sessing no interest for herself, being destined for her brother and his heirs. It was a small place, more of a farm than the abode of a country gentleman. The little the old man could spare he gave willingly, glad, if truth be told, to have his house free from inmates so uncongenial and troublesome. Mrs. Lestocq, as an officer's wife, had been accustomed to stirring scenes. The society met with at Malta, Gibraltar, and other garrison towns, had not prepared her for the monotony of Thornmead, of which she was always complaining. Happily for her better peace of mind, she had a cough, for which a friend persuaded her to try Hyères. She certainly derived some benefit from the change, but her old enemy, ennui, pursued her even there. She found the place dull, and fortune again befriended her. General Miller, an old friend of her husband, with his wife and family, chanced to stop there one night on their way to Cannes, and so effectually roused her natural love for society that she determined to go there too, hoping, by hanging on their skirts, to be admitted into circles into which she might not otherwise have gained entrance. Mrs. Lestocq was more fortunate than many. Though her small income obliged her to locate herself in a pension, the entré to the general's house, an imposing residence on the plage, brought her into notice, and she soon found a field for the display of the attractions of her very handsome and fashionablelooking daughter. Helen sang well, played well, and talked well, enhancing the charm of everything sho said or did by her radiant beauty, a little Junolike in character, but of the splendid and dazzling type, which at the age of twenty-five could only be said to have reached its perfection. Her dark blue eyes, darker for the long lashes that shaded them, might be wanting in softness, but they were brilliant, sparkling, with conscious power, lustrous and laughing. Sorrow had not touched her; as yet she knew it only in name, and, as regarded others, from afar, her sympathy not being strong enough to draw her near. She was eminently popular with a certain class, and though many of the residents of previous years did not care to open their doors to new-comers of whose genealogy and antecedents they were ignorant, some received them willingly. Under the wing of the general and his wife, Mrs. and Miss Lestocq had as much gaiety as they desired. Helen soon gained the foremost place in the parties of pleasure that were organised, becoming the belle par excellence, and often the leader, in those out-of-door amusements called picnics, to which the vicinity of the Estrelles and the lovely country about Cannes so naturally led. Into these many of the idle men entered con amore. They wanted something to do or to find pastime without exertion.

others to fall back whenever Warren Sinclair was present.

One beautiful day, in the beginning of February, there came a change in the accustomed order of things. Mr. Sinclair did not remain with Mrs. Lestocq, but attached himself conspicuously to Helen. The time and place were such as might have warmed and lured a colder heart than his from its accustomed prudence. The sun shone as it can only shine in the south when the deep azure of the vault above is scarcely broken by a cloud, and yet a pleasant air softly stirred the olive leaves, occasionally raising their silver edges without sound or rustle, while delicious whiffs from orange-peel drying in the sun contributed fragrance to loveliness. The railway took the party to St. Raphael, and thence they found their way, through pine-woods dark and odorous, over dry herbage and rugged roots, to the spot fixed upon for the picnic. Helen suspected what was coming when Mr. Sinclair contrived to detach her from the rest. Though her own heart lay cold and inert, she had been well instructed by her mother. "Recollect, Helen, that Mr. Sinclair is in earnest, which none of your other admirers are, and that he has a handsome fortune to offer you," Mrs. Lestocq had said to her daughter; "bethink you that a chance like this you may not have again for years, perhaps never. You are five-and-twenty, your beauty may fade, my pension will drop with me. Besides, there is a noteworthy truth in what Mr. Minton said the other day, 'There are many flirtations here, but few matches.""

"But a clergyman, mamma!" answered Helen, drawing down the corners of her pretty mouth. "Can you fancy me a clergyman's wife?"

"A duke's would be better, my darling; but, as I said before, Mr. Sinclair is in earnest, and dukes are unattainable."

Thus counselled, Helen did bethink herself and smiled so sweetly upon Mr. Sinclair on that eventful day that he spoke out and was accepted. They returned home engaged, the only drawback upon Mr. Sinclair's happiness being that the change in Helen's prospects, as soon as his offer was accepted, turned her from a bright and laughing girl into a serious, almost heavy companion.

"It is such an important step," she replied, in answer to his anxious and tender efforts to sound her thoughts and feelings, and for this explanation he loved her all the better.

Before long Helen recovered her spirits, and, with the exception of indulgence in a little covert raillery now and then against his profession, was all that he could desire. Had he seen her after the perusal of his letter, as the passionate anger glittered in her eyes, which, if bright as steel, were now as hard, he would not have recognised the face that had cheated his heart of his first manly love. In the swift impulse of her wrath she tore the paper in two, and tossed it across the room with an exclamation that made her mother look up alarmed and ask what was the matter.

to be transported where he pleases;" and in suppressed rage she drew her lips together until they were little more than a scarlet line. "Forgetting his promises to me, and the claims I have to be considered, Mr. Sinclair coolly informs me that everything we had planned is to be changed; that he is going to be instituted to his village living"-all the contempt of her heart was poured into the word "village"-" and expects me to settle down and help him in all the moon-struck schemes that may enter his foolish head. Am I a person to be content to wear cotton gowns, and with thick, clod-hopping boots stalk through muddy lanes, into dirty cottages, for the purpose of carrying tea and sugar or talking to old women and scolding little ragged children, whose only idea of manners is to drop a curtsey and stare into your face?" Whilst speaking she rose and picked up the torn letter, standing afterwards before the shabby mirror on the mantel-piece. Perhaps the sight of her own face in the unloveliness of anger did her good, for the lips resumed their graceful curves, and some of the deep crimson that had flushed her temples died away.

