more and more are entering into the field of lose their time and health, their dignity, and their politics. A woman who is interested in ruling and ordering her home will find that her intellect will have little opportunity of rusting. Her heart will be principally occupied within the borders of her household, it is true, but it will find changes constantly opening into the wider interests of the time. Serious and noble aims are not incompatible with the work of a true housewife, but puerile occupations and desires, that narrow the mind and blunt all feeling, these are the enemies to domestic unity and order. And if we should be asked to sum up in one word the power that has worked most mischief in English homes, we should say-Fashion. Fashion, the hundred-headed Gorgon, that changes oftener than the moon, and leads its miserable followers a weary will-o'-the-wisp dance of folly and madness. By it women are tempted to modesty; for it they will throw away the peace, and comfort, and well-being of those about them; and to merely look and dress like other people, and have the habits of fashionable life, they will sacrifice all the solid and substantial comforts of their homes. And while a mistress is neglecting her household and giving her whole strength to making an appearance beyond her husband's means, giving entertainments when she ought to be in the kitchen or nursery, leaving to servants what she and she alone can do rightly, is it wonderful if she finds vexation and confusion in her task? While she is aping the appearance and manners of persons above her in fortune or rank, can she blame her maids if they neglect their duties and find their chief pleasure in wearing gay bonnets and trying to look something different from what they really are? THE PIERCED EGGS, AND WHAT CAME OF THEM. BY THE HON. MRS. GREENE, AUTHOR OF "CUSHIONS AND CORNERS," ETC. CHAPTER III, T was a long three weeks to wait until the chickens placed under the yellow hen could come out, and during this time Harry Galbraith avoided his friend Miller's company in every way in his power, and even relinquished his much-prized afternoon game of football rather than come in contact with one whose presence made him feel nervous and ill at ease. Harry had never questioned Jenkins any further with respect to the two eggs so mysteriously lettered, but, for all that, the suspicion of unfair dealing gained ground each day in strength. It was not a very easy matter to keep clear of Miller, and in order to do so Harry Galbraith had to deny himself other pleasures as well as the daily game of football, and chief among these was the impossibility of spending any time in the garden at the back of the house, which until now had been his favourite retreat, for there he kept his tame tortoise and hedgehog, and, in the stable beyond, his lopeared rabbits. It was only when Miller had been seen going out by the front door that Harry could venture out amongst his favourites, for otherwise Miller would be sure to be at the window, and if at the window, he might ask uncomfortable questions, or say uncomfortable things; and it was with a feeling of intense relief that Harry heard, early on a Saturday morning, that Miller had gone out for the day, or at least he would not be home till quite late in the evening; and as it happened to be a holiday at the school, it was doubly fortunate for Harry, and he looked forward with relief to the thoughts of a day to be spent in the company of his pets, far from the observing eye of his evil-disposed neighbour. Harry wanted also to build a new rabbit-hutch for some of his numerous favourites, so, with a tool-box under one arm and a couple of planks of wood under the other, he sallied out into the garden, where a bright sun was shining so pleasantly as almost to make one forget that it was winter-time. Jenkins was not in the garden when Harry first entered it, and he felt quite a relief at the absence of one whose cunning face had latterly filled him with such unpleasant forebodings; but this freedom of thought and action was not to last long, for scarcely had he placed his knee on one of the planks, and began to saw it across, than the stable-door opened, and Jenkins, with an ugly grin on his face, drew near to speak to him. "I've grand news for you this morning, Master Harry, and no mistake," he said, in a hoarse whisper, while he rubbed his horny palms together and leered unpleasantly in the direction of Miller's house. "Well, what?" asked Harry, impatiently. "I want to get this hutch finished before night, and these winter days are so short." "It's long enough to hear my news, at any rate," replied Jenkins, in the same unpleasant whisper. "Bill Symonds has just told me the fine London clutch of eggs has turned out a regular no go-not a bird in one o' the shells; and the young master next door was in such a taking he actually cried, so he did, with the disappointment, and his father has taken him off to spend a day in the country somewhere, just to