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 with which we are acquainted is in the Metropolitan Museum of New York, in the Dino Collection, an Italian saddle in which the elaboration of carving is almost over-exuberant (Fig. 979). In consideration of the fact that the letters M M are found worked into the decoration of the pommel and that the scenes carved upon it generally have been explained as representing episodes in the history of the houses of Palaeologus and Savoy, it was at one time thought that this saddle might have belonged to Jacques Paléologue, Marquis of Monferrat (1418-1445). Such clues, however, are very slight, and little more than mere guesswork. They are indeed about as slender and unconvincing as the supposition that the appearance of a fleur-de-lis in the border ornament of the fine pear-wood saddle in the Musée d'Artillerie of Paris (G 546) entitles it to be accepted as a former possession of the royal house of France or of a Constable of that country. It is interesting to note, however, that both the Dino bone saddle and the pear-wood example in the Musée d'Artillerie of Paris certainly appear to come from the hand of the same artist, and to date from the first half of the XVth century.

Next let us examine three saddles that are easily accessible, Nos. 296, 297, and 298 of the Wallace Collection, Gallery VII. Nos. 296 and 298 are of the same construction, both being of wood, overlaid with polished stag's horn (Figs. 980 and 981). In form the pommels are high and finish in a spiral curve, the seat in one case terminating at the back in two circular plates. Two oblong holes on either side of the seat serve as a passage for the girths. The polished stag's horn with which they are overlaid is carved in low relief and partly stained. No. 296, which was formerly in the Meyrick Collection, is the more interesting of the two. The German duologue engraved upon a scroll held by the two figures forming part of the decoration is perhaps worth translating, though the orthography is obsolete.



I am here, I know not how, I come from somewhere, I know not when. Well a day! thou art never forgotten.



I go, I stop, the longer I stop The more infatuated I become. Thine for ever, in your own land.



But if the war should end?



I shall be thine for ever.