A FISHING EXCURSION IN HESSE-DARMSTADT.

I WAS sitting one day last summer at the table d'hôte of the Prinz Carl Hotel at Heidelberg, when I heard my name pronounced behind me, and at the same moment a friendly hand was laid upon my shoulder. I looked round, and, to my great pleasure, beheld the good-humoured physiognomy of my old chum Harry Churchill, who had just arrived by the railway from Mannheim. He seated himself on a vacant chair beside me, and we were soon busily engaged asking and answering each other a hundred questions concerning all that had happened to us since our last meeting.

There are few persons whom I would rather have come across at that particular moment than Churchill. Independently of the pleasure of meeting an old and intimate friend, whom I had not seen for nearly a twelvemonth, his arrival exactly chimed in with my plans. I had been for some days at Heidelberg, wandering about the beautiful country that surrounds that town, and had only been deterred by the want of an agreeable companion from undertaking a longer excursion than I had hitherto attempted. I had heard much of the pleasant vallies and teeming trout-streams of the adjacent duchy of Hesse-Darmstadt, and was desirous of visiting the former and endeavouring to capture some of the denizens of the latter; but I had no fancy for going alone into a district where I should be pretty sure to meet none but peasants, and where I should consequently be entirely dependent for society on the companions I took with me. Churchill was the very man of all others whom I should have selected to accompany me. The best-tempered creature in the world, there was no danger of our quarrelling about choice of roads, inns, or conveyances, or any of the other small matters that sometimes breed differences between travelling companions. He was, moreover, a very pleasant fellow, with a constant flow of high spirits, never put out by any thing, and quite incapable of being rendered dull or blue-devilish by the wet jackets and foggy mornings, blistered feet and short commons, which are frequently the concomitants of the very best-regulated pedestrian rambles. He had been six weeks on the Rhine and in its neighbourhood, making the round of the various bathingplaces, and he was now proceeding to close his ramble at that grand resort of water-drinkers and gamblers, Baden Baden. On hearing of the excursion I was projecting, he willingly agreed to alter his plans for the moment and accompany me; and as the weather, which had been variable for the preceding fortnight, was now again beautiful, we resolved to lose no time, but to start the following morning. While Churchill busied himself in writing some letters, I proceeded

to put the fishing rods in order, and procure the knapsacks that were to contain our moderate allowance of baggage.

I can strongly recommend all persons who have not already journeyed in that manner, never to venture on board a Neckar steamboat. To those who have already tried that delectable mode of conveyance, such advice would be superfluous, for they will assuredly never renew the experiment. Fancy a vessel about as big as a good sized coal barge, and nearly as dirty, with a narrow deck made shorter than it might be by the prohibition against walking over the frail roof of the fetid, greasy cabin; a smell of oil, tar, tallow, and woodsmoke, and a rate of progression (up-stream) somewhat less than four miles an hour. Add to this the constant splashing of water over the decks by a couple of men, who, with long sweeps, endeavour to aid the progress of the boat and supply the deficiencies in the feeble engine, and you will have rather an agreeable picture of Neckar navigation. It is necessary to be a most fervent admirer of the beauties of nature to find compensation even in the charming scenery on either bank for the abominations of such a vessel; and Churchill and myself were not a little glad when, after four hours' crawl against a strong current, the steamer deposited us at the village of Hirschhorn, some fifteen miles above Heidelberg. We had started at six in the morning, without breakfast, a deficiency which we were now anxious to repair, and for that purpose entered a decent-looking inn, the interior of which, however, by no means corresponded with the tolerably prepossessing exterior. The fare set before us was any thing but delicate; but our appetites were sharpened to a keen edge by the morning breeze, and the acid brown bread, ill-flavoured butter, and ham that, judging from its toughness, might have been cut off the father of all swine, disappeared rapidly before the exertions of my friend and myself. Even the bad vinegar, which our host dignified by the name of wine, and with inconceivable effrontery assured us was of the vintage of '22, was voted drinkable and done honour to accordingly. There was little inducement to waste much time over our meal; and as soon as it was finished we strapped our knapsacks on our shoulders and took the road to Michelstadt, a small town some twenty miles distant, which we had fixed as the limit of our first day's march.

It is astonishing what ignorance or negligence of their own interest is observable in the inhabitants of many of the districts adjacent to the Rhine. If that river has become of late years so great a resort of tourists, it may be attributed not only to the beauty of the scenery, and the attractions of the various watering-places, but also to the goodness of the hotels, the excellence of the steam-boats, and the travelling conveniences of all kinds, In Rhenish Prussia especially is the comfort of the traveller consulted in the minutest details; but if one leaves the river only for a few leagues, things assume a very different aspect, and one must be inveterately addicted to rambling and the picturesque, to put up with the wretched accommodations one meets with. In Rhenish Bavaria, they are improving in that respect, and an inn is occasionally to be found at which one may pass a day or

two without risk of being starved or devoured; but in that beautiful tract of country, comprising the greater part of Hesse-Darmstadt, and known by the name of the Odenwald, no one need attempt to travel who is not thoroughly prepared to rough it, and to submit to execrable fare, and disagreeables of every description. Were it otherwise, there can be no doubt that a district which for beauty will bear comparison with many of those now most frequented by tourists, would become a great resort of the thousands of foreigners annually visiting central Germany; and the country would profit greatly, as the banks of the Rhine already do, by the influx of travellers. Many of the natives are themselves aware of this; but the interval between perception and execution is usually so great in Germany, that years will probably elapse before the Odenwald becomes, what it certainly ought to be, a favourite lounge of the numerous désœuvré English and others, whom every summer takes to the Rhine.

