There are two unfortunate sets of beings among mankind: those who cannot do any thing, and those who cannot do nothing. The former class counted among its numbers Mr. Henry Augustus Tippetson. He had not the slightest capacity for application to any object of pursuit; but he was no by means unable to do nothing. There are, as our readers may know, certain persons who have acquired such a habit of constant action and incessant employment that they cannot exist without activity: they cannot be idle. They are absolutely proud of it, and fancy that it redounds much to their honor; but it is in fact a misfortune where the assertion is true, and a villanous affectation where it is false. It requires mind to be able to manage either business or leisure: it is the absence of mind that renders man a slave to habit. We have made this digression when speaking of Mr. Tippetson, lest any of our readers being afflicted with what may be called the vertigo of business and employment, may take to themselves an undue portion of credit, and be proud of that as a virtue which in fact is only a weakness. The mind which has not power over itself lacks due strength and health.
It may now be easily imagined that a woman like Signora Rivolta could readily enough penetrate the surface of Mr. Tippetson's character and understand its weakness; and lest any of our readers should be perplexed to know why it happened that the Signora should be especially anxious that her daughter should not be married to a man of unfurnished mind, when she herself was so married and did not seem annoyed by it, we will inform them that the Signora thought herself quite able to govern and direct, but that she did not consider Clara to be possessed of a mind so powerful as hers, and that therefore she should have another to direct and rule. If farther it be asked why should a woman of such good sense as Signora Rivolta be so vain as to think highly of herself, we can only reply that it is the commonest thing in the world.
CHAPTER X.
"'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful—
She wished she had not heard it."
Shakspeare.
It is judicious in those who change the place of their abode at different seasons of the year, to select such times as the places to which they betake themselves exhibit their greatest variety of aspect. For this reason, autumn is well selected as the time for visiting the sea-coast. That is a time of year in which the sun rises and sets at such hours as that its beauties may be seen and enjoyed, without much interference with the usual arrangements of life's daily duties and employments of breakfast and dinner. That is a season in which we have some of the stillest, brightest, and serenest weather, and when the mid-day sun gives glorious brightness without oppressive heat. That is a season when the evening moon shows to such fine advantage its broad disk shining on the rippling waters. That also is a season when by sudden and mighty storms the sea may be agitated into convulsive sublimity. The calm and storm at that period of the year may rapidly succeed each other.
The day on which Tippetson met Clara Rivolta on the beach was fine, and brilliant, and calm. The sun that evening set gloriously. There hung on its retreat a host of gorgeous clouds snatching from its declining rays fragments of fleeting gold to deck their ever-changing fringes. An unusual number of persons were on the beach that evening to see the beautiful sight. In the midst of their admiration many expressed their fears of a coming storm; and at midnight, or towards morning, their fears were realised, or we may say their hopes were gratified. It was a pleasant consideration that they saw no vessels out at sea, and therefore they could enjoy the sublimity of the scene without a distressing and painful sympathy with the endangered or perishing crew. Signora Rivolta was highly capable of enjoying the sight, and she solicited for her daughter's company at an unusually early hour in the morning to walk down to the beach to watch the mighty movements of the waters. Even till sun-rise, and after, the wind blew with unabating fury. It was a magnificent and highly stimulating sight that could bring the luxurious and effeminate out amidst the conflicting storm to enjoy nature in one of her moods of sublimity. Mr. Tippetson exposed himself among the rest to the pelting of the pitiless storm. Several vessels after a time became visible struggling with the storm, but they were small and rode lightly, no serious danger seemed to threaten them. The scudding clouds and gleaming light from the rising sun now concealed and now displayed them; and it was a fine sight to look upon the white sails fluttering in the wind.
Presently the wind changed a little, and blew more towards the shore; and more vessels became visible, and some large ships made their appearance. The interest of the gazers was more intense; and many among the crowd talked knowingly and loudly concerning the vessels, and their names and destination. Many conjectures were uttered, and much idle talk was made. Clara felt no interest in the observations, and did not listen to them. Signora Rivolta saw and thought of nothing but the wide foaming waters and the distant sails; but others were there from whose language a deeper interest might be inferred. There were standing near Signora Rivolta and her daughter a couple of middle-aged, respectable-looking persons, who seemed to be husband and wife, and who talked to each other as if they had a son or some near relative at sea; but not supposed to be near that part of the coast. They seemed both much terrified, and endeavouring alternately to console each other. It is not very uncommon to suggest for consolation to others that which is not the slightest consolation to ourselves. Signora Rivolta hearing these good people so earnestly conversing with each other on the subject of the storm and its probable extent, was unaccountably led to give heed to their discourse. From their language, it appeared that they had a son whom they were expecting to arrive in a few days from South America, but they had every reason to suppose that the vessel in which he was destined to sail must be many leagues out at sea.
While they were thus talking, and Signora Rivolta hearing, though not absolutely listening to them, some men in sailors' garb came and stood near them, and showed their skill and discernment in naming the larger vessels which were in sight. They were very positive that they were right, and in most instances very likely they were, for they were all of the same opinion. Presently there came in sight a vessel of about three hundred tons burden; and on the subject of the name of that ship there arose a little dispute among the party. The anxious couple, who had been in close talk about their absent son, hearing one of the sailors mention the name of the ship in which they supposed that their son had been embarked, addressed him, and asked if it were possible that that ship could have arrived so soon. To this question the whole party made answer at once, some one way and some another; but it was impossible to make out from the multitude of answers the meaning of any one. After much inquiry and with great difficulty, it was elicited from one of the men that he had arrived in England but three days ago, and that on his voyage home the vessel in which he had sailed had overtaken and spoke with that in question. This seemed strong evidence in favor of the possibility of its being near England.