"Full many a lady
I have eyed with best regard."
Shakspeare.

The sea-side is an excellent place for those who have nothing to do, and none but those can duly and rightly appreciate its advantages. To saunter about on the beach and listen to the roaring of the waters, and watch the tide rising or falling—to hear the rushing rattling of the pebbles that are rolled on the beach with every successive wave—to see the distant sail, now dark beneath a passing cloud, and then bright again as a leaf of silver from the light of the sun—to watch the sea-birds in their reeling, wheeling, staggering flight—to mark the little dabs of sea-weed in their grotesque variety, and to measure the progress of the tide by their disappearance on encroaching waves, or to measure how much the waters have receded, by observing how this, that, and the other weed are drier and farther from the reach of the wave—to notice the pretty wonder, and see the waving ringlets and fluttering bonnets of the little ones who are brought to breathe health and animation on the coast—to watch the sentimental looks of the solitary wanderer who comes there to breathe poetry—to see the flushed indications of a swelling heart in the looks of those who seem to hear in the sound of the rushing waters a voice from beloved and distant ones; these, and ten thousand other pretty occupations, banish from the mind all feeling of indolence, and make it fancy itself employed. And surely it is quite as well employed in seeing and feeling poetry as in reading it. To speak after the figurative and flowery style of Rebecca Henderson's pa, we might say that nature is all poetry, groves are her sonnets, gardens her madrigals, mountains her pindarics, and seas her epics. In walking by the sea-side, there is no thought of loss of time; for the sea being an emblem of eternity, banishes all thought of time from the mind. Thus wandered there, day after day, our young friend, Clara Rivolta.

Not the less interesting to us is this young lady, because in the simplicity and youngness of her experience, she has suffered herself to be carried away by the foolish and vain flatterings of an idle-minded, busy-tongued young woman, on whose mind knowledge has produced only its coarsest and grossest effects. To the sea-side did Clara betake herself the morning after the discovery of her foolish, sentimental correspondence with Miss Henderson. Many and painful were the efforts which she made to endeavour to think more soberly of herself, and to bring her thoughts and feelings to that steadiness and firmness which she could not but perceive and respect in her mother. It was not easy, it was not pleasant, to rouse herself from that delicious dream of self-complacency into which she had been lulled. We do not like to wake from a pleasant dream, even though we know it to be but a dream. Clara was also helping to deceive herself. She was indulging herself in the thought that she was far less censorious than she used to be, for she thought more favorably and judged more candidly of Mr. Tippetson than when she first saw him. But she forgot that a little of that candor and a little of that justice might perhaps be owing to the decided and flattering homage which that sweet-scented gentleman had paid her. No one can think very contemptibly of those who dexterously flatter; and there is a species of flattery which is very dexterous, which does not express itself in the bare words of common-place compliment or gross adulation, but which speaks in looks, tones, actions, and attentions. Mr. Tippetson had learned this art in perfection, and no wonder; for he had studied no other, and had found an interest and a pleasure in this. He had been despised and tolerated by a great number of persons and families. At first sight, all who came near him despised him, but upon better acquaintance they thought better of him; and as he had no feeling but for himself, he could when necessity required make himself very agreeable to most with whom he conversed. His art was to affect an almost exclusive interest for the person whom he addressed or conversed with. By this he had rendered himself so very agreeable to Sir Gilbert Sampson, then to Miss Sampson, now Countess of Trimmerstone, that many observers thought at one time that he would have carried off the heiress; and very likely he would, had it not been for the title which was in the Martindale connexion. Even after the marriage of the young lady above-named, her lord and master was almost jealous of Tippetson, but when he became better acquainted with him he thought better of him. There was this also in the style of the young gentleman, that he never affected any superiority, but always spoke, if of himself at all, in terms of great humility and diffidence. It is indeed rather flattering and agreeable to us, when seeing one who at a little distance appears full of himself, very proud and conceited and contemptuous, we find when we come nearer to him, that he thinks very humbly of himself, and that he is towards us all respect, deference, and attention. The homage of those who seem constitutionally constructed to pay homage to every body affects and delights us not, but the homage of those who seem to expect homage is truly delightful. By this kind of art, Mr. Henry Augustus Tippetson rendered himself tolerable in spite of his foppery and exquisite affectations.

We have introduced this gentleman again, because he is about to introduce himself; and though we would willingly let our characters speak for themselves, as we have said in the preceding volume, we cannot always trust them, for we know that they are all more or less hypocritical, and would put the best side outwards. Besides, there is wanting in narrative or written dialogue the countenance or expression, which the actor in a drama gives to the character. There may be much individuality in the characters of Shakspeare's dramas, but we question whether there be not somewhat less than most persons imagine. With all the individuality, however, that may be supposed to belong to them, we have very little doubt but that to different minds the names of Hamlet, Macbeth, Shylock, &c. present an almost infinite variety of moral portrait; and there is great truth in the common language and philosophy in the common phraseology, of "Kean's Richard," "Garrick's Richard," "Kemble's Coriolanus." "Kean's Richard" and "Garrick's Richard" were no doubt different persons. Our characters, therefore, cannot speak definitely enough, if they only speak for themselves. But Mr. Henry Augustus Tippetson is coming.

