[5] The Rhigi is not remarkable for its height, being but five thousand seven hundred feet above the plain; but being isolated from the great range, it affords much the widest view. [6] See his calculation in figures, in 'Sketches of Switzerland.' [7] The others are Hamburgh, Bremen, and Lubeck. [8] The average number of new works per annum, issued for the first time in Great Britain in the last three years, is about 1200; in France, 4,000; in Germany, 6,000. [9] A happy combination of safety, beauty, and convenience, is shown in the ramparts of the city of Geneva. [10] The 'Old Man' of the Bubbles denounces these trumpets, but verily they are preferable to the long tin horns of the English 'guards,' which are indeed enough to ----'break his bands of sleep asunder And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder! Hark, hark! the horrid sound; He raises his head as if waked from the dead, And amazed he stares around!' [11] Among the Rhenish legends, versified by Planche, is one of the 'Mouse-Tower,' near Ehrenfels, commencing: 'The Bishop of Mentz was a wealthy prince. Wealthy and proud was he; He had all that was worth a wish on earth, But he had not charitie! He would stretch out his _empty_ hands to _bless_, Or lift them both to _pray_; But, alack! to lighten man's distress, They moved no other way.' A famine came; the poor begged in vain for aid, 'till he 'opened his granaries free,' and then locked them in, and 'burned them every one.' 'The merry mice! how shrill they squeak!' said the prelate: 'But mark what an awful judgment soon On the cruel bishop fell! With so many mice his palace swarm'd, That in it he could not dwell. They gnaw'd the arras above and beneath, They eat each savory dish up, And shortly their sacrilegious teeth Begun to nibble the bishop! 'He flew to the castle of Ehrenfels, By the side of the Rhine so fair, But they found the road to his new abode, And came in legions there! He built him in haste a tower tall In the tide, for his better assurance, But they swam the river, and scal'd the wall, And worried him past endurance! 'One morning his skeleton there was seen, By a load of flesh the lighter! They had pick'd his bones uncommonly clean, And eaten his very mitre! Such was the end of the Bishop of Mentz; And oft at midnight hour, He comes in the shape of a fog so dense, And sits on his old 'Mouse-Tower.' [12] Perhaps you may be amused by this legend. It runs as follows: