from behind the garden wall,
"Let's ride the old brown mare."

With whip and voice I heard them
Urge on the maddened steed,
Whilst to my frantic warnings
They paid no single heed.

Then quickly down the garden,
Trembling with fear and fright,
And bursting open wide the door
I saw this curious sight:--

Upon a wooden railing
That ran down from the wall,
Two little folk were riding,
Quite safe from fear or fall.

"Why, auntie, what's the matter?"
Shouted the merry pair;
"You cannot think what fun it is
To ride the old brown mare!"

OUR SUNDAY AFTERNOONS.

NEBUCHADNEZZAR'S DREAM OF THE HUGE TREE.

A Mighty king lay stretched upon a magnificent bed of gold. His head
rested upon pillows of crimson satin, beautifully embroidered with gold,
and studded with golden spangles and precious stones. Over him was a
coverlet of crimson satin, also adorned with gold: and everything in his
chamber was in keeping with the richness of his couch.

Costliest delicacies and oldest wines had weighed down his supper-table,
round which had sat some of earth's grandest and most powerful lords. He
had been lulled to sleep with soft strains of sweetest music.
Ever-watchful attendants stood by him, as he slept, and cooled his brow
with gentle breezes stirred up to life by fairy fans. His last thoughts
had been of his vast wealth, his uninterrupted prosperity, and his great
power. He was king of kings, and the whole world trembled at his feet.
He had attained to the highest pinnacle of glory. Earth had yielded to
him its most costly treasures, and had nothing more that she could give.
Men had profusely showered upon him their highest flatteries, and
addressed him in humblest language.

Yet his sleep was troubled. His brow grew dark, and the colour deepened
upon his cheeks. He breathed heavily and moved nervously on his
luxurious bed, which, grand as it was, could not give him rest. Hundreds
of years afterwards it was said of the bruised and bleeding martyr
Stephen, that he sank peacefully to rest amid a shower of stones, and
the yells and hoots of bitterest enemies; for in all circumstances He
can give "His beloved sleep." But this flattered son of pomp and
splendour, this mighty king, upon whose very breath seemed to hang the
fate of nations, tossed restlessly upon his bed of gold and purple. No,
he knew nothing of that joy and peace that pass all understanding, w