As her mother made a movement to go and comfort her, Helen turned away, and, smoothing out the rumpled paper, offered it for perusal in silence, then sitting down, covered her face with her hands, while her bosom heaved with voiceless sobs.

When Mrs. Lestocq had read the letter she went and kissed her daughter, endeavouring to calm her by soothing words and caresses. "My dear child, it may not be so bad as you suppose. Mr. Sinclair has so much wealth, you will visit a good deal, and naturally will be much thought of. Part of the year you can travel. He will not refuse you any indulgence in his power to give, he promises that," said Mrs. Lestocq, hastily enumerating whatever she thought would weigh the most. "Apart from this marriage, your prospects are far from good. Cast your eyes upon our present apartment; humble as it is, you could not have even that if my pension were gone; you would have no choice but to return to Thornmead, or—or find a new home. My child, do not grieve; believe me, we will both be happier than we have been before. You may not see it now, but I can assure you that after youth is gone we crave more and more for the comforts and ease that wealth can give. Straitened means are a cruel nightmare from which there is no escape. I have denied myself so many things to give you the advantages you possess; do not throw them away now that you can count them back to me with interest. I am not a selfish mother, yet I have a right to ask you to think a little of me; besides, I know you may be happy if you choose; there are so many ways of being so. Take courage; Mr. Sinclair dotes upon you. Even in that letter he suffers because he fears you will be disappointed. If you are wise and gentle, giving him soft words and smiles instead of frowns and reproaches, you will rule him; if not in all things, at least in those that more especially concern yourself. Oh, Helen, how many would like to be in your place!"

With such counsels and reasonings Mrs. Lestocq endeavoured to reconcile her daughter to her new prospects. To break off the match would have broken her own heart, which had in a measure renewed its youth in the golden expectations to which it gave rise.

By degrees, as (lays passed on, Helen if not more

reconciled to her lot, ceased to irritate herself openly against it. In the solitude of her chamber many tears of disappointment and bitterness were shed. Not only was the life offered her uncongenial to her tastes, but, saving its material advantages, it had nothing to recommend it. In her secret heart she had no love for Mr. Sinclair. His companionship in the sphere where she thirsted to move would be quite tolerable; it would give her position and consideration, as she was well aware that he was appreciated by many beyond the value of his £6,000 a year. In the retirement of a village it would be quite another thing. A perpetual round of the same occupations and tête-à-têtes, which must soon become worse than insipid, varied now and then by visitors as uninteresting as homely, offered nothing she cared to have. Even the decoration of her person, which had hitherto gratified the pride of conscious power, deprived of the stimulant of rivals and admirers, would soon tire her, nor would her husband's praises of her beauty make up for the silence of others. And how little enjoyment would she be able to extract from her wealth in a circle so limited! Deep down in her heart was another source of regret, infusing fretfulness into a character naturally cold and indifferent. Oh, why did Fortune treat her so badly! Altogether, Helen was very unhappy, experiencing the pangs of those who, having no other regulator of conduct than their own desires, fume persistently over obstacles they can no more set aside than plant a mountain in the sea.

Disposed to follow her mother's advice because unwilling to lose the good things within her grasp, she made up her mind to be as ungracious about it as possible. The certainty of being beloved hardened instead of softening her, making her resolve to vex and distress her lover as much as she could without losing him. He would naturally be anxious for an answer to his letter, she determined to begin his punishment by keeping him in suspense. Day after day she suffered to pass without taking any notice of it, until days grew into weeks. Her lot was so hard that all feeling overflowed in pity for herself. In vain Mrs. Lestocq remonstrated. Helen was inexorable; she would make Mr. Sinclair suffer himself for the disappointment he had caused her. "A country village, a parson's wife! Faugh! How shall I ever sink to that!" she often murmured, gazing upon the blue lake and its tranquil beauty without a thought of its loveliness. As with many an one brought up as she had been, the eye had little appreciation of the charms of nature. enjoy soft evening skies from marble balconies, with the hum of the busy crowd below, in such a city as Venice, was one thing; it suited her; or to mix in the midnight revel with rival stars and jealous mothers as spectators; but what pleasure was there in looking at that which every one might see and admire if they were so disposed? Unfortunately, her mother could not travel much, so they were obliged in summer to make long sojourns at a few places. Mr. Sinclair and his brother had promised to join them in Geneva; but though Helen thirsted for some change, it was doubtful how far their coming was now anticipated with pleasure. "Helen."

To

A voice from beneath where she was standing broke upon her meditations as Helen, resting her white arms on the iron rail of an unpretending balcony, was vaguely wondering why she was so un

FLAGS AND BANNERS.

