A TEIP TO HTJNINGUE. 67 



Bent on a piscatorial tour, I noted with care the spots of 

 water that pretty often fringed the line of rails, and wondered 

 if they were populated by any of the finny tribe ; if so, by what 

 kind of fish, and whether they had been replenished by the aid of 

 pisciculture ? There was evidently fishing in the districts passed 

 through, because at some of the stations there was the vision of 

 an occasional angler, and a frequent " flop " in many of the pools 

 which we passed convinced me that fair sport might be had ; 

 and the entry of an occasional Waltonian into some of the stations 

 with a few pounds weight of trout quite excited everybody, and 

 made some of us long to whip the waters of the district of 

 Champagne, through which we were passing. And a close in- 

 spection of the national etablissement de 'piscicultwe at Huningue 

 has convinced me that if any river in France be still fishless, it 

 is not through any fault of the government. 



As even the longest journey wiU come to an end, the train 

 arrived in due time at Mulhouse, or Mulhausen, as it is called 

 in the German, and it being late and dark, and all of us (I was 

 one of a little party) somewhat fatigued, we allowed ourselves to 

 be carried to the nearest hotel, a large, uncomfortable, dirty- 

 looking place, where apparently they seldom see British gold, and 

 make an immense charge for lougies. Being within scent of 

 Switzerland, having the feeling that we were in the shadow of 

 its mountains, and almost within hearing of the noise made by 

 its many waters, we hurried on by the first morning train to Bale. 

 The distance is short, and the conveyance quick. Almost before 

 we had time to view the passing landscape, which is exceed- 

 ingly beautiful, being rich in vineyards and orchards, and rapidly 

 turning Swiss in its scenery, we were stopped at St. Louis by 

 the custom-house authorities, who, it is but proper to say, are 

 exceedingly polite to all honest travellers. I would advise any 

 one in search of the etablissement de pisciculture at Huningue to 

 leave the train at this station. Not knowing its proximity at 

 the time of my visit, I went right on to Bale. 



Poets might go into raptures about Bale — Bale the beautiful 

 — ^with the flowing Ehine cutting it into two halves, its waters 

 green as the icefields which had given them birth, its houses 

 quaint, its streets so clean, its fountains so antique ; but we had 

 no time to go into raptures — our business was to get to Huningue, 

 and curiously enough we had wandered into the fishmarket before 

 we knew where we were. Like various other fishmarkets which 

 we have visited, it contained no fish that we could see, but it is 



