This is an odd name for a man, who does not bear the appearance of a
viper, or “a snake in the grass.” He is a rough sort of fellow, has been
at Waterloo, but did not obtain a medal. He, nevertheless, carries the
hue of a triumphant soldier, wears an honest sunburnt face, and might be
trusted with his majesty’s great seal, or that of another description in
the British Museum. He is a lover of ringing bells and swine; but
without regular employment. A singular piece of human construction,
lone, and erratic in his love of nature. A shepherd lies down at ease by
the sides of his flocks and fountains, listens to the plaints of injured
birds, the voice of water and the music of skies, and dreams away his
existence, years of youth, manhood, and old age. Jack is more tranquil
even than the shepherd. He creeps silently in woods and forests, and on
retired hot banks, in search of serpentine amusement--he is a viper
catcher. Strange that creatures, generally feared and shunned by
mankind, should win Jack’s attention and sympathy, Yet, true it is, that
Jack regards them as the living beauties of solitude, the lovely but
startling inhabitants of luxuriant spots in the sultry summer. Were we
to look round us, in the haunts of men, we could, perhaps, discover
beings as fearful and awakening. Jack has travelled, seen the world, and
profited by his travels; for he has learned to be contented. He is not
entirely idle, nor wholly industrious. If he can get a crust sufficient
for the day, he leaves the evil if it should visit him. The first time I
saw him was in the high noon of a scorching day, at an inn in
Laytonstone. He came in while a sudden storm descended, and a rainbow of
exquisite majesty vaulted the earth. Sitting down at a table, he
beckoned the hostess for his beer, and conversed freely with his
acquaintance. By his arch replies I found that I was in company with an
original--a man that might stretch forth his arm in the wilderness
without fear, and, like Paul, grasp an adder without harm. He playfully
entwined his fingers with their coils and curled crests, and played with
their forked tongues. He had unbuttoned his waistcoat, and as
dexterously as a fish-woman handles her eels, let out several snakes and
adders, warmed by his breast, and spread them on the table. He took off
his hat, and others of different sizes and lengths twisted before me;
some of them, when he unbosomed his shirt, returned to the genial
temperature of his skin; some curled round the legs of the table, and
others rose in a defensive attitude. He irritated and humoured them, to
express either pleasure or pain at his will. Some were purchased by
individuals, and Jack pocketed his gain, observing, “a frog, or mouse,
occasionally, is enough for a snake’s satisfaction.”
The “Naturalist’s Cabinet” says, that “in the presence of the grand duke
of Tuscany, while the philosophers were making elaborate dissertations
on the danger of the poison of vipers, taken inwardly, a viper catcher,
who happened to be present, requested that a quantity of it might be put
into a vessel; and then, with the utmost confidence, and to the
astonishment of the whole company, he drank it off. Every one expected
the man instantly to drop down dead; but they soon perceived their
mistake, and found that, taken inwardly, the poison was as harmless as
water.”
William Oliver, a viper catcher at Bath, was the first who discovered
that, by the application of olive oil, the bite of the viper is
effectually cured. On the 1st of June, 1735, he suffered himself to be
bitten by an old black viper; and after enduring all the agonising
symptoms of approaching death, by using olive oil, he perfectly
recovered.
Viper’s flesh was formerly esteemed for its medicinal virtues, and its
salt was thought to exceed every other animal product, in giving vigour
to a languid constitution.
_August, 1827._
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