wished to see Goethe, with whom he conversed for some time, and at the close of the conversation he gave the poet the decoration of the Legion of Honour. In 1825, a splendid bronze medal was struck by order of the Grand Duke, and presented to Goethe, to commemorate the fiftieth year of the poet's residence at his court.

As Goethe wrote every sort of poem, from the simple ballad to the epic, and from a proverb to a tragedy, a mere list of his works would occupy some columns. His first appearance in print was in the annuals and literary journals. But his Gotz of the Iron Hand, published with his name in 1773, and his Werther, in the year after, called at once the attention of his country to the young master-mind. The influence of these two works on the literature of Germany was electric. Hosts of imitators sprung up among the fruitful fry of small authors, and flourished until Goethe himself, by his wit, his irony, and his eloquence, put an end to the sickly sentimentalism, which he had first called into action. Gotz and Werther alone survive the creations of which they formed the nucleii. Such a production as the first, indeed, at the age of twenty-three, at once placed Goethe at the head of his country's literature, a place which he preserved undisputed to the hour of his death.

We have referred to the multitudinous nature of the works of Goethe. Their variety was proportionate to their number. It has been well observed that "his mind never seems to have grown old, but to have presented a new phasis at each stage of his existence." Not satisfied by taking his rank amongst the first poets of his time, his ardent genius led him to study all the different branches of literature, physical science, natural history, and the fine arts. He alike delighted in the imaginative beauty of poetry, and the abstrusest problems in science—the romantic and the real—the creative fancy and unwearied research of a truly great mind. It is, however, a matter of regret that Goethe was no politician. The character of his mind would not lead the observer to expect this feature. "A chilling scepticism, as to the progressive improvement of man, runs through all his writings, and, of course, prevented all attempts to make human institutions more productive of human happiness." Nevertheless, it may be urged, that social amelioration may he effected by other means than by direct problems of political economy, unfashionable as the doctrine may sound. Chateaubriand has eloquently written "there is nothing beautiful, sweet, or grand in life, but in its mysteries." Goethe probably entertained a kindred sentiment. Thus, the calculator may reckon him "behind the age," or his favourite views of human improvement.

Goethe remained single till his fifty-eighth year, when he married his housekeeper, by whom he had a family. His affection for his son, who died about two years since, was unbounded. After his death, Goethe was but the shadow of that which he once had been. To his daughter-in-law he was indebted for that tenderness and assiduity which soothed his declining years. When upwards of eighty years of age, he meditated literary projects with the vigour and enthusiasm of youthful genius. Indeed, his constitution was unimpaired, and seemed to promise some years of life: his death therefore excited at Weimar, a feeling of surprise as well as sorrow.

The last moments of Goethe were those of an unbroken mind—a bright light waning and glimmering out. He had not the slightest presentiment of his death. About a week before, he caught cold, which brought on a catarrh. It was thought that his powerful constitution was unattacked. He conversed with great serenity, particularly upon his theory of colours, which so powerfully occupied his mind to the last moment of his existence. On the evening of March 21, he explained to his daughter the conditions of the peace of Basle; desired that the children should be taken to the theatre; and said that he was much better; he requested that Salvandy's Sixteen Months might be handed to him, although his physician had forbidden him all laborious occupation; but the doctor having gone out for a few moments, he ordered lights to be brought, and attempted to read. Not being able to do so, he held the book for some moments before him, and then said, "Well, let us do at least as the Mandarins do:" he fell asleep, and his slumbers appeared light and refreshing. Next day he conversed cheerfully with his daughter, his grandchildren, and some friends. "At seven o'clock he desired his daughter to bring him a portfolio, to enable him to illustrate some phenomena of colouring, and he began with his right hand to trace some characters in the air. Towards ten o'clock he ceased almost entirely to speak, held firmly between his own the hand of his daughter who was by his side, and turned his eyes, already half-closed, towards her with an expression of tenderness: with her other hand she supported his head on a pillow until he breathed his last, without convulsion or suffering."⁵ His daughter closed the fine eyes of the poet, and summoning her children to behold their grandfather for the last time, she rushed from the chamber of death, and gave vent to a flood of grief. Another account states that Goethe growing weaker and weaker, his hand dropped on his knee, where it still moved as if in the act of writing, till the angel of death summoned him.

The remains of the poet, after lying in state in the hall of his mansion for five hours, were deposited, on March 26, in the grand ducal family vault at Weimar near to those of Schiller. On the same day, the theatre which had been closed from respect to his memory, was opened with the representation of his Tasso. An epilogue was composed for the occasion by Chancellor Muller, the intimate friend of Goethe. Its last stanza produced a profound impression upon the audience:—"The spot where great men have exercised their genius remains for ever sacred. The waves of time silently efface the hours of life; but not the great works which they have seen produced. What the power of genius has created, is rarified like the air of the Heavens,—its apparition is fugitive,—its works are eternal."

Goethe has left several MSS. for publication. Among them is a volume of his early life in Weimar, a volume of poems, the second part of "Faust," interesting letters, &c.

NOTES OF A READER.

BEAR-HUNTING IN CANADA.

(From a Backwoodsman's Sketches.⁶)

When a bear runs away with one of your pigs, there is no use in going after him, hallooing, without a gun. You may scare him away from the mutilated carcass, but it will make but indifferent pork; since not being bred in Leadenhall or Whitechapel, he has but a slovenly way of slaughtering. But trace to where he has dragged it, and near sunset let self and friend hide themselves within easy distance, and he will be certain to come for his supper, which, like all sensible animals, he prefers to every other meal. Nay, it is highly probable, if he possesses the gallantry which a well-bred bear ought to have, he will bring Mrs. Bruin and all the children along with him, and you can transact business with the whole family at once. In hunting the bear, take all the curs in the village along with you. Game dogs are useless for this purpose; for, unless properly trained, they fly at the throat, and get torn to pieces or hugged to death for their pains. The curs yelp after him, bite his rump, and make him tree, where he can be shot. The bear of Canada is seldom dangerous. He is always ready to enter into a