The prospect of public affairs, now embroiled by the French Revolution of 1830, seems to have disturbed him more than the loss of his house. From the selfishness of the governing party, and the rashness of their opponents, he was disposed to predict the saddest results—loss of freedom, civil and religious. “In fifty years,” he says in one place, “and probably much less, there will be no trace left of free institutions, or the freedom of the press, throughout all Europe—at least on the Continent.” In this enforced darkness, Protestantism would, of course, have no chance against her great antagonist. Wherever the spirit of mental freedom decays, the Roman Catholic must triumph. He says, “Already, all the old evils have awakened to full activity; all the priestcraft, all, even the most gigantic plans for conquest and subjugation; and there is no doubt that they are secretly aiming at, and working towards, a religious war, and all that tends to bring it on.” The interest which Niebuhr took in the public events of Europe was indirectly the cause of his last illness. One evening he spent a considerable time waiting and reading in the hot news-room, without taking off his thick fur cloak, and then returned home through the cold frosty night air, heated in mind and body. He looked in, as he passed, on his friend Classen, to unburden some portion of his fervid cares for the universal commonwealth. “But,” said he, “I have taken a severe chill, I must go to bed.” And from the couch he then sought he never rose again. “On the afternoon of the 1st of January 1830,” thus concludes the account of his last days which we have from the pen of Professor Classen, “he sank into a dreamy slumber: once, on awakening, he said that pleasant images floated before him in sleep; now and then he spoke French in his dreams; probably he felt himself in the presence of his departed friend De Serre. As the night gathered, consciousness gradually faded away; he woke up once more about midnight, when the last remedy was administered; he recognised in it a medicine of doubtful operation, never resorted to but in extreme cases, and said in a faint voice, ‘What essential substance is this? Am I so far gone?’ These were his last words; he sank back on his pillow, and within an hour his noble heart had ceased to beat.”