This review was a splendid spectacle. Each crowned head of the powers engaged had nominally a regiment in the army of each brother sovereign; and each in his turn marched past as colonel of his regiment, saluting with due military discipline the crowned head to whose army the regiment belonged. The Emperor Alexander wore his cocked hat square to the front, kept firm on his head by a black ribbon tied under his chin. When he saluted in marching past his chosen master, he shot his right arm at full length horizontally from his right shoulder, and then curving the arm with tolerable grace to the front he touched the upper part of his forehead with his hand, the fingers closed together and the palm turned downwards. His appearance was soldier-like; yet he seemed not a hardy veteran, but rather a good-humoured, well-conditioned English yeoman than the representative of Peter the Great. Contentment, apparently uninterrupted by thought or reflection, seemed to sit on his unruffled brow. The King of Prussia wore his hat fore and aft. In saluting he sent his right hand perpendicularly upwards, the palm turned towards his face, his fingers stiff and their tips brought suddenly against the point of his hat. Sullenness was portrayed on his countenance. His figure was tall; but I saw nothing lofty about him save his station, which, had it not been hereditary, would never have been his. He was what we call in a horse wall-eyed. Nothing indicated the determined warrior, polished courtier or profound statesman; and during the whole time in which I presumed to regard him I do not recollect that a single thought of the Great Frederick flashed on my mind. The Emperor Francis wore his hat neither square nor fore and aft; the right cock was brought rather forward. In saluting, his right arm was slowly brought up to meet the fore part of his hat, to touch which his fingers were bent into a bunch. His stature was scarcely above the middle size, his face melancholy and overcast; it did not appear to be that sullen melancholy which indicates disappointed ambition--it seemed rather to be produced by painful recollections of happy scenes and feelings which, like blooming youth gone by, can never return. His deportment was that of an over-thoughtful, but an affable gentleman; dejection he combated, but could not shake off; he would appear happy, but failed in the endeavour. His former deadly foe and conqueror (a fortunate revolutionist emerged from obscurity) was now united to the child of his affections, the descendant of the Cæsars. The overthrow of the one must drag down the other. Unwillingly then he drew his sword, for whatever he might have previously suffered he now made war against his daughter and her husband. These conflicting feelings must have harassed his very soul; his position was cruelly embarrassing; and it was impossible to witness his distress and not participate in his feelings. His appearance throughout proclaimed him an unwilling actor in the gorgeous show. He alone seemed to reflect that players sometimes act the part of kings, but that here the farce was reversed.