70 THE TROUT ARE RISING 



Except for the dampness which comes on 

 foggy, unfair days, or for the slush which a fall of 

 snow brings, it is a joy to them all the year 

 round. Mother Nature, it has been said, loves 

 loyal admirers, not mere fair-weather friends, 

 who gush over the joys of spring and early 

 summer, and then bemoan dark days. She is 

 credited with a deep affection for those who, with 

 the seeing eye, perceive also her autumn tints, 

 the wonders of a late October, and for those who 

 do not forsake her even in winter and can see 

 with joy during the short hours of sunshine the 

 dazzling lines of a range of hills, such as Stiper- 

 stones or Longmynd under the snow. When 

 can you see so sharply defined, as on a clear 

 winter day, the gnarled boughs of a trusty old 

 oak or the delicate traceries of elm or silver 

 birch ? 



Shropshire folk have an abiding love for their 

 historic shire. Meredith has put into words for 

 Salopians something of what they feel on return- 

 ing to their country after much wandering, and 

 passing through the old familiar fields in summer- 

 time, when he wrote of a scene elsewhere : 



"Joy thus to revel in the grass of our beloved country ; 

 Revel all day till the lark mounts at eve with his sweet tirra- 



lirra : 

 Thrilling delightfully." 



The Severn is still reckoned a great salmon 

 river though it yields little sport to the rod. 

 Time was when good bags of trout were 

 registered ; now, you have to work hard in 