HOW is it that a flag has come to bear so much importance and express such manifold meaning as it does? It is the emblem of triumph, defiance, and endurance. It is the vehicle of maritime conversation and symbol of earthly power. It is national, commercial, and personal. It is not merely decorative, but significant. It marks the war fleet and the mercantile marine, the army in the field and the sleeping-place of the warrior in the cathedral. Even those phases of sentiment which are common to the whole world are conveyed by it. In all nations a white flag indicates the desire for a truce, or peace; while, generally, a yellow one means the presence of some plague; red denotes defiance or battle, and black marks the pirate. The flag not only designates the ship, the regiment, the castle, and the fort, but forms the frequent equipment of the school or the church. When a people or a place makes holiday, the amount of enthusiasm felt may be mostly measured by the number of banners that are displayed. Victories in battle are immediately estimated by the flags, quite as much as by the cannon, that are captured.

Do we

In peace and war it is importunately pre-eminent. We make songs to it; it is the object of respectful salutation and vehicle of deadly insult. annex or occupy a fresh country or place? The act of occupation is incomplete till with all ceremony a flag is hoisted on a pole. The lowering of it is the universally accepted admission of surrender or defeat.

And yet it is the flimsiest, most fickle instrument or material that can be used. We talk or sing of its braving for a thousand years the battle and the breeze." Nevertheless it yields to every wind that blows, flutters into rags in a gale, and presents the minimum of resistance to fire, sword, and bullet. It is the sport of the air and prey of the moth. No doubt, however, its extreme lightness is its great recommendation. It is easy to carry, to raise, to wave, and to shift. It represents the largest surface that can be packed in the least space. Perhaps, however, being easily moved by the wind, the chief secret of its universal adoption lies in the fact that, even in the gentlest breeze, it always indicates life. It is not merely the lightest and handiest instrument for signalling, but it is the liveliest. When left to itself it goes on flapping or fluttering on its own account. Though the cannon of the fort be silent, their smoke dispersed, and not a human head show itself above the rampart, the unwearied flag still goes on saying its say, and flaunts defiance, or bears its airy witness to the survival of the bombarded foe. He may be hard hit and distressed, but his flag asserts itself with perhaps even livelier protest when half of its body has been shot away. The flag never gives in. Nail it to the staff, and as long as a rag is left it denies submission. Although the military standard of the Romans had a small banner beneath the gold or silver eagle with extended

I fancy they would have been tempted to exchange this their metal ensign for a square of silk if their troops had been exposed to a horizontal rain of lead. The solid bird would soon have been knocked to pieces, while the flag lets the whistling bullet pass through it without the bearer feeling that it is touched. The flag is as obstinate as it is soft.

Having, moreover, been universally adopted as significant," the flag eminently illustrates the mistakes which we may be likely to make if we judge of things merely by their instrinsic value. It is foolish to affect to despise symbolism, and to condemn a man as caring excessively for sheer trifles when he stands up for some little point of ceremony. He may be grievously in the wrong, but a false issue is raised when we blame him for making a fuss about a thing that is nothing in itself.

Many of the early Christian martyrs might have saved their lives by consenting to cast a little pinch of incense on a heathen altar. And so in many matters now, social, political, and religious, we may wholly miss the point in question when we ridicule or reproach a man or a party for attaching undue importance to some custom or symbol. We should always try to realise the thing that is meant, and not waste power in pretending to scorn the whole business because the dispute lies around material trifles. The battle rages hottest round a scrap of silk upon a stick. The national honour may depend upon the treatment given to what is in itself of no more value than a pocket-handkerchief. Things are not always what they seem. The omission of a signature or a seal can invalidate the gravest document. Neglect of the little courtesies of life makes the striking difference between a boor and a gentleman. The boor may be honest and true, but his unmannerly contempt of the small ceremonies of social conduct renders him intolerable. Certainly all is not gold. that glitters, but a tarnished coin, however genuine, is often liable to suspicion, and a rough diamond does not fulfil the chief purpose of the jewel. The despising of that which is slight and superficial, or worthless in itself, might be wholesomely corrected when we think how much importance is universally attached to so flimsy a thing as a flag. The world is agreed not merely in using it as a convenient instrument for signalling, but in rendering respect to it as the most widely adopted material of symbolism. And it may remind us that this is one of the most marked characteristics of civilised life, or even humanity. It is the brute alone which is never ceremonious.

In the page of flags which forms the coloured frontispiece of our Monthly Part, it has been necessary to make a selection of the ensigns of all nations. They are very numerous, and the number ever increasing as civilisation advances. A few only of the flags of Asia, and of the American States and Republics, we have had space to give. Places which a century ago were almost unknown, such as Japan, Liberia, and the Hawaiian Islands, have now their national flags, which are respected and saluted like those of the oldest European empires and kingdoms. Many of the states have, in addition to the national standards, flags for commercial departments, and for many uses of signalling or of distinction. A large treatise would be needed for full knowledge of such matters.

With regard to our own imperial standards, the