Sheppard Lee, Written by Himself. Vol. 1 (of 2) — John Shaqi
Sheppard Lee, Written by Himself. Vol. 1 (of 2)Bird, Robert Montgomery
General
Sheppard Lee, Written by Himself. Vol. 1 (of 2)
Bird, Robert Montgomery
American fiction -- 19th century; Satire
And so it did, as was universally allowed by all the party; but the
conviction of its justice was all I ever gained in reward of my
exertions. The battle was fought and won, the party was triumphant,
and I was just rejoicing in the successful termination of my hopes,
when they were blasted by the sudden appointment of another to the very
office which I considered my own. That other was one of the aforesaid
leaders, who had been foremost in commending my zeal and talents, and
in assuring me that the office should be mine.
I was confounded, petrified, enraged; the duplicity and perfidy of my
new friends filled me with indignation. It was evident they must all
have joined in recommending my rival to the office; for he was a man
of bad character, who must, without such recommendations, have missed
his aim. All therefore had recommended him, and all had promised their
suffrages to me! "The scoundrels!" said I to myself. I perceived that
I had fallen among thieves; it was clear that no party could be in the
right, which was led by such unprincipled men; there was corruption at
the heart of the whole body; the party consisted of rogues who were
gaping after the loaves and fishes; their honesty was a song--their
patriotism a farce. In a word, I found I had joined the wrong party,
and I resolved to go over to the other, sincerely repenting the
delusion that had made me so long the advocate of wrong and deception.
But fortune willed otherwise. I had arrived at the crisis of my fate;
and before I could put my purpose into execution, I was suddenly
involved in that tissue of adventure, which, I have no doubt, will be
considered the most remarkable that ever befell a human being.
CHAPTER VIII.
A DESCRIPTION OF THE OWL-ROOST, WITH MR. JUMBLE'S IDEAS IN RELATION TO
CAPTAIN KID'S MONEY.
For five mortal days I remained at home, chewing the bone of
reflection; and a hard bone it was. On the sixth there came a villanous
constable with a--the reader may suppose what. I struck a bargain with
him, and he took his leave, and Julius Cesar also, saddle, bridle, and
all; whereby I escaped an introduction to the nearest justice of the
peace. The next visit, I had good reason to apprehend, would be from
the sheriff; for, having failed to pay up the interest on the mortgage,
the mortgagee had discoursed, and that in no very mysterious strain,
on the virtues of a writ of _Venditioni Exponas_, or some other absurd
and scoundrelly invention of the lawyers. I was at my wits' end, and
I wished that I was a dog; in which case I should have gone mad, and
bitten the new post-master and all his friends.
"Very well," said I to myself; "the forty-acre is no longer mine." I
clapped on my hat, and walked into the open air, resolved to take a
look at it before the sheriff came to convince me it belonged to some
other person. As I passed from the door, I looked up to the broken
porch: "May it fall on the head of my successor," I said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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