The other matter was postponed, and has been compromised for the moment.

Between the rational fear of the encroachments of Spain on the independence of the negro republic, and the yet deeper dread of France following the example of Spain, and contriving to recover Hayti as a possession, President Geffrard might well quail, but for his trust in England and the United States. President Lincoln has found leisure, in the midst of his own engrossing business, to remonstrate with Spain on its menaces to Hayti, and its audacious annexation of St. Domingo. Lord Palmerston announces that he has obtained from the Spanish Government an express pledge that no attempt shall ever be made to restore slavery. For the rest, the Haytians look to England. They believe and trust that the British Sovereign, parliament and people will watch over the rising and spreading civilization of the first free negro State, already Christian and enlightened, and anxious to lead the African races and their offspring everywhere out of barbarism, and into the liberty of which the Haytians have shown themselves worthy.

When the wife and daughters of the Haytian King Christophe were in England, great surprise was expressed at the propriety and refinement of their manners. The same impression has been made on every visitor to Hayti,-in the same way that the personal beauty and dignity of the Kroomen and their wives, and of the African tribes have impressed Europeans who had before known no negroes but slaves and their immediate descendants. We must keep our minds open to the capacity of the Haytians for political liberty and social progress, and justify their hope that we will protect their onward career.

A civilized community has arisen suddenly out of the chaos of tyranny and slavery: and we must hold our attention and sympathy ready, in the certainty that, at this crisis, such attention and sympathy will render the redemption of Hayti secure and Hayti stands for the whole negro race.

"Is there any reason for doubt?" it may be asked. "If Spain is bound to exclude slavery from that island, what evil can happen?"

The answer is that France, or Frenchmen at the Emperor's service, have recently been reviving those associations with Hayti as a French colony which are agreeable to none but Frenchmen. It is believed that there is a treaty in the way of re-annexation. There is, at all events, an obstacle in the reliance of Hayti on England; a trust which England will justify.

Sept. 17, 1861.

Jui na liberté,

Seasons.

BY V, AUTHOR OF "IX. POEMS,"

"PAUL FERROLL," ETC.

PRING comes and goes with sun-lit showers,
Brown tints, and Buds enclosing Flowers,

Birds who for love contrive the Nest,
And Broods who love the sheltering breast,
Trees which have felt their sap-stirred roots
Unfolding Leaves, preparing Fruits—
For Life in its mysterious phase
Pervades the ever-lengthening days,
Enkindling Nature far and wide,

A scene where nothing yet has died.

Next, Summer reigns, with wealth of leaves
A robe of unstained green it weaves,
Clear Brooks reveal their stony bed
Which lift o'er broken waves, the head;

Warm breezes flatter as they pass
Scent-loaded from the new-mown grass,
And Upland, Wood, and breezy Plain,
A Summer-parlour make for Men.

Then Autumn days, the Season bless,
And Life and Death in splendour dress;
They paint the Fruit with yellow gold,
The Corn in amber waves is rolled,
Bright scarlet clothes the Poppy's head,
The red rose wears intenser red ;
And the same gold and crimson lie
On leaves that are about to die.
Blue mists arise, and pass away
As warms the sky to middle-day,
And on the Evening's coloured Breast
The Mountain's marble outlines rest,
While Cold intruding on the year
Just crisps the sunset atmosphere.

Then Winter enters, and restores

With home-made heat the chamber-hours;
All day the burning logs expire,
And loose the Spirit forth of fire;

All night the lamp with shades at strife
Gives us the gayest hours of Life-
Friends seek us, Summer's work is done,
Strong Winter-sport comes boldly on,
And books and play and Earth's brief rest
Make present Winter, best of best.

One Season more, is coming still
Which its own pleasures doubtless fill.
The Grave extends its tranquil couch,
Where Care has often longed to crouch,
And Age lies down relieved, and sighs

"At last, I need no more arise."
Or else perchance in that new home
To which thro' unknown paths we come,
The grave will loose with potent spells
Its dweller's fleshy manacles,

And leave his unencumbered Will

A Spirit, with man's wishes still.

At times when words have made me sigh,
That told of torrent, city, sky,

Where freer feet than mine might trace
Each lonely and each peopled place,
I've pondered thus-I soon shall lie
In the green earth with those that die,
And leaving clay with clay, the soul
Will be alone, my being's whole.
The soul it is which longs to flee
O'er mountain white and icy sea,
To glide behind the falling veil

Of torrents leaping to the dale;

To see the hours and spots, where rise
Such glories of the earth and skies
As grace each day the solitude

Of Alpine height, or dawn-touched flood,
And rarely in his earthly span

Greet the delighted eye of man.
This cannot be while wear I must
My injured garb of mortal dust;
The strong of limb, the fleet, the free
May see them, but I may not see.
No matter there is time to come
Beyond, as now before, the tomb,