baffle his mind a bit, and put the thought of it all out of his head." "Not one chicken out of the whole set?" gasped Harry, open-mouthed. "Poor Miller! what awful cheats those London fellows must be!" and freckled face. "It was a shame of Bill to tell such a lie!" he murmured to himself; "but it was a horrid shame of Miller, also, to try and outdo me, and what proves he knew it was shabby, is the very fact of his being so afraid of my hearing about it!" "Poor Miller! poor Miller, indeed!" repeated | unpleasant contemplation of the small cunning eyes Jenkins, sneeringly; "he can't be so badly off as all that if he could afford to send two guineas to London for a dozen o' eggs, and not even the baker's dozen in return, which is the right number to set, after all. No, no, it just serves him right, trying to get the upper hand o' us, and I'm not a whit sorry for himnot a whit; and well I knew not one of them eggs would come out, for that matter." 'Why, how could you know anything about it?" asked Harry, leaning on his saw, and looking anxiously into Jenkins' face." "How could I know? Why, didn't Bill show them to me himself?" And Jenkins turned away somewhat nervously from his young master's earnest gaze. And yet while Harry talked thus to himself, and argued the case in his favour, there was a cold misgiving lurking in his heart of hearts that all was not so bad on Miller's part as he was trying to make it out; the very fact of Jenkins siding so strongly against him could not but influence the better side of Harry's nature, for day by day the evil aspect of Jenkins' character was showing itself more plainly, and Harry was beginning to think his parents were not so far wrong in warning him against such com "But how would looking at them tell you?" con- panionship, though, as yet, they had not the slightest tinued Harry, uneasily. "Easy enough; besides, Bill took them out one by one, and gived them into my own hands, and I knew right well, by the way they rattled inside o' the shell, so I did, that they'd never come to anything. I said so at the time," continued Jenkins, boastingly, " and I said so when I seed them first of all in the little hamper of moss. At the first glint o' my eye I knew as how they'd never come to no good; and Bill Symonds says as how young Master Miller said you was on no account to know he had sent for 'em, and how he was going to rear 'em." "That sounds rather shabby, don't it, now ?" observed Harry, thoughtfully. "Aye, don't it? However, as I was saying, yesterday morning, or, I believe, the evening before, the grand town eggs ought to have come out, as their full three weeks was up, but the greenhorn said he would give them a day's law before he would touch one, as no doubt they might be a trifle stale, inkling of the gardener's real disposition, for it is "THE QUIVER" BIBLE CLASS. 41. What miracles did Jesus perform without first being requested to do so by the persons concerned therein ? 42. The title "Holy Land" is only once mentioned in Scripture.-Quote passage. 43. Which of the apostles was the first to believe in Christ's resurrection? 44. What was the daily sacrifice offered to God by the Jews in the Tabernacle ? before and after our Lord's resurrection, tend to 45. In what way does the conduct of the apostles, prove the truth of that event? ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAGE 80. 28. They fetched water for David from the well at Bethlehem, having to fight their way through the host of the Philistines in order to do this (1 Chron. but this morning, when he came down and found not Why, he says, 'I'm so awful glad I never told Harry Galbraith I had got 'em;' and looking straight up at Bill Symonds, he says, 'you are sure you never said a word to Jenkins or Master Galbraith about 'em?' and Bill, o' course, answered up as how he never had, good, bad, or indifferent, and so he just rubbed his sleeve-arm across his eyes a couple o' times, and got up and walked away, and told Bill to throw the shells outside somewhere, and take the hen off the nest; and he went right into the house, and did not come out again till he and the old chap rattled off in the trap together." Harry's face flushed crimson as he listened to this long recital, and, when Jenkins had finished speaking, he threw down the saw, and turned away from the 29. Lot, when he chose the well-watered and fertile plains of Sodom and Gomorrah (Gen. xiii. 10). 30. "Then the king said, What title is that that I see? And the men of the city told him, It is the sepulchre of the man of God, which came from Judah, and proclaimed these things that thou hast done against the altar of B.thel" (2 Kings xxiii. 17). 31. "For we have found this man a pestilent fellow, and a mover of sedition among all the Jews throughout the world, and a ringleader of the sect of the Nazarenes" (Acts xxiv. 5). 32. By turning the shadow of the sun-dial of Ahaz ten degrees backward (Isaiah xxxviii. 8). 33. Compare Exod. xxviii. 30, and Numb. xxvii. 21. 34. Numb. xxviii. 