For a time we went north along the Rhine, past the great factory of Leverkusen--famous for its dyes, and during the war one of the most important of German munition works. Our way lay amid the many industrial establishments which mark the high road to Düsseldorf, and I looked with envy on their smokeless chimneys. Beyond Opladen we turned off to the right and, with the bewildering rapidity which happens in this district, found ourselves in a few minutes in a purely rural valley. Here were orchards and open meadows and black and white houses. We twisted in and out along various side-roads, till the road itself showed signs of ending in a secluded valley where a mill-pond, a mill, and a miller came into view. The miller was the chauffeur’s friend. They shook hands solemnly and exchanged greetings. Then we were introduced--was there any fishing to let? He, the chauffeur, knew from previous experience that the stream was well thought of. The miller was friendly but could give us little help. The proprietor was just dead, the upper stream was let, there were no trout now in the lower pond. But he had a friend, Herr Hermann Hollweg, who owned a Bade-anstalt in a neighbouring village. Herr Hollweg most certainly would put us in the way of getting a fine trout stream. Back again we went, therefore, to hunt up the Bade-anstalt and Herr Hermann Hollweg. We ran him to earth without much difficulty--a second polite and courteous gentleman, but again full of regrets that he had no fishing to let. Herr Hollweg produced a large map of the countryside. At Nägelsbaum he had a friend, Herr Holbach, who assuredly would be able to produce trout. Would we kindly mention his name and Herr Holbach would do his best for us? Before we left would we like to see his Bade-anstalt? Certainly, we replied, and so we were led through a scrupulously clean kitchen, to emerge in an open-air swimming bath of extraordinary size and appointments for a small village. A group of boys and girls were swimming and splashing about in the water. On a terrace above the bath was a café where various people were having refreshments. Behind that was a large concert hall where, according to Herr Hollweg, the company danced on Sundays. Nothing has struck me more in Germany than the excellent and wholesome way in which popular amusements are arranged. Probably the industrial workers from the surrounding district pour out to Herr Hollweg’s bath and café and concert hall on Sundays. But why, one asks, is it impossible to secure similar amenities for an English town and village, where loafing and drinking are often the dismal alternative amusements of the Sabbath?