a-are turned, and it’s my time now, I presume.’”
“And, Mr Anderson,” said the doctor, “did all present quietly submit to the imposition?”
“Why, to tell the truth, every sowl in the place was dumfoundered, and stared at each other like as mony idiots. The cant-master made some new objection about ruining him, but Jack very glibly replied, ‘The sale is good and lawful. After more than three bids, the property was knocked down to me. The terms have been duly complied with, the deposit tendered before witnesses, and here is the remainder of the purchase money at your service when the deeds are perfected. I grant you were more merry than wise on this occasion; and if you wish to know whom you have to deal with, it may be sufficient to inform you that I am Snap Rivers of the Doaghs; you have likely heard the name before;’ and out he marched as cool as a cucumber.”
The rector knew less of his parishioner than did the rest of the party; he therefore listened in amazement to the relation; but when the host had concluded, as if to assure himself that he was not dreaming, he said, “And, Mr Anderson, did all this really occur?”
“I’faith I assure you it did.”
“And is it possible that you could lend yourself to so nefarious and disreputable a transaction?”
“It’s no the first time Jack has made a tool o’ me,” said the simple-minded host: “he inveigled me there just to make a witness o’ me. I was innocently led into the affair; but besides what you have heard, I have neither more nor less to do with it.”
“And do you really intend to retain the property, Mr Rivers?” warmly inquired the indignant rector.
“Do I intend to retain it! Lord, how simple you would appear! Ho! ho! retain it! to be sure I will, and a very good thing it is, let me tell you.”
“Well, sir, under these circumstances it is my duty to be plain: you and I can have no further acquaintance,” said the rector.
Snap appeared surprised, and with a vacant stare, or at least a well-feigned look of simplicity, he modestly inquired, “And why, may I ask, shoo-oo-ood you cut my acquaintance?”
“The reason is plain,” said the rector; “you are in possession of a property surreptitiously obtained. You have deeply injured the proprietor, ruined the auctioneer, and instead of feeling remorse, you glory in the nefarious deed.”
“Ho! ho! is that the way the land lies? Why, man, did not I purchase it at a public sale? and was I not the highest bidder? If the auction was ill managed on their parts, am I to blame?”
“These arguments,” replied the rector, “might satisfy a Jew, but have no force on the Christian mind. You have no moral right. It is true, the law of the land may protect you, yet still you retain that to which in justice you have not even a shadow of claim.”
“Well, I am rejoiced to hear these noble sentiments from you, Mr Rector, although your high tone smacks a little of prudery. I trust you will cherish them; and if you do, what the devil, I ask, will become of your tithes, to which you have less claim than I have to the property? I gave something for it, yoo-oo give nothing at all for them; and yet you have the confounded impudence to rebuke me for one solitary act of knavery, while you practise the same trick on hundreds yearly.”
The rector vouchsafed no reply, but retired to the ladies, disgusted with the hardened villany of his ribald parishioner, who laughed in triumph at the clergyman’s discomfiture; and turning to the priest, he said,
“Well, Master Glib-tongue, what do you think of the affair? Did not I badger Mr Modesty in prime style? I think he will not readily volunteer his infernal impudence again, after such a lesson.”
“I know, Snap,” said the priest, “you are a consummate scoundrel. You have treated a most amiable man with unfeeling rudeness, and you deserve the reprobation of every right-thinking mind. Your legal swindling is bad, but your unblushing advocacy of the principle is worse; and if any thing still more flagrant can be conceived, your base and savage retort upon your own pastor is the very climax of your heartless villany.”
“Ho! ho! Mr Bladderchops, you have taken up the cudgels, with a vengeance. But you should remember the proverb, ‘Come into court with clean hands.’ What are you better than Mr Modesty? You don’t take the tithes, simply because you can’t get them. You don’t rob by act of parliament, but you wheedle the money out of some, and frighten it out of others, with the magic of your priestcraft.”
Mr Anderson was in agony, and interposing said, “I think, Jack, if you had any decency or feeling for me, you wouldn’t insult a clergyman at my table. You might be satisfied with driving one out of the room.”
“Ho! ho! Mr Numskull, but you’re thin in the skin! You have a wonderful leaning towards the corbies; you might fairly volunteer to defend the rector, but I beg you to let the priest answer for himself.”
