foreign courts, that he might
gain the co-operation of these courts in the maintenance of his
crown, and secure exalted matrimonial alliances for his children.
There have probably been few, if any, kings upon the throne of
France, who have had fewer friends or more bitter enemies than Louis
Philippe. The following statement from the _North American Review_
correctly expresses the sentiment of most thoughtful men upon the
character of his administration:

"During a reign in which his real authority and influence
were immense, he did little for his country, little for the
moral and intellectual elevation of his people, and nothing
for the gradual improvement of the political institutions of
his kingdom; because his time and attention were absorbed in
seeking splendid foreign alliances for his children, and in
manoeuvring to maintain a supple majority in the Chambers,
and to keep those ministers at the head of affairs who would
second more heartily his private designs."

While these scenes were transpiring, the king, though greatly
chagrined at the compulsory dismissal of his ministers, yet supposed
that he had thus appeased the populace, and that there was no longer
danger of lawless violence. Helen, duchess of Orleans, widow of the
king's eldest son, a woman of much intelligence, had been greatly
alarmed in apprehension that the dynasty was about to be overthrown.
Her little son, the Count de Paris, was heir to the crown. Relieved
of her apprehensions by the dismissal of the obnoxious ministers, and
not aware of what was transpiring in the streets, she pressed her
child to her bosom, saying: "Poor child! your crown has been indeed
compromised, but now Heaven has restored it to you."

M. Guizot, at the time the untoward event occurred in front of his
hotel, chanced to be at the residence of M. Duchatel, the ex-Minister
of the Interior. As they were conversing, the brother of M. Duchatel
entered, breathless and in the highest state of agitation, to
communicate the tidings that the troops had fired upon the people,
that the whole populace of Paris was in a ferment of indignation, and
that there was imminent danger that the streets of the metropolis
were about to be the theatre of the most fearful carnage. Should
either of these ministers fall into the hands of the exasperated
populace, their instant death was certain. They both hastened to the
Tuileries. It was midnight. The terrible