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"You are right," said Boerhaave, "as to artificial laws-nor was it to the political government of Russia I alluded. Nature is the same every where the pulses beat by the same natural laws, and the blood in every individual flows through the lungs and vital functions. And just so with the moral pulses; your Emperor in that respect will be judged on the same grounds as others."

"To what do you allude ?" said the Russian.

"Report has been busy with the private history of the Czar," replied the host. "All allow him great talents, but the death of his son Alexis took place in so sudden and strange a manner that suspicion rests upon his nearest relative.”

"I am not disposed to become the champion of the Emperor," said the stranger, hastily rising, "but you ought to judge him by your own rule. It is true, that his pulses beat by the same laws as yours, and as you justly say, nature is the same every where. Can you find in all your nation a man who does not feel affection for his offspring? Think you the Emperor loved his son less than you love yours? Does not the blood flow as quickly and as truly through the heart of a barbarian as through that of a polished courtier? Is not natural affection as strong in one class of life as in another? But this is a subject perhaps better let alone. To justify the father, it might be necessary to throw even a greater degree of odium on the son than at present rests upon him."

"I confess," said Boerhaave," that amidst my sincere admiration for the Autocrat, I have deeply regretted that he did not understand the importance of early education for his unfortunate son; instead of leaving him in the hands of ignorant priests and exposed to the example of licentious society, and roaming about the world himself in various disguises, that he had not devoted a portion of his time to Alexis, watching over him and inculcating virtuous and noble precepts."

"It is much easier to form a correct judgement after events have passed, than to decide right while they are passing," said the stranger. "I fully believe that the Emperor would have given his heart's best blood to have secured to the nation a worthy successor. When Peter took possession of the throne, arduous duties devolved upon him. He saw himself standing alone, an uneducated man. This great work was yet to perform. To others it became necessary to trust the education of his son; he meant to choose wisely, though Mentshikof proved a traitor."

"Peter," he continued, "saw that every thing was wanting for the glory of the nation. They were ignorant of the arts and of military discipline-he enlisted in a German corps, and studied skill and discipline as a private soldier. The view of the Dutch and English ships convinced him how far behind his subjects were in the art of ship-building-he enrolled himself among the ship-carpenters of Amsterdam and worked unknown. Believe me, sir, the Emperor has not been idle. He has created a navy of forty ships of the line, an army of 100,000 troops, he has established colleges, schools of medicine, of botany and belles-lettres, and by the purchase of pictures of the old Italian masters has succeeded in diffusing a love of painting and the fine arts among his subjects. Nay more, he has banished much of the superstition of the Greek Church, and introduced a pure and simple religion."

"God grant," said Boerhaave, who seemed warmed into a degree of enthusiasm by the energy of the Russian, "that he may be successful in cultivating the mild and domestic virtues. Your Emperor, Herr Pietro, is a man of whom you have reason to be proud for his science in governing his subjects; but I have lived to that age when the government of one's self seems to me the foundation of all other science, and the compassionate love of our fellow beings and a true desire to benefit them the highest degree of virtue."

"It may be so," replied the stranger, "but severity is sometimes necessary, and any acts of this kind are always hardly judged, and attributed to fits of anger and passion. Ah! my good Doctor, bad men are like weeds that must be rooted up and thrown away, or they will overrun the garden."

"There are many useful plants," said the botanist, "that have been mistaken for weeds."

"There is one art," said the stranger, "that you have evidently acquired, which I suspect our Emperor would gladly learn of you." "What is that?" asked the Doctor cheerfully.

"The art of being happy! Report says the Czar knows little of this science. Early obliged to share the throne with a weak and obstinate brother, tormented by a domineering and plotting sister, feared and hated even by the very subjects who were proud of him, and discovering that his only son was conspiring against his life and throne, what has been his chance for happiness?"

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"Poor enough, I confess ;" said the Doctor, "but do you not in this short sketch which you have given, perceive that his unhappiness has proceeded from those very sources which make my enjoyment-the domestic relations of life? Depend upon it, there is something wrong; the waters have been poisoned, and it is difficult to say how far the Emperor may have been instrumental in corrupting them." A silence followed. "Is it asking too much," said the stranger, first breaking it, "to request a slight sketch of your life?"

