moment than the present, or that all else by the sweet strains were banished from the thoughts. At the instrument, seated low, is the inspired poet and musician, with his face averted from the keys, as if drinking in with spiritual waves of melody the same entrancement that his guests enjoy. Behind him, forming the two central figures of the group, are seated Cromwell and his wife, whilst the grandchildren near by with pensive air, are no less engrossed than the great Protector of England. The youngest girl has cast away her basket of flowers, and lying against the knee of an elder sister, throws her arms upwards as it in intense delight. Cromwell has planted his cane upon the floor, and clasping it with both hands, sits rigidly back in his chair, ready to exclaim, "How sublime!" and his goodly wife folds her hands upon her lap, a true model of motherly dignity. The attitudes of the other figures are equally good, some leaning against the wainscoted walls, and others sitting with eyes glancing upwards, as if in sympathy with the heaven-ascending sound, or lowered, as though in prayerful gratitude. The fair haired damsel by the side of Cromwell has gathered together her hands, and elevated one shoulder so as to leave us no doubt that the thrill had passed even into her finger tips. Another female figure seated beside the organ supports between her knees a little boy, who has stretched out his arms, appearing more like some grave statesman than a buoyant youth. On a high shelf are several books, a bust of Cato, a globe and a clay pipe. An old fashioned tall clock would carry us back to the time of our great, great grandfathers. Let us leave the music by which Milton makes all happy, and sing our own key-note of praise to Leutze. No. 45. Fanny Ellsler as Sylphide, by Begas, Presi-
