with new objects of interest every day. I might take you to churches filled with images, pictures, saints, and devils for aught I know, whose walls are covered with dim inscriptions, and whose altars daily smoke with the incense of superstition; to vast libraries, one of which (Bibliothèque Royale) numbers eight hundred thousand books, eighty thousand manuscripts, four hundred thousand medals, three hundred thousand maps, and one million engravings; to cabinets of antique articles, where are objects of great curiosity, such as the seal of Michael Angelo, the iron chair of King Dagobert, the shield of Hannibal, the zodiac of Denderah, and every namable and unnamable wonder; to the abattoirs, those creations of Napoleon by which the health and comfort of the people are much increased; to the Bourse, where the living daily throng in such crowds; and to the catacombs, where repose the bones of the dead; to beautiful gardens and fine fountains; indeed, to

every scene of life, love, and beauty.

While wandering about, one day, we fell into the studio of our countryman, Mr. Healy, who was engaged in painting the great picture of the United States Senate. The picture represents Webster replying to Hayne, and is designed to represent the scene as it occurred. There sit Benton, Calhoun, Clay, and other noted men. Mr. Webster is speaking, while in the gallery are some of the most distinguished men and women of the land, among whom is Mrs. Webster, then a young bride, enjoying the triumph of her husband. The painting was then unfinished, and I thought was too stiff and formal. Mr. Webster was bolt upright, and seemed quite lifeless. It has since been finished, and brought to this country, and is now on exhibition in some of our large cities; but I have not seen it.

My criticism may be unjust, and likely is, as it is quite impossible for one to form an opinion of a painting which has not received the finishing touch of the artist. However, the fame of Mr. Healy is so well established, that no injury can be done him by my remarks upon his great work.

I may also be alone in this opinion, as I have seen no notice of the painting, and do not pretend to judge of an art of which I know so little. The artist stands high in his profession on the other side of the Atlantic; and if he has failed, to any extent, in the work of which we speak, it may doubtless be attributed to the peculiar character of the scene which he has endeavored to delineate, which is not capable of such striking effect as may be produced in the painting of some other scenes and objects, such as the carnage of battle and the strife of war.

XIX.

LOUIS NAPOLEON AND FRENCH POLITICS.

THE French nation presents a strange spectacle to the world, and holds up an example which none would wish to imitate. It is to-day (November, 1851) a republic. Its supreme magistrate is a president, who must be a native of France, more than thirty years old, and is elected by the people. The legislature is the National Assembly, which is composed of several hundreds of members, also elected by the suffrages of the people. The president nominates three men, one of whom is chosen by the Assembly as vice president. He also selects his own cabinet. The general day of election is the second Sunday in May, every fourth year. The salary of the president is six hundred thousand francs, in addition to which frequent appropriations are made for the extra expenses of these officers.

Louis Philippe came to the throne of France in 1830, in the midst of the existence of several distinct parties. The Republicans were clamorous for a democracy; the Legitimists for the restoration of the elder branch of the Bourbon family; while a middle class looked to the house of Orleans as the only hope of their blooddrunken nation. Lafayette presented Louis Philippe as the representative of a liberal government; and he was accepted by the people, and crowned accordingly. From the day of his coronation up to the year 1848, he continued to reign, his throne ever surrounded by

traitors, frequent attempts made upon his life, and storm and tempest continually howling around him. He was, on the whole, a good king, a man of tolerable intellect, with a good knowledge of human nature, and an instinctive love of peace and order. During his administration, public buildings were erected, the arts flourished, and the nation was prosperous and happy. But, overlooking all these considerations, the people thirsted for revolution. Banquets were held, at which the revolutionary orators made violent speeches. Fierce and angry discussions were held in the House of Deputies. Ledru Rollin, Lamartine, and Barrot, each with a point to carry, harangued the people. In February, the waves of anarchy began to dash against the throne. Paris was full of troops; groups, in suppressed murmurs, were heard discussing the state of the nation; night and day, soldiers, with drawn swords, were stationed all over Paris, and stood in dumb silence, awaiting they knew not what. The people expected the overturning of the throne. They did not wait long; for soon, one evening, groups were seen with torches and red flags parading the streets, excited by their wild leaders. One of these processions reaches the Hotel of Foreign Affairs, where a column of soldiers is drawn up. Here a random shot is fired no one knows by whom, or for what purpose; but it commenced the revolution, drove Louis Philippe from his throne, and changed the kingdom into a republic. Through Paris sounds the cry of terror, that blood has been shed; and when blood begins to flow in France, no one knows where it will end. The dead bodies are gathered up, placed in a cart, and hurried away. Thousands follow with these terrible trophies to the office of the National. Here every attempt is

made to inflame the passions of the people. The bodies in the dead-cart are overhauled, and the form of a female is held up, all gory and red, and inflammatory speeches are made over the terrible display. Soon the bells are sounding, the pavements of the streets are being torn up, men and women are arming themselves, and the revolution is in progress.

While all this is taking place in the street, the Tuileries has been filled with councilors. M. Molé, M. Thiers, M. Guizot, and others have been called in to consult with the perplexed king. Louis Philippe, unwilling to shed blood, hesitates; but his hesitation is fatal. While he listens to the various plans, a messenger rushes in to tell him that the soldiers are giving away their arms to the people. The commandant still declares that the revolution can be stayed; that one broadside would drive back the masses who are filling the Place de la Concorde. Hour after hour is wasted, and the rage of the people knows no bounds. At length, the king gives orders to have the soldiers fire upon the mob. But the old officer shakes his head, and exclaims, "Too late!" The only alternative is abdication, and Louis Philippe writes his withdrawal from the throne, in behalf of his grandson, the Count of Paris. One scene follows another in quick succession. First, the king is seen taking the arm of the queen, and, followed by members of the royal family, passing out of a side door into a cab found in the street, and hurrying away into a returnless exile. Then the Duchess of Orleans is seen in the Chamber of Deputies, with her two children, pleading for their rights, while over her hangs the sword, and around her shout the infuriated madmen. She is the widow of the oldest son of the king, and is arrayed in mourning yet for