“And were I to answer according to your merits, a horsewhip would afford the fitting reply. Respect for my own character forbids that appeal, and protects your insolence. Yet you go not unchastised. The cupidity of your heart, like every other crime, engenders its own punishment; and though you appear to glory in acts which shock the feelings of all other men, yet, despite your coarse ribaldry, there is an avenger within your own breast, which with scorpion venom stings you to madness, and will never cease its gnawings till penitence, a very unlikely consummation, pour its healing balm on ulcers scared and encrusted by the fires of iniquity!”
“Ho! ho! how very familiar you black-coats are with horrors! How very glibly you can ‘talk of hell where devils dwell, and thunder out damnation.’ Now, I think you priests should be more modest. It would serve your interests better to merely consign us to purgatory.”
“Your own acts, Rivers, determine such cases.”
“Ho! ho! I am aware of that; but, notwithstanding, cannot a little bit of clerical hocus-pocus serve us on a pinch?”
“The habitually profane have little to hope for either from God or man; they sneer at blessings mercifully offered, and too frequently die in their sins.”
“Then, under all these circumstances I think it as wise to have nothing to do with your purgatory.”
“I wish it may not lie your fate to go farther and fare worse.”
“Well, the devil couldn’t bandy compliments with you, Mr K——; so I think, brother Bill, you had better push about the jorum. The priest has too much tongue for me to-night, and there’s no moving his temper. But wait a bit: if I don’t gage him to his heart’s content, the first public place I meet him in, my name’s not Snap Rivers.” The party separated good friends, and the priest paid no attention to the threat. A month had elapsed, and Mr K—— having business in the nearest town, found himself on the market-day perusing a placard, announcing the exhibition of a large beautiful milk-white bullock, said to be a ton weight. In the midst of his reading the priest was surprised to hear himself called by name. “Ho! ho! Mr K——, come hither!” His eye followed in the direction of the sounds, and at about a perch distant he beheld Rivers, dressed as usual in his long blue cloak, gun-mouthed breeches, blue rib-and-fur stockings, his red nightcap and fire-shovel hat—as ludicrous a figure, “take him for all and all,” as ever stood in a market.
“Ho! ho! Mr K——, come hither,” and the priest, not unwillingly, obeyed the summons. The meeting occurred just in the market-place. The little square was thronged to excess. The anxiety of business sat upon every countenance, and hundreds, passing hither and thither in the ardent pursuit of their own affairs, might have passed their most intimate friend without recognition; so true it is that the contemplative man is never more in solitude than in the midst of a crowd. But the first salutations over, Rivers entered eagerly into conversation with the priest, on topics of mutual interest; with not unwarrantable familiarity he laid his hand on his shoulder, continued to talk earnestly, insinuated his finger into a button-hole, without, apparent motive caught him by the collar, then grasped it firmly; and that done, to his victim’s consternation he pulled off his fire-shovel hat, left the red nightcap uncovered, and with much vigour brandishing the chapeau, began to call an auction. The market-people deemed him mad. The priest felt no desire to be disposed of by public sale, but Snap laboured most earnestly in his new vocation.
“Ho, ho! oh yes! oh yes! hear ye! hear ye!”
And the people did hear, and did flock around the pair. The priest’s feelings may be fancied more readily than pourtrayed. He at once saw his tormentor’s aim; he knew that violence would only serve to increase the awkwardness of his position, and with much presence of mind he resolved quietly to baffle, and if possible to turn the table upon Rivers. The crowd rushed rapidly to the centre of attraction. Mr K—— remained apparently unconcerned, and Snap was the object of every eye, as he continued vociferously to bawl, “Hear ye! hear ye! oh yes! oh yes!” The gaping spectators were lost in wonderment. No one could either divine the cause of the uproar or explain the strange conduct of the man in the cloak. At length the priest, seizing the favourable moment, pulled off his hat, and with a serene look and respectful tone thus addressed the assembly—
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honour of informing you that Mr John Rivers of the Doaghs, this long gentleman at my shoulder with the blue cloak and red nightcap, purposes in his present remarkable dress to ride ‘the white bullock’ three times round the market this day for your amusement; the performance to begin precisely at 12 o’clock.”
Three thundering cheers announced the delight of the crowd, while Rivers, baffled, disappointed, astonished, perfectly dumfoundered, slackened his gripe, fell back a few steps, and stared most fixedly at the placid countenance of the priest; he gaped and struggled for utterance; the muscles of his face played in wild commotion. He solemnly raised his hands and eyes in the attitude of prayer, and at last was enabled to bawl, or rather half sing, “All that ever you did upon me was but a flea-bite to this. So, to make up matters, you shall dine with Yellow Peg and me to-morrow; you are the only man that ever could say he was more than a match for Snap Rivers.”
H. H.