surrounded us.  The town, at our feet, looked like the metropolis of Laputa.  Yet the high ground, by which we had descended into the town—­and upon which Bonaparte’s army was formerly encamped—­seemed to be more lofty than the spot whereon we stood.  On the opposite side flowed the Danube:  not broad, nor, as I learnt very deep; but rapid, and in a serpentine direction.  The river here begins to be navigable for larger boats; but there is little appearance of bustle or business upon the quays.  Few or no white sails, floating down the stream, catch the morning or the evening sun-beam:  no grove of masts:  no shouts of mariners:  no commercial rivalry.  But what then?  Close to the very spot where we stood, our attention was directed to a circumstance infinitely more interesting, to the whimsical fancy of an Antiquary, than a whole forest of masts.  What might this be?  Listen.

“Do you observe, here, gentlemen?” said the guide—­pointing to the coping of the parapet wall, where the stone is a little rubbed, “I do”—­(replied I) “What may this mean?” “Look below, Sir, (resumed he) how fearfully deep it is.  You would not like to tumble down from hence?” This remark could admit but of one answer—­in the negative; yet the man seemed to be preparing himself to announce some marvellous fact, and I continued mute.  “Mark well, gentlemen; (continued he) it was here, on this identical spot, that our famous EMPEROR MAXIMILIAN stood upon one leg, and turned himself quite round, to the astonishment and trepidation of his attendants!  He was a man of great bravery, and this was one of his pranks to shew his courage.  This story, gentlemen, has descended to us for three centuries; and not long ago the example of the Emperor was attempted to be imitated by two officers,—­one of whom failed, and the other succeeded.  The first lost his balance, and was precipitated to the earth—­dying the very instant he touched the ground; the second succeeded, and declared himself, in consequence, MAXIMILIAN the SECOND!” I should tell you, however, that these attempts were not made on the same day.  The officers were Austrian.

The room in the middle of the platform, and surmounted by a small spire does not appear to be used for any particular purpose.  Having satisfied our curiosity, and in particular stretched our eyes “as far (to borrow Caxton’s language) as we well might”—­in the direction of Hochstedt—­we descended, extremely gratified; and sought the hotel and our dinner.  Upon the whole, the cathedral of Ulm is a noble ecclesiastical edifice:  uniting simplicity and purity with massiveness of composition.  Few cathedrals are more uniform in the style of their architecture.  It seems to be, to borrow technical language, all of a piece.  Near it, forming the foreground of the Munich print, are a chapel and a house surrounded by trees.  The chapel is very small, and, as I learnt, not used for religious purposes.  The house (so Professor Veesenmeyer informed me) is supposed to have been the residence and offices of business of JOHN ZEINER, the well known printer, who commenced his typographical labours about the year 1470,[25] and who uniformly printed at Ulm; while his brother GUNTHER as uniformly exercised his art in the city whence I am now addressing you.  They were both natives of Reutlingen; a town of some note between Tubingen and Ulm.