AUTUMN JINGLES.

SEE the morning dew is dripping,
And the gold skin of the pippin
Shines like metal through the dripping
Of the autumn's crystal dew.
Now the robin's breast grows brighter,
As the apple bough grows lighter,-
Autumn red leaf glowed the brighter,
When the swallow eastward flew.

Every hedge is gemmed with berries,
Rosy red as summer cherries;

Nests of rubies, piles of berries;
What a treasure to the boy!
Now the bramble's quite a study,
With its fruit, half black, half ruddy-
Really, really, quite a study

To the cowherd, food and joy.

Now the yellow pear is swaying
On the fading tree that's weighing
Down with all that ceaseless swaying
Of the fruit so rich and sweet.
Every faded vine-leaf dapples,
With a blood-stain, like the apple's,
Green, yet blushing where it dapples;
Falling, bursting at our feet.

Every gust the walnuts rattle,
All the boughs go tittle-tattle,
When the dry shells fall and rattle,
And the leaf comes whirling down.
Golden-globed, the rich plums cover
All the wall; and many a lover
Flocks around that luscious cover,

When the leaves turn crimson brown.

How the brown nuts drop in plenty; Every shake will bring down twenty; Husks are splitting; there are plenty

For the squirrel and the mouse. Now the spider, swift and busy, Netting dead boughs-tell me, is he Not by far the one most busy,

Spinneth in the garden-house?

A BALLAD FROM FROISSART.

[On one occasion, during the wars of the Black Prince, Sir John Chandos, the Seneschal of Poitou, separated himself from the young Earl of Pembroke, who, in a moment of pride, had refused to accompany him in a foray into Anjou. The earl soon after, while halting at Charente, was surprised by a band of Frenchmen, who broke into the town, crying, "Our Lady of Sancerre for the Marshal of France!" and blockaded him in a preceptory of the Templars. The conclusion of the story, and the rescue of the earl, is given in our ballad.]

THE nights are cold at Candlemas, and the snow is on the roof,

It lies on the broad roads three foot deep, and muffles every hoof;

The spider's glued unto his web, the bird to roosting bough,

The shepherd, frozen by the fold, prays for the morning now;

The cressets on the whitened road cast shadows black and strange,

Wavering o'er buried hedge and fence, past cabin and past grange;

'Tis Pembroke and stout Chandos, with twice three hundred lances,

And the red light that before them goes upon their spear-heads dances.

Before those knights so amorous, so brave, and debonair,

The archers marched, their carol rings clear through the thin frozen air;

But the earl rides silent and alone, wrathful and

discontent;

More like their prisoner than their chief, to Puirenon he went.

Behind crowd merchants of Narbonne, with many

muleteers,

Their beasts bear cloth from Brussels, and furs from proud Bergeres ;

And golden silks from Alesandre and Damas cross

the sea,

Bright pearls from Ormuz, eastern gems, and bales of spicerie.

Leap'd up the beacons as they came, from roof and turret tall,

And woke the burghers, as the light shone ruddy in the hall;

The torches flashed down winding streets, and lit the market-place,

And there was joy in every eye, and welcome on each face.

The knights of Brabant and Navarre, and they of Portingale,

Put down the cup unemptied, and ceased the halftold tale;

For when the horns were three times wound the

drawbridge rattled down,

And all the mailed horsemen rode trampling through the town.

The sleeping city starts to life at that deep hollow sound,

Like will-o'-the-wisps the clustering lights ran gathering around;

And every voice united then in the universal glee, "All hail to Chandos and the flower of England's

chivalry !"