FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[1]Flowing in and from the lake.[2]See also 'Anne of Gierstein.'[3]A heap of bones of the vanquished remain to this day on the field.[4]The costume is worn only by the peasantry.[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 asunderAnd 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 hisemptyhands tobless,Or lift them both topray;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 soonOn 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 teethBegun 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 tallIn 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:'TheCastle of Schöenberg was lofty and fair,And seven countesses ruléd there:Lovely, and noble, and wealthy I trow—Every sister had suitors enow.Crowned duke and belted knightSigh'd at the feet of those ladies bright:And they whispered hope to every one,While they vow'd in their hearts they would have none!Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:Women are altered now, I ween,And never say what they do not mean!'At the Castle of Schöenberg 'twas merriment all—There was dancing in bower, and feasting in hall;They ran at the ring in the tilt-yard gay,And the moments flew faster than thought away!But not only moments—the days fled too—And they were but as when they first came to woo;And spake they of marriage or bliss deferr'd,They were silenced by laughter and scornful word!Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:And ladies now so mildly reign,They never sport with a lover's pain!'Knight look'd upon knight with an evil eye—Each fancied a favored rival nigh;And darker every day they frowned,And sharper still the taunt went round;Till swords were drawn, and lances in rest,And the blood ran down from each noble breast;While the sisters sat in their chairs of gold,And smiled at the fall of their champions bold!Gentles, lift to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel;Times have changed, and we must allow,Countesses are not so cruel now.'Morning dawn'd upon Schöenberg's towers,But the sisters were not in their wonted bowers;Their damsels sought them the castle o'er—But upon earth they were seen no more;Seven rocks are in the tide,Ober-wesel's walls beside,Baring their cold brows to heaven:They are called, 'The Sisters Seven.'Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:And ladies now may love deride,And their suitors alone be petrified!'[13]Thewriter of this very spirited sketch of western life, assures us that it is essentially true, having been narrated to him by a respectable citizen, only six miles from the closing scene of the tragic adventure. A fictitious name has been substituted, out of delicacy to the survivors of the family.Eds. Knickerbocker.[14]For parallel passages, naturally to be expected in distinguished authors treating of similar subjects, I give a general reference toallgreat poets,passim.[15]'Quam viram aut heroa?' may the reader ask; wherefore, for his benefit, we will declare, that the original of our hero was a Scottish physician, whom we heard at a 'public,' describing a miraculous visit to a 'weird woman.' After finishing his story, and a generous glass of whiskey-toddy, he went his way upon a sorry gray mare, whose acquaintance, I am confident, would have been cut by Rosinante, or Hudibras's famed Bucephalus, if she had solicited a passing recognition. The only change in thecircumstantia, is his translation to another locality, and making the object of his pilgrimage one more immediately interesting here.[16]The motto of the Kirkpatrick family, derived from the answer of one of their 'forbears' to Robert Bruce, when he 'doubted he had slain the red Comyn'—'I make sicker'—we commend to the especial attention of the 'Faculty,' in the event of their application to the herald's college for a new blazonry of the professional arms.[17]'Medicé vivere, est miseré vivere.'[18]Oleum Ricini, and Vinum Antimonii: Castor oil, and Wine of Antimony.[19]Weare indebted to an advance copy of 'The Token,' for 1838, for this admirable story, from the pen of one who touches nothing that she does not ornament; and happily it is only virtue and goodness which she strives to embellish. Like 'Our Burial Place,' written for theKnickerbocker, by the same author, it is domestic and simple in its details, yet even more interesting than romance. It is to be regretted, that the circulation of such of our annuals as blend instruction and valuable lessons with amusement, should be mainly confined, owing to their expensive dress and adornments, to the larger cities and towns. Bestowed at a season when the hearts of both giver and receiver are peculiarly open to kind impulses and good inculcations, they must be regarded as capable of a wide and salutary influence.Eds. Knickerbocker.[20]Sands.[21]'Theselines,' writes a fair correspondent, in a delicate crow-quill hand, and on an aroma-breathing sheet, 'were written the other day in my album, by a dear friend of mine; a school-girl of sixteen. Are they not pretty? I think they are worth publishing—don't you?' Of course we answer, 'Yes.'Eds. Knickerbocker.

