burning wheat.

Robert Hart was not the man to grope long in a fog of mystery. He
decided the question once and for all by submitting a blazon of his
own choice to the College of Heralds, and his design--three fleurs
de lis and a four-leaved shamrock--was sanctioned, as it had not been
previously applied for.

The search for the original arms was naturally given up then, but by
the merest accident they were ultimately found. Some member of
the family happening years afterwards to stroll through a very old
cemetery in Dublin, curiosity or idleness led him to examine the
tombstones. One in particular attracted his attention, perhaps because
it was more dilapidated and tumble-down than the rest. He gently
scraped the moss from the inscription and found that he had stumbled
on the long-forgotten tomb of Captain van Hardt, and underneath
the hero's name he found a coat-of-arms, half obliterated yet still
recognizable. It showed _three fleurs de lis and a four-leaved
shamrock_.

But it must not be imagined that Robert Hart was the man to rest on
his laurels or to regard honours as so many flags of truce entitling
him to draw out, even for a time, of the battle of work. From 1889
to 1903 he was deeply engaged on that very important business the
Sikkim-Thibet Convention. The Thibetans having crossed the border into
Sikkim, a State protected by the British, the British in return sent
an expedition into Thibet and, since there was trouble about the
frontier, refused to go out again. This was a very disagreeable
predicament for China. She turned, as usual, to the man who never
ceased labouring on her behalf, and, as usual, he rose to the