Clara looked surprised at this remark, it was so unexpected, for no intimation of such a feeling had ever been breathed ere this by her husband. “Why do you wish to go there?” she naturally inquired. “To took upon the glorious old masters,” replied Ellison. “I will never be any thing in my art until I have studied them.” “You think too meanly of your present attainments,” said Clara. “N—— has been to Italy, but with all his study of the old masters he has not half the ability as an artist that you possess.” “It isn’t in him, Clara,” replied Ellison with some warmth. “He might study in the galleries of Florence forever, and not make a painter.” “There are many specimens and copies of the old masters in our city,” remarked Clara, “could you not find aid from studying them?” “No, no—or at least but little,” said Ellison coldly. He had hoped that his wife would feel favorable, at least, to a visit to Italy, even though it might not at the time be practicable. But her evident opposition to the thing chilled his over-sensitive feelings. “Ah me!” sighed the young artist to himself, when alone, “I am free in nothing!” Other thoughts were coming into utterance, but he checked and drove them back. As for Clara, she was utterly unconscious of what was in the mind of her husband. Could she have understood his real feelings, she would have sacrificed even her natural prudence and forethought, and cheerfully proposed to sell the stock they possessed in order that they might visit Italy and spend a year or two in that classic region. But a reserve had already been created, and Ellison, in particular, kept secret more than half of what was passing in his mind, while he imagined his wife to have thoughts and feelings to which she was a total stranger. He said no more about Italy, for it was plain to him that she would oppose the measure if suggested; and, as she had brought him a few thousands, she of course had a right to object.