As even the longest journey will 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 our whole party being 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 _bougies_. Had we had the necessary time to spare, my little party would have been interested in seeing Mulhouse, which is a manufacturing town of considerable size, where many of the operatives are the owners of their own houses; but 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 train to Bale. The distance is short, and the conveyance quick. Almost before we had time to view the passing landscape, which is exceedingly 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 Rhine 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 so picturesque that I determined to place a view of it in this work. Hailing a _voiture_, our party had no end of difficulty to get the coachman to understand where we wanted to be driven. I said, “To Huningue;” he then suggested that it must be “Euiniguen,” and my Scotch young lady friend, who was all in a glow about the “beautiful Rhine,” as, of course, a young lady ought to be, suggested that the pronunciation might be “Hiningue,” which proved a shrewd guess, as immediately on hearing it we were addressed in tolerable but very broken English by a quiet-looking coachman, who said, “Come with me; I have study the English grammaire; I know where you want to go, and will take you.” Although I could not help wondering that a celebrated place, as we all thought Huningue ought to be, was not better known, I felt pretty sure our coachman knew it; and having persuaded my Scotch friend and his young lady to take a drive, we at once started for the _etablissement de pisciculture_, where we were all of us most hospitably received by the superintendent, who at once