[1]Flowing in and from the lake.

[2]See also 'Anne of Gierstein.'

[3]A heap of bones of the vanquished remain to this day on the field.

[4]The costume is worn only by the peasantry.

[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 asunderAnd 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!'

[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 asunderAnd 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 hisemptyhands tobless,Or lift them both topray;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 soonOn 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 teethBegun 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 tallIn 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.'

[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 hisemptyhands tobless,Or lift them both topray;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 soonOn 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 teethBegun 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 tallIn 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.'

'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 tallIn 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:'TheCastle of Schöenberg was lofty and fair,And seven countesses ruléd there:Lovely, and noble, and wealthy I trow—Every sister had suitors enow.Crowned duke and belted knightSigh'd at the feet of those ladies bright:And they whispered hope to every one,While they vow'd in their hearts they would have none!Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:Women are altered now, I ween,And never say what they do not mean!'At the Castle of Schöenberg 'twas merriment all—There was dancing in bower, and feasting in hall;They ran at the ring in the tilt-yard gay,And the moments flew faster than thought away!But not only moments—the days fled too—And they were but as when they first came to woo;And spake they of marriage or bliss deferr'd,They were silenced by laughter and scornful word!Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:And ladies now so mildly reign,They never sport with a lover's pain!'Knight look'd upon knight with an evil eye—Each fancied a favored rival nigh;And darker every day they frowned,And sharper still the taunt went round;Till swords were drawn, and lances in rest,And the blood ran down from each noble breast;While the sisters sat in their chairs of gold,And smiled at the fall of their champions bold!Gentles, lift to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel;Times have changed, and we must allow,Countesses are not so cruel now.'Morning dawn'd upon Schöenberg's towers,But the sisters were not in their wonted bowers;Their damsels sought them the castle o'er—But upon earth they were seen no more;Seven rocks are in the tide,Ober-wesel's walls beside,Baring their cold brows to heaven:They are called, 'The Sisters Seven.'Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:And ladies now may love deride,And their suitors alone be petrified!'

[12]Perhaps you may be amused by this legend. It runs as follows:

'TheCastle of Schöenberg was lofty and fair,And seven countesses ruléd there:Lovely, and noble, and wealthy I trow—Every sister had suitors enow.Crowned duke and belted knightSigh'd at the feet of those ladies bright:And they whispered hope to every one,While they vow'd in their hearts they would have none!Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:Women are altered now, I ween,And never say what they do not mean!'At the Castle of Schöenberg 'twas merriment all—There was dancing in bower, and feasting in hall;They ran at the ring in the tilt-yard gay,And the moments flew faster than thought away!But not only moments—the days fled too—And they were but as when they first came to woo;And spake they of marriage or bliss deferr'd,They were silenced by laughter and scornful word!Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:And ladies now so mildly reign,They never sport with a lover's pain!'Knight look'd upon knight with an evil eye—Each fancied a favored rival nigh;And darker every day they frowned,And sharper still the taunt went round;Till swords were drawn, and lances in rest,And the blood ran down from each noble breast;While the sisters sat in their chairs of gold,And smiled at the fall of their champions bold!Gentles, lift to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel;Times have changed, and we must allow,Countesses are not so cruel now.'Morning dawn'd upon Schöenberg's towers,But the sisters were not in their wonted bowers;Their damsels sought them the castle o'er—But upon earth they were seen no more;Seven rocks are in the tide,Ober-wesel's walls beside,Baring their cold brows to heaven:They are called, 'The Sisters Seven.'Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:And ladies now may love deride,And their suitors alone be petrified!'

Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:Women are altered now, I ween,And never say what they do not mean!

