The Winchester weekly appeal. [volume] (Winchester, Tenn.) 1856-1856, 1856-11-14
FROM PETERsoNs MAGAZINE.
HOW I WENT ANGLING,
AND WHAT WAS CAUGHT
BY F.. W. DEWERs.

BY F.. W. DEWERs.
81 do wish, Bob, you would get MARI.
ed" cried my mother, impatenlly, one
day after she had endured my company a
whole long summer morning.
The suggestion was by no means anew
one, for | was five and thirty, and it had
been terated and reiterated, by all my
family ever since was twenty-five. |
therefore regarded my mothers remark as
the beginning of a kind Of family ritual,
and responded as usual,
"Why so, ma'am?"
"Because," she answered, shortly, de.
waiting somewhat from the beaten track,
''it's high time"
"Granted," said I.
eyes," pursued my mother, "youre
old enough, and you're rich enough, and
you're clever enough; and why you don't
get married | can't see. You would be
much happier than you are, idling about
here, with nothing better 10 do than to
follow an old woman about from cellar
to pantry, putting your hands to every bit
of mischief which Satan sends for idle
hands to do'-and all for want of some
sensible employment"
"W ould petting foolish wife be sen.
sible employment" | asked, laughing.
"She need not be foolish"
"But the wise virgin will not have me,
and / will not have a foolish one, and
there is just my trouble"
"You are too modest by half" return.
ed my mother, as she was leaving the
room.
pondere that last remark Of my moth.
er's. thought it showed dscernment
and judgment, and wondered that more
people were not Of her way of thinking.
The melancholy general reflection that
modest worth is almost sure to be under.
rated, threw me into pensive and senti-
mental mood, and snatchng up my hat
and fishing tackle, sauntered out for a
reverio under cover Of my favorte sopyt.
The subject Of my late converSatIon
continued to occupy my thoughts. The
truth is, my mother was not more anxious
to see me married than was TO be so. |
had always regarded the married state as
the happiest; my heart glowed as much as
any mans ever did, at the picture my fan
cy drew of loving family and happy
home. But the mischiefof twas, could
not find any one to P please me. ] did
not consider myself, nor mean to be, over
fastidious, but among all the fiat, Autter.
ing, furbelowed fine ladies met in soci.
ETY., found so little nature, so little good
ness, so little heart, that | could not fall
in love with them let me try as | would.
1t was truly a lamentable case. Here
was |, really clever enough fellow
well to do in the world-considered as |
knew well enough, something of catch,
willing and anxious to be caught, and no,
body skilful enough to do it. 1t was al.
most parallel case with that of the poor
pig in the nursery rhyme, which ran
about the streets ready roasted, with a
fork stuck in his side, crying, "Who'll
eat me?-who'll eat me?"
Pondering this gloomy thought, wan.
dered on and on, quite beyond my usual
bounds, and at last, rather tired, clam.
bered up steep rock which overhung the
brook | had been following, and sat down
to rest.
1t was true summer scene-quiet and
warm and bright--nicely shaded, howev.
er, where lay, and the cool sound of the
rlpPling water added just the only charm
possible, where all was so charming.
l listened with delight; but in doing so
became sensible that besides the regular
monotonous babbling Of the brooklet,
there mingled other sounds of splashing
water, which occurred at irregular inter.
vals, and which seemed to proceed from
below the rock on which | recined. Ny