As Clara Rivolta was walking alone on the beach the morning after the destruction of Miss Henderson's pretty letters by the ruthless severity of Signora Rivolta, the young lady's mind was full of various and agitating thoughts, and she was meditating on the deceitfulness of the world and all that is therein; and then began she to think of Horatio Markham, whose considerate and kind attentions had greatly impressed her mind with a favorable idea both of herself and of him. She thought within herself, "Is he also insincere, and must I believe nobody who speaks well of me?" It was a pleasant and a soothing sight to have before her eyes the mighty ocean, and to see its rolling billows dashing with infinite monotony on the shore; and it was pleasant to her to let her spirit ride upon these mighty billows onward and onward to distant lands, and to imagine that there lived one in whose life she felt an interest. Whatever Miss Henderson might be, she was sure that Horatio Markham lacked not understanding and good sense; for she had observed that her mother had conversed with him very attentively, and apparently with great pleasure. Being disappointed in her friendship with Miss Henderson, her thoughts very naturally reverted to her incipient friendship with Markham. While engaged in these meditations, she was roused from her reverie by the sound of something plunging into the water, and presently after by the noise of the sharp, shrill yelping of a little dog that came shaking his white wet coat almost on Clara's dress. The master of the animal was at hand ready to apologise for the animal's want of decorum. The apology was accepted; the owner of the dog was Mr. Tippetson, he did not say that he threw the dog into the water on purpose to attract the young lady's attention. As Mr. Tippetson was personally acquainted with Clara, a conversation naturally sprung up on the occasion of this accidental meeting.

Clara hardly knew what to say, or what to avoid saying; for when the letters of Miss Henderson had been perused by Signora Rivolta, the frequent recurrence of the name of Tippetson gave occasion to that lady to make some remarks on the character of that gentleman by no means flattering either to him or to Clara's judgment. It was however impossible to behave rudely to the young gentleman. Some answer necessarily must be returned to his inquiries concerning Mr. Martindale, and the Colonel and Signora Rivolta. And as Mr. Tippetson very unceremoniously joined company with Clara, and pertinaciously walked by her side, and took all possible pains to make himself agreeable, it was impossible to get speedily rid of him. In the course of conversation mention was made of the name of Henderson. Clara bethought herself of the story of Mr. Tippetson supplicating on his knees for a copy of a letter addressed to her friend. Mr. Tippetson spoke of Miss Henderson not quite so flatteringly as Miss Henderson had spoken of him. Clara thought that ungrateful. Mr. Tippetson spoke of Mr. Henderson, but of him not quite in such high terms as the language used in Miss Henderson's letters had led Clara to expect. But there was nothing absolutely censorious in his expressions. Of Mr. Martindale he spoke in language of unmingled commendation, of Colonel Rivolta he spoke very flatteringly, and so also of Signora Rivolta. It was well for Clara that she had been so recently put upon her guard against flattery, or the ingenious homage of Mr. Tippetson might have intoxicated her. So dexterously did he manage, that, notwithstanding all that Signora Rivolta had said, and notwithstanding what she herself had seen, Clara could not help wishing that her mother had been better acquainted with Mr. Tippetson, as she felt assured that better acquaintance would produce better and more favorable thoughts of him.

While Mr. Tippetson was keeping Clara in conversation almost against her will, there appeared at a distance on the beach old Mr. Martindale and Signora Rivolta. Clara would willingly have extricated herself from her companion, could it have been effected without any obvious and palpable effort. But she saw that it was absolutely impossible; for as soon as the young gentleman saw Mr. Martindale, he expressed great pleasure in the prospect of meeting again so intelligent and respectable an acquaintance. A meeting and introduction were inevitable.

The parties presently joined. On the part of Clara was great confusion. Signora Rivolta looked almost angry. Mr. Martindale addressed the young gentleman with great cordiality. Mr. Tippetson, as if with a judgment superior to that generally and justly ascribed to him, discerning and in a moment interpreting the looks of Signora Rivolta, most ingeniously took upon himself all blame, if blame there might be, of the walking with Clara in such social guise of intimacy. Nature has not given to all animals the power of reasoning; but to the greatest number and greatest variety of animals she has given that instinct which may be called extemporaneous reasoning. Exquisitely and curiously accurate is the sagacity of some animals; but reason often blunders and miscalculates. As then nature has given sagacity or instinct when she hath denied reason, so even in the human species, when she has been somewhat penurious in the bestowment of reason, she hath made amends by the addition of no small portion of a species of animal sagacity and shrewdness. Thus it happens that many stupid, ignorant, unreasoning beings called human, do frequently deport themselves with the greatest and aptest propriety in the minuter matters of ordinary life, while men of more mind or higher reasoning powers, being too proud to apply or exercise their reason on the inferior and every-day concerns of life, and not gifted with the instinct which stupid people enjoy, are subject to frequent blunders, awkwardnesses, and perplexities. If, for instance, Horatio Markham, who was a much superior man to Henry Augustus Tippetson, had been thus met in conversation with Clara, and if he had judged from the countenance and manner of Signora Rivolta that the interview was not agreeable to her, he would have blundered and floundered, and have been confused and confounded, and have brought poor Clara into disgrace for encouraging improperly a degree of familiarity with an almost stranger; but very differently did Mr. Tippetson manage. Seeing also that Signora Rivolta was not a person likely to yield to the influence of common-place compliment, and feeling by the natural instinct which he possessed that her powerful mind and keen discernment had already tolerably well penetrated into his character and analysed his soul, he did not attempt to flatter where he knew he must fail. This is another and remarkable quality belonging to instinct, and an advantage which it enjoys above reason; viz. that it never attempts that which it cannot perform, whereas reason often does. Feeling then that it would be in vain to play off his compliments and pay his homage to Signora Rivolta, he gave his attention chiefly to Mr. Martindale, and relinquished the lady as a person to him indifferent: though at the same time he thought, that fond as he was of amusing his leisure hours, and that was every hour that he was awake, with paying unmeaning attentions to young ladies, he should not be sorry to sacrifice his liberty for the hand and probable fortune of Clara Rivolta. It was indeed a truth, and a sad