ntestations arising from the transit of a corpse through a foreign
state, Nignio di Zuniga (who was charged by Philip with the duty of
conveying it to Spain, under sanction of a passport from Henri III.)
caused it to be _dismembered_, and the parts packed in three budgets,
(_bougettes_,) and laid upon packhorses!--On arriving in Spain, the
parts were _readjusted with wires!--"On remplit le corps de bourre_,"
says the old chronicler from which these details are derived, "_et
ainsi la structure en aiant ete comme retablie, on le revetit de ses
armes, et le fit voir au roi, tout debout apuye sur son baton de
general, de sorte qu'il semblait encore vivant. L'aspect d'un mort si
illustre ayant excite quelques larmes, on le porta a l'Escurial dans
l'Eglise de St Laurens auprez de son pere_."

Such is the account given in a curious old history (supplementary to
those of D'Avila and Strada) of the wars of the Prince of Parma,
published at Amsterdam early in the succeeding century. But a still
greater insult has been offered to the memory of one of the last of
Christian knights, in Casimir Delavigne's fine play of "Don Juan
d'Autriche," where he is represented as affianced to a Jewess!]

POEMS AND BALLADS OF GOETHE.

No. I.

It may be as well to state at the outset, that we have not the most
distant intention of laying before the public the whole mass of
poetry that flowed from the prolific pen of Goethe, betwixt the days
of his student life at Leipsic and those of his final courtly
residence at Weimar. It is of no use preserving the whole wardrobe of
the dead; we do enough if we possess ourselves of his
valuables--articles of sterling bullion that will at any time command
their price in the market--as to worn-out and threadbare
personalities, the sooner they are got rid of the better. Far be it
from us, however, to depreciate or detract from the merit of any of
Goethe's productions. Few men have written so voluminously, and still
fewer have written so well. But the curse of a most fluent pen, and
of a numerous auditory, to whom his words were oracles, was upon him;
and seventy volumes, more or less, which Cotta issued from his
wareroom, are for the library of the Germans now, and for the
selection of judicious editors hereafter. A long time must elapse
after an author's death, before we can pronounce with perfect
certainty what belongs to the trunk-maker, and what pertains to
posterity. Happy the man--if not in his