Michelstadt, at which we arrived about eight in the evening, having paused during the heat of the day to dine and rest, is a village or small town containing some three thousand inhabitants, but possessing no post. This is a great inconvenience in various ways. As we walked up to the inn-door the eilwagen, or mail, from the neighbouring town of Erbach drove up, and paused a few moments to leave some parcels. It was a square, clumsy, red omnibus, built for six or eight passengers, but on this occasion perfectly empty. Two foreigners, Frenchmen, I think, came up at the same instant, and wished to proceed by it to some place through which it was to pass. "Unmöglich, meine Herrn,” replied the postilion: "Impossible. I can take up no one here." The travellers inquired why not. From the reply, it appeared that the door of the vehicle was locked, and could only be opened by the postmasters in the different towns. So that although the carriage was empty, and might probably remain so till it reached its journey's end, these persons were prevented from proceeding to their destination. The reason of this extraordinary regulation is, that if the driver were allowed to take up and set down passengers where he liked, he might possibly pocket a portion of what they paid him. To prevent, therefore, the risk of postilions embezzling a few kreuzers, the unfortunate inhabitants of the villages not possessing a post are deprived of the benefit of the public conveyances, or compelled to walk to the nearest post-town, frequently some miles distant. A beautiful example of the paternal nature of German petty governments the convenience of thousands sacrificed to avoid the possible loss of a few florins per

annum.

It was five in the morning when we started from Michelstadt, our rods in our hands, our fly-books and reels in our pockets, and attended by a boy whom we had hired to show us the way and carry home the results, if any, of our day's fishing. We had only four or five miles to go to a village called Koenig, in the neighbourhood of a stream in which we were assured we should get good sport, and what was still more essential, permission to fish. Every inch of river in this part of Germany is farmed out, generally at an exceedingly trifling rental; not a rivulet two feet broad, but you must obtain leave to fish in it.

This leave is frequently very difficult to get, and what is odd enough, you may sometimes by interest or payment obtain permission to net a water upon which you will not on any terms be allowed to cast a fly. The people have some absurd notion that in angling the trout often get wounded without being caught, and that a vast number may be injured in this way. With themselves it may be the case, their own practice in old Walton's art being of so clumsy a description, that it is easy to understand they may not land a quarter of the fish they hook. There is probably no such curiosity in the world as a German artificial fly, whipped nearly up to the point of the hook, and of a form and colours that certainly resemble any thing but those of the insect it is meant to represent. Churchill and myself, however, were provided with some of Bond's best, and we had strong hopes of proving dangerous customers to the Odenwald trout.

The morning was a delightful one. The sun just rose above the hills as we left Michelstadt; and on ascending a small eminence outside the town, a view burst upon us that of itself would have amply repaid us for our early rising. A long and rather narrow valley lay blooming and smiling before us, hushed into a sabbath-like stillness, wrapt in a broad mantle of sunshine that imparted a golden hue to the varied and beautiful tints of green, made the slated and dew-covered roofs of some distant hamlets glisten again, and converted the countless drops of moisture upon leaves and grass into so many myriads of sparkling brilliants. The recent rains had given a freshness to the landscape not usually found in the sultry month of July; the pastures in the valley were of the brightest emerald green, the lower parts of the hills covered with a thick growth of dwarf oak saplings, of which the leaves shone in the sunbeams like a field of satin, while the summits of the mountains were crowned with a belt of fir trees that looked like a broad band of greenish-black velvet. Rather a haberdasher's comparison, that last, but one which nevertheless exactly expresses my meaning.

A walk of an hour and a half through a beautiful country and along a road bordered by fruit trees, brought us to Koenig. We met no one on the way but peasants, proceeding, some to their labour in the fields, others to Michelstadt to dispose of their vegetables and poultry. Germany in general, however beautiful the country may be, is far less interesting to ramble through than the more southern parts of Europe. There is a want of the characteristic, the peasants are peasants, and nothing more, and a stupid Crétin-ish set they generally are. There is nothing picturesque about them; they are heavy-featured, clumsy, and thick-headed, without any thing of the grace or of the wild half-bandit appearance of the southern peasantry. At the same time, there are certain peculiarities of dress and customs which strike and amuse the traveller. The women we met on the road were generally hideous, many with enormous goîtres, and all wearing a head dress that would have gone far towards spoiling the prettiest face. This was a close-fitting cap of some thick white material, that covered the whole of the hair, coming down to the ears, and on which were embroidered in various gay colours three flowers-two in front, one on