"Not at all," said Boerhaave laughing, "but it is the true art of bathos to come down from the Emperor of all the Russias to Dr. Boerhaave, the some time professor.-My father had a most earnest desire that I might in time become one of the fathers of the Protestant Church. I had gone through a multitude of huge folios, when my health began to decline, and a tumour appeared on my leg that wore an alarming aspect. Our physicians pronounced it incurable, and then I resolved to try my own ingenuity upon it. The most powerful remedy that I used was a fomentation of salt and wine. I recovered and came to Leyden, (my native place is Voorhoot,) still prosecuting my studies in Divinity, but I soon found that there were other studies more congenial to my taste, and I stole many hours from Divinity for the study of Medicine. I had got into the right niche-my practice became extensive-even your Emperor once condescended to consult me through an agent; but though blessed with much success for others, I could not ward off disease from myself-I was attacked by alarming symptoms, and rest became necessary for me. Though still an invalid, I find opportunities of being useful, and regularly devote a certain part of the day to gratuitous advice to the poor, whom I consider my best patients, for God is their paymaster."

"Under such circumstances," said the stranger, "in wishing you many more years of life, I wish you a blessing."

"It may be so," said the Physician, " but I believe it is a blessing not in store for me. My complaints are approaching a crisis, and my days are numbered.”

The stranger looked at his watch; "I must go hence," said he, "for time presses, but as long as I live I shall remember my breakfast on the banks of the Rhine, and the conversation we have had may produce results yet untold."

*

Leyden is situated on one of the branches into which the Rhine is divided before it enters the sea.

Boerhaave accompanied Herr Pietro to his barge. They shook hands most cordially, and as the stranger stepped from the little quay, he put a card into the physician's hand carefully enveloped.

The rippling of the water, the beautiful boat as she moved gracefully upon it, and the form of the stranger as he stood on deck and waved his cap, awoke a contemplative humour in the Doctor. “I know not who this man is," thought he, "and probably shall know nothing of him hereafter,—but he is of no common stamp; there is much of greatness about him, and I fear much of evil. This card will probably give me more fully his name." He opened the envelope, and on the card was written, PETER, Emperor of Russia!

Notwithstanding Boerhaave's prediction, he outlived the Emperor a number of years, who died in 1725 at the age of 53. Probably, the tranquil temper of mind and retired habits of the philosopher prolonged his life, while in the turbulent and angry passions of the Autocrat existed the seeds of premature death. Boerhaave lived to the age of 70, and died in 1738, leaving two millions of florins to his children. He was buried in the great church at Leyden, under a marble urn which bears this inscription.

Salutifero Boerhaavii Genio Sacr.

A letter of this distinguished Physician's may not be uninteresting after this slight sketch. It was written in Latin in his sixty-seventh year, to the Physician of the Emperor of Germany.

"My health is very good. I sleep at my country house, go to town every morning by five o'clock, and occupy myself there, from that time until six in the evening, in relieving the sick. I am fond of chemistry and amuse myself in reading it. I revere, I love, I adore the only God. When I return to the country, I visit my plants, and acknowledge anew the treasures with which your liberality has enriched me. I pass many hours in contemplating my plants, and grow old in the desire of possessing new ones. Thus riches only serve to increase the thirst of possession, and the miser is miserable from the liberality of his benefactor. My folly is an innocent one; forgive the madness of an old friend who wishes to plant trees, whose beauty and shade will give delight to his successors. It is thus that my life passes without any other chagrin than my distance from you, and happy in every thing else."

Such was the old age of a man, who having vigorously struggled with poverty in his youth, created a fortune by his industry and talents.

H. F. L.

THE DAY OF REST.

ONE application of this season our social condition particularly suggests. How slightly are the mass of parents acquainted with the moral condition of their children! How readily do they imagine all responsibility discharged by committing their little ones to the care of some well-paid teacher-a hireling-not the true shepherd God has placed over the flock, whose voice the sheep know. Meanwhile the numerous tastes, habits, amusements of the child-his companions, his plays and his pleasure-books-are left to accident; the chief teachings of the young soul are abandoned to the devices of evil, to the devils of presumption, passion, wanton desire! What by far the most decides character and determines life is the most readily neglected, by those whose words and looks, affections and counsels, are to mould the ductile heart of childhood.

How sad this evasion of heaven-appointed duty. In the eagerness to secure a fortune for his child, the father disregards, and by disregard stifles, those affections and susceptibilities, that holy conscience and filial fear, which can alone secure the right use of property, console us for its loss, and more than take its place with those heavenly treasures, which fear "no moth," dread no decay. In his care for bodily wants the parent denies those wants of the soul which are eternal. Storing up earthly bread in a full granary, he casts away that bread of heaven which in youth alone is probably our most satisfying, pleasurable, natural food. Coming home every evening all perplexed with business, absorbed with conflicting fears and hopes, failures and successes, the prattle of his babe is a weariness to him— the mirth of childish hearts annoying and intolerable.

How well is it, while this fatal error holds on, that the rest-day take special care of these neglected, holiest duties; that, in the interchange of domestic affection which it commonly witnesses, the Sabbath

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