noblest and best qualities—the stormy gulf of Ormus throws up the finest pearls. It is not in the season of tranquility that we know aught of the generous devotion, the fertility of resource, and the forgetfulness of self often shown in the hour of trial. When the French revolution broke out, how many, only accustomed to indolence, luxury, and custom, showed that "there was iron in the rose;" and, whether at the call of duty or of affection, were prepared to bear even to the uttermost, and to exert a fortitude till then undreamed of. In such a mould is cast the character of Catherine. She has been destined for the cloister, a vocation utterly at variance with that warm heart and ready wit with which nature had gifted her: she has worked at the embroidery frame: she has told her beads, and dwelt in quiet and seclusion. The destruction of her monastery opens before her a wide and troubled world; her spirits rise as she needs their support; she finds in herself strength to endure, and courage to resist again. This time, however, of her own free will she goes into seclusion; but it is solitude animated by the consciousness of a generous devotion, and invigorated by the performance of duty. There is that which at once arrests our sympathy in Catherine Seyton's attachment to her royal mistress—it is the result of enthusiasm acting upon the most generous feelings. In those days loyalty was a creed—the right divine had its religion. To this