18-23. N the dreary evening of a dull November | two young ladies and their luggage were deposited day, when the lamps glared faintly with a misty yellow, a cab drew up before one of the houses in an old-fashioned London square, and at the door. Then the door opened, and a flood of light streamed out into the night air, giving a cheery promise of welcome that was not contradicted, for the two girls, ascending the wide staircase, were met on the landing by a tall stately lady, whose stateliness gave way as soon as she saw them, and she embraced them warmly, with alternate kisses and tears. 66 Aunt Mathilde," exclaimed the younger and darker of the two, "how glad I am to see you!" And I also," echoed her companion. How can I ever thank you enough for giving me this great pleasure! When Madame said that Mrs. Stanmore had invited me also, I could not believe it." "Call me Aunt Mathilde, if you please, my dear," said Mrs. Stanmore, whilst the tears stood in her eyes, and her lips quivered. The girl looked up in surprise; she had never seen the stately lady before. "I knew your grandmother," answered Mrs. Stanmore, abruptly; "we were once like sisters. And now, as you have had a long journey, and must be in need of refreshment, go and take off your wraps, and make haste down to tea." Then the girls went away, and the stately old lady sat down by the drawing-room fire. She leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes. So like Paul," she murmured. "Paul's grandchild working away in a boarding-school! That must not be if I can help it. Paul and Nina's grandchild. I don't wonder that Milly took a fancy to her. If she returns after the holidays, it will be her own fault and not mine." So mused the lady of the house; and her thoughts went back to the days when she and the French girl's grandmother had been sworn allies, until love stepped in and made a quarrel, and they never spoke again. It was the old story. Two girls in love with the same hero, and he chose one, and the other was left disconsolate. Disconsolate only for a time, for Mathilde de Brenil married an Englishman, to whom she became deeply attached. Of Paul and his wife she lost sight. They, after a struggle with poverty, both died, and Mrs. Stanmore had well-righ forgotten them, when suddenly the name of the little French governess struck her, and the result was that Pauline Valency was invited to London for the Christmas holidays. FOR THE SAKE OF THE PAST. THE girls in their comfortable bed-rooms discussed their reception. And as days crept on, in the delightful twilight hour before the lamps were lighted, bit by bit of the past was unrolled; and Aunt Mathilde found herself growing younger through the history of her early life. "It was at Hochfeld," she said, "that your grandmother and I were at school, and formed a school-girl friendship. I have often thought that I should like to see the place again-the old convent. looking school-house, the public gardens, the soldiers, and the students. Ah! I remember every stone of the place. I believe I should have made a pilgrimage there if I had not been too old to go so far alone." "Go now, Aunt Mathilde, and take us with you," said Mildred, suddenly, whilst Pauline's eyes shone with a great light, though she said nothing. "We might manage it in Pauline's holidays," continued Mildred; "she has two months at mid. summer." "Pauline will have no more holidays," returned Mrs. Stanmore, shortly. "Poor Pauline!" ejaculated Mildred. "That is to say," explained Mrs. Stanmore, "she will have no occasion for any. I have arranged that she shall not go back to Madame, and that I shall have two children instead of one to live with me." Mildred sprang up and clapped her hands; then she kissed Mrs. Stanmore vehemently, saying that "she was the dearest best Aunt Mathilde that ever lived, and was repaying good for evil, for Paul had certainly behaved very badly." 'Nonsense," said Aunt Mathilde; "what has that to do with it?" Pauline had listened in bewilderment, and now was sobbing at Mrs. Stanmore's feet. "It is for Pauline to say yes or no," said Mrs. Stanmore, gently stroking the girl's hair. "Yes, yes, yes!" exclaimed Mildred, "of course it is yes." "You are too good, madame- -" began the French girl. "Aunt Mathilde, if you please," interrupted Mrs. Stanmore; "and I am not good. It is all as it should be; and I have not so much to be angry for after all, since my life has been full of happiness." "Yes, it is indeed all as it should be; and in the summer we will go to Hochfeld," added Mildred. HOCHFELD. Ir was exactly as Mrs. Stanmore had described it, in spite of the many years that had been added to its age. The growth it had made had not effaced its old landmarks; and Aunt Mathilde and the girls made satisfactory expeditions, and paused at different points of interest. The school-house was a school-house no longer, but was turned into a pension; and here Mrs. Stanmore took up her abode in a pretty suite of rooms looking upon the