Upon the whole, he would not, perhaps, be considered to speak rashly or unadvisedly, who should affirm, that no earthly creature, of the same insignificant character and pretensions, is the agent of nearly so much mischief as the fly.—­What a blessed order of things would immediately ensue, if every one of them was to be entirely swept away from the face of the earth!  This most wished-for event, we fear, it will never be our lot to witness; but it may be permitted to a sincere patriot, in his benevolent and enthusiastic zeal for the well-being of his country, to indulge in aspirations that are tinged with a shade of extravagance.  With respect, however, to the above mentioned vermin, the idea of their total annihilation may not be altogether chimerical.  We know that the extirpation of wolves from England was accomplished by the commutation of an annual tribute for a certain number of their heads; and it is well worth the consideration of the legislature, whether, by adopting a somewhat similar principle, they may not rid the British dominions of an equally great and crying nuisance.  The noble Duke, now at the head of his Majesty’s Government, has it in his power to add another ray to his illustrious name, to secure the approbation and gratitude of all classes of the community, and to render his ministry for ever memorable, by the accomplishment of so desirable an object.  In the mean time, let the Society of Arts offer their next large gold medal to the person who shall invent the most ingenious and destructive fly-trap.  A certain quantity of quassia might be distributed gratis at Apothecaries’ Hall, as vaccinatory matter is at the Cow-pox Hospital, with very considerable effect; and an act of parliament should be passed without delay, declaring the wilful destruction of a spider to be felony.—­Blackwood’s Magazine.

* * * * *

THE CORONATION OF INEZ DE CASTRO.[7]

BY MRS. HEMANS.

    “Tableau, au l’Amour fait alliance avec la
    Tombe; union redoubtable de la mort et de la
    vie.”  MADAME DE STAEL.

  There was music on the midnight;
    From a royal fane it roll’d,
  And a mighty bell, each pause between,
    Sternly and slowly toll’d. 
  Strange was their mingling in the sky,
    It hush’d the listener’s breath;
  For the music spoke of triumph high,
    The lonely bell, of death.

  There was hurrying through the midnight:—­
    A sound of many feet;
  But they fell with a muffled fearfulness,
    Along the shadowy street;
  And softer, fainter, grew their tread,
    As it near’d the Minster-gate,
  Whence broad and solemn light was shed
    From a scene of royal state.

  Full glow’d the strong red radiance
    In the centre of the nave,
  Where the folds of a purple canopy
    Sweep down in many a wave;
  Loading the marble pavement old
    With a weight of gorgeous gloom;
  For something lay ’midst their fretted gold,
    Like a shadow of the tomb.