* * * * *

The French papers report the death, at Paris, of M. MORA, the Mexican
Minister Plenipotentiary at the Court of St. James. M. Mora was
the author of a History of Mexico and its Revolutions since the
establishment of its independence, and editor-in-chief of several
journals in Mexico.

* * * * *

MR. B. SIMMONS, an amiable and accomplished writer, whose name will
be recollected as that of a frequent contributor of lyrical poems of
a high order to _Blackwood's Magazine_, and to several of the Annuals,
died in London on the 20th of July.

* * * * *

[FROM GRAHAM'S MAGAZINE.]

ON A PORTRAIT OF CROMWELL.

BY JAMES T. FIELD.

"Paint me as I am," said Cromwell,
Rough with age, and gashed with wars--
"Show my visage as you find it--
Less than truth my soul abhors!"

This was he whose mustering phalanx
Swept the foe at Marston Moor;
This was he whose arm uplifted
From the dust the fainting poor.

God had made his face uncomely--
"Paint me as I am," he said.
So he lives upon the canvas
Whom they chronicled as _dead_!

Simple justice he requested
At the artist's glowing hands,
"Simple justice!" from his ashes
Cries a voice that still commands.

And, behold! the page of History,
Centuries dark with Cromwell's name,
Shines to-day with thrilling luster
From the light of Cromwell's fame!

* * * * *

[FROM THE EXAMINER.]

WORDSWORTH'S POSTHUMOUS POEM.[3]

This is a voice that speaks to us across a gulf of nearly fifty years.
A few months ago Wordsworth was taken from us at the ripe age of
fourscore, yet here we have him addressing the public, as for the
first time, with all the fervor, the unworn freshness, the hopeful
confidence of thirty. We are carried back to the period when
Coleridge, Byron, Scott, Rogers, and Moore were in their youthful
prime. We live again in the stirring days when the poets who divided
public attention and interest with the Fabian struggle in Portugal and
Spain, with the wild and terrible events of the Russian campaign, with
the uprising of the Teutonic nations and the overthrow of Napoleon,
were in a manner but commencing their cycle of songs. This is to
renew, to antedate, the youth of a majority of the living generation.
But only those whose memory still carries them so far back, can f