old garden, not altered from former days, with the fountain and sun-dial in their old places. So it went on. Mildred and the lieutenant were on friendlier terms than ever, and she never seemed so happy as when he was near; they had their lively jokes together, and sang duets, and strolled under the lime-trees; whilst there was a restraint between him and Pauline, although at times it seemed as if he were anxious to win her favour. The university, too, had not changed its position,, she took it to her own room, and no one ever nor the old church, nor the public gardens; and saw it again. many a house was pointed out as having in old days contained good friends of Aunt Mathilde. "Here,” said she, waving her parasol energetically in the direction of a flight of steps--" here your grandmother and I stood and watched the torchlight procession at poor Herman Rozenhain's funeral;" and as she spoke her parasol struck a young lieutenant of cavalry, who was walking leisurely along the street, full in the face. A thousand pardons!" said she. But the poor lieutenant was for the moment blinded; the blow had been sharp, and the eye already showed symptoms of swelling. Aunt Mathilde was in dismay. What could she do? She was profuse in apologies and explanations. The lieutenant accepted the situation pleasantly; cards were exchanged, and he promised to call upon her the next day and report himself. And not only the next day, but very frequently, did he find his way to the old pension with the charming garden, for Lieutenant von Alten was far from home, and had not many acquaintances at Hochfeld. Mrs. Stanmore found him very delightful and very useful, for he was ready to accompany her and her nieces--as she called both girls-anywhere and everywhere. Mildred did not hesitate to express her favourable opinion of him, and was on the best possible terms at once. Pauline was more reserved in her praises. "You will not speak well of him because he is the enemy of your country," said Mildred, laughing. "You would not fall in love with him for worlds, so you keep out of the way and leave him to me, as I am influenced by no such revengeful dispositions." Aunt Mathilde became more and more bewildered, and at length decided it would be best to quit Hochfeld before matters grew more serious. "And what shall I do without my lieutenant ?" asked Mildred. "Oh, Aunt Mathilde, you cannot be so cruel as to spoil all my pleasure! Do stay a little longer!" A SURPRISE. LIEUTENANT VON ALTEN was overwhelmed with sorrow when he heard of Mrs. Stanmore's determination. He had been in a dream, and had imagined, as people usually do in that condition, that his dream would last for ever; but this sudden announcement had effectually awakened him. He was standing on the balcony outside Mrs. Stanmore's window, waiting for the return of the party, who had gone out for a walk. Presently the sitting-room door opened, and some person came into the room. Not one of those he wished to see, he thought, for he had stationed himself so as to command all the approaches to the house; therefore he did not move, and the person drew a chair up to the table, and began to write. Then he was tempted to glance inside. It was Pauline. In a moment he was at her side. Pauline started. "Mademoiselle," said he, "I am happy to find you alone. It is so sudden, this going away. Oh, mademoiselle! you must know-you must have seen. You are kind-your heart will plead-you Pauline blushed, and answered, a little warmly, will have pity!" "I can scarcely forgive the Prussians." DOUBTFUL. AUNT MATHILDE said nothing, but she began to have misgivings. Was the old story of herself and Nina going to be played out over again? Sometimes she thought the lieutenant liked one girl, sometimes the other, and sometimes she doubted if he cared for either. He was much agitated; but Pauline, who had been nerving herself for what she expected must come, answered quietly, "Certainly; I will help you to the utmost. You may depend upon me.” The lieutenant looked as though he did not quite comprehend, and he went on as well as his agitation would permit. Mademoiselle must surely know my heartlove!" "I have never doubted it. Mildred is worthy of it." If he brought bouquets, Mildred's was presented with many pretty speeches, whilst Pauline's was "Mildred!" exclaimed Lieutenant von Alten. laid down hesitatingly, as if he thought it impro-"It is not of her, but of yourself I would speak. bable that she would care to accept it. Certainly Aunt Mathilde had detected him, in the midst of his gay speeches to Mildred, glancing furtively to see if Pauline had noticed his flowers. But Pauline simply thanked him, and never even touched the bouquet until he had departed; then Is it possible you have not known!" And as he spoke a new light fell upon Pauline, and she read aright much that she had misinterpreted. And for a moment a great joy filled her heart, but it was only for a moment, the next, a chill ran through her, and she started up with a |