STKASBURa.

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without being formal, and the blending of the dark greenwith the pure white marble cleverly managed.

But here the praise must end. The ailegorical figuresv and allegories at best are sad burlesque affairs) are allabsurd, because they are one and all — even down to theemblematical beasts themselves-—'represented as being rackedwith emotions that are utterly inconsistent with mere abstracttypes. The female who is trying to stay the Marechal with onehand and ward off Death with the other (and who is evidently,from the fleur-de-lis on her dress, intended for the figureof France) has an agony in her features and an energy in heraction that—couplcd with her extremely äicolti attire—strikeone as being rather more theatrical than pathetic. Then Her-cules, with his hand to bis forehead, grieving for the hero,seems to be afflicted w r ith a severe headache rather thanabsorbed in grief. The littlo blubbering Cupid, too, ismaking the same wry face as he would if about to be com-pelled to swallow a dose of physic; whilst the notion of thecapsized eagle (" typical of the taking of Prague !"), and thepanther sprawling on his back (the latter being indicative, itis said, of the " victories over England at Fontenoy andLaffelt"), and the Hon, yelping like a cur that has been wellkicked—are simply the violent absurdities of ailegorical farce.

Frenchmen, however, are in ecstasies at " the completenessof the allegory." Hercules, we are told, could not help render-ing homage to the Marechal, whose powerful hand was able todouble up a horse-shoe and crumple together a shield of sixpounds weight; and who, by the mere strength of his flngersalonc, could twist a rod of iron into the form of a corkscrew.

The God of Love, too, M. Eugene Guinot informs us, wasbound to pay his sad tribute to the loss of a hero who alwaysworshipped him so fcrvently — for the great Maurice signalisedhimself as much by Ins prowess in his engagements with the