CHAPTER XXXVII 



THE FRENZY OF UNREST 



STRANGE and persistent frenzy of unrest 

 drifts in, perhaps from the. sea, in spring. It is 

 of the things dreams are made of. Perhaps it 

 does not come from breaking waves, but it is a 

 part of the fragrance of spring flowers, a part of that spring- 

 ing into life that pervades all dormant nature in spring. Be 

 this as it may, it fastens itself upon the imagination of the 

 angler when the snow is still to be seen in secluded corners, 

 and grows in intensity until May or June, when the victim, 

 completely in the toils, throws restraint to the winds, seizes 

 his rod and fly book, and hies him to some one of Van 

 Dyke's " Little Rivers," where, with perfect abandon, he 

 gives himself over to the charms and allurements of Nature. 

 No one has ever suggested a cure for this malady of the 

 angler, and no one ever will, as it is the one contagion that 

 man delights in and welcomes year by year ; the one epidemic 

 that is looked forward to in dreams and awake, the only 

 disturbance of men that can be promptly cured, stopped 

 and eradicated by merely going a-fishing. Philosophers 

 from the earliest days have pondered over, and written 

 about the charms of fishing, churchmen and housewives have 

 denounced it, but the streams run on, their music is un- 

 abated, trout and bass still rise to flies, dry and wet, and 

 always will, is the consolation of the devout and philosophi- 

 cal angler. 



With unabating force and intensity this fishing fever 

 comes on as the days roll on and the buds swell, while the 

 songs of birds fill the air, telling of the opening season soon 



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