ing in the world but a copy of Leonardo's _Last Supper_; and a copy
of this very _Last Supper_, done by Rubini the younger at Florence, I
had known for some time to be in the possession of Nicolino. This point,
therefore, I considered as sufficiently settled. I chuckled excessively
when I thought of my acumen. It was the first time I had ever known
Wyatt to keep from me any of his artistical secrets; but here he
evidently intended to steal a march upon me and smuggle a fine picture
to New York, under my very nose; expecting me to know nothing of the
matter. I resolved to quiz him well, now and hereafter.

One thing, however, annoyed me not a little. The box did not go into the
extra stateroom. It was deposited in Wyatt's own; and there, too, it
remained, occupying very nearly the whole of the floor, no doubt to the
exceeding discomfort of the artist and his wife; this the more
especially as the tar or paint with which it was lettered in sprawling
capitals emitted a strong, disagreeable, and, to my fancy, a peculiarly
disgusting odour. On the lid were painted the words: "Mrs. Adelaide
Curtis, Albany, New York. Charge of Cornelius Wyatt, Esq. This side up.
To be handled with care."

Now, I was aware that Mrs. Adelaide Curtis of Albany was the artist's
wife's mother; but then I looked upon the whole address as a
mystification, intended especially for myself. I made up my mind, of
course, that the box and contents would never get farther north than the
studio of my misanthropic friend in Chambers Street, New York.

For the first three or four days we had fine weather, although the wind
was dead ahead, having chopped round to the northward immediately upon
our losing sight of the coast. The passengers were, consequently, in
high spirits and disposed to be social. I must except, however, Wyatt
and his sisters, who behaved stiffly, and, I could not help thinking,
uncourteously, to the rest of the party. Wyatt's conduct I did not so
much regard. He was gloomy, even beyond his usual habit,--in fact, he
was morose; but in him I was prepared for eccentricity. For the sisters,
however, I could make no excuse. They secluded themselves in their
staterooms during the greater part of the passage, and absolutely
refused, although I repeatedly urged them, to hold communication with
any person on board.

Mrs. Wyatt herself was far more agreeable. That is to say, she was
chatty; and to be chatty is no slight recommendation at sea. She b