'At the Castle of Schöenberg 'twas merriment all—There was dancing in bower, and feasting in hall;They ran at the ring in the tilt-yard gay,And the moments flew faster than thought away!But not only moments—the days fled too—And they were but as when they first came to woo;And spake they of marriage or bliss deferr'd,They were silenced by laughter and scornful word!

Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:And ladies now so mildly reign,They never sport with a lover's pain!

'Knight look'd upon knight with an evil eye—Each fancied a favored rival nigh;And darker every day they frowned,And sharper still the taunt went round;Till swords were drawn, and lances in rest,And the blood ran down from each noble breast;While the sisters sat in their chairs of gold,And smiled at the fall of their champions bold!

Gentles, lift to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel;Times have changed, and we must allow,Countesses are not so cruel now.

'Morning dawn'd upon Schöenberg's towers,But the sisters were not in their wonted bowers;Their damsels sought them the castle o'er—But upon earth they were seen no more;Seven rocks are in the tide,Ober-wesel's walls beside,Baring their cold brows to heaven:They are called, 'The Sisters Seven.'

Gentles, list to the tale I tell;'Tis many a year since this befel:And ladies now may love deride,And their suitors alone be petrified!'

[13]Thewriter of this very spirited sketch of western life, assures us that it is essentially true, having been narrated to him by a respectable citizen, only six miles from the closing scene of the tragic adventure. A fictitious name has been substituted, out of delicacy to the survivors of the family.Eds. Knickerbocker.

Eds. Knickerbocker.

[14]For parallel passages, naturally to be expected in distinguished authors treating of similar subjects, I give a general reference toallgreat poets,passim.

[15]'Quam viram aut heroa?' may the reader ask; wherefore, for his benefit, we will declare, that the original of our hero was a Scottish physician, whom we heard at a 'public,' describing a miraculous visit to a 'weird woman.' After finishing his story, and a generous glass of whiskey-toddy, he went his way upon a sorry gray mare, whose acquaintance, I am confident, would have been cut by Rosinante, or Hudibras's famed Bucephalus, if she had solicited a passing recognition. The only change in thecircumstantia, is his translation to another locality, and making the object of his pilgrimage one more immediately interesting here.

[16]The motto of the Kirkpatrick family, derived from the answer of one of their 'forbears' to Robert Bruce, when he 'doubted he had slain the red Comyn'—'I make sicker'—we commend to the especial attention of the 'Faculty,' in the event of their application to the herald's college for a new blazonry of the professional arms.

[17]'Medicé vivere, est miseré vivere.'

[18]Oleum Ricini, and Vinum Antimonii: Castor oil, and Wine of Antimony.

[19]Weare indebted to an advance copy of 'The Token,' for 1838, for this admirable story, from the pen of one who touches nothing that she does not ornament; and happily it is only virtue and goodness which she strives to embellish. Like 'Our Burial Place,' written for theKnickerbocker, by the same author, it is domestic and simple in its details, yet even more interesting than romance. It is to be regretted, that the circulation of such of our annuals as blend instruction and valuable lessons with amusement, should be mainly confined, owing to their expensive dress and adornments, to the larger cities and towns. Bestowed at a season when the hearts of both giver and receiver are peculiarly open to kind impulses and good inculcations, they must be regarded as capable of a wide and salutary influence.Eds. Knickerbocker.

Eds. Knickerbocker.

[20]Sands.

[21]'Theselines,' writes a fair correspondent, in a delicate crow-quill hand, and on an aroma-breathing sheet, 'were written the other day in my album, by a dear friend of mine; a school-girl of sixteen. Are they not pretty? I think they are worth publishing—don't you?' Of course we answer, 'Yes.'Eds. Knickerbocker.

Eds. Knickerbocker.

Transcriber's NoteObvious typographical errors were repaired.P. 423 and 424: Large braces spanning multiple poetry lines on the right were changed to per-line braces on the left, to accommodate the widest variety of reading formats.

Transcriber's Note

Obvious typographical errors were repaired.

P. 423 and 424: Large braces spanning multiple poetry lines on the right were changed to per-line braces on the left, to accommodate the widest variety of reading formats.

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