Give my kindest love to my mother—how often do I now think of her with gratitude and affection! to Jane, Maria, and Harriet, and to poor George, if he be still living. Remember me to Mr. Lane, affectionately, and to all the family.

I shall send this letter enclosed to Mr. Lane, with directions that they may read it if you should not be in Mercersburg. Remember me to Uncle John, Alexander and his lady, Mr. Reynolds and his lady, and to Mrs. Martin and Molly Talbot, and believe me to be ever

Your faithful and affectionate brother,

James Buchanan.

[MR. BUCHANAN TO MRS. SLAYMAKER.]

St. Petersburg, October 31, 1832.

Dear Madam:—

I received your kind and agreeable letter of the 20th August last on the 8th instant. I scarcely know anything the perusal of which could have afforded me more pleasure. I left no friend in my native land for whose interest and welfare I have a greater solicitude than for your own. How could it be otherwise? Your conduct since the lamented death of your husband, whose memory I shall ever cherish, has been a model of propriety. The severest critic could not find fault with any part of it, unless it be that you have too much secluded yourself from society, of which you are so well calculated to be an agreeable and instructive member. I have never heretofore expressed these sentiments to you because you might have considered them the language of flattery. As they now proceed from “a stranger in a strange land,” I cannot believe you will doubt their sincerity.

I fear I cannot with truth defend the chastity of the Empress Catharine. She was a disciple of the school of the French philosophers, and was therefore wholly destitute of religion—the surest safeguard of female virtue. Her natural disposition was, however, good, and where her ambition and her pleasures were not concerned she was an amiable and kind-hearted woman. The Princess Dalgorouski, one of my most intimate friends in this city (if I ought to use the term upon so short an acquaintance), is the granddaughter of the youngest brother of the Orloffs. She has several times amused me with anecdotes which she had heard from her grandfather, all tending to prove the goodness of Catharine’s heart. Among other things, it was not at all uncommon for her to rise in the morning and light her own fire, rather than disturb the slumbers of any of her attendants. She took great delight not only in educating her own grandchildren, but others of the same age about the court. Her son Paul, however, was always her aversion. When he succeeded to the throne he acted like a madman, and I have often had to laugh at the pranks of his tyranny. For example, he issued an edict commanding all persons, whether male or female, either in the summer or the winter, upon his approach to alight from their carriages and stand in the street uncovered before him as he passed. Of course the latter part of the rule applied to foot passengers. An English merchant, still living in this city, attempted upon one occasion to make his escape as the Emperor approached, but he was observed by the keen eye of Paul, and was immediately sent for to the palace. His defence was that he was near-sighted; and the Emperor immediately presented him with a pair of spectacles, and commanded him never to be seen in public without having them upon his nose. The command was literally obeyed, and the merchant has ever since worn the spectacles. The anecdote is literally true.

The Emperor Alexander was a mild and amiable man; but his example, until near the close of his life, was not calculated to restrain the dissoluteness of manners which prevailed in the days of Catharine. Circumstances, too tedious to mention in the limits of a hasty letter, made him at last esteem his wife, the Empress Elizabeth, as she deserved. In the commencement of his reign, he was a libertine, but he died a fanatic. It is delightful to hear of the familiar intercourse which he held with his subjects. He visited many families in this city as a private gentleman whom etiquette prevented from appearing at court; and upon such occasions he was as free and familiar, even with the children, as though he had been of an equal rank. He died disgusted with his high station, and exclaimed to Doctor Wyley, his physician, who was remonstrating with him for not using his prescriptions, “I am sick of this world, why should I desire to live?” Such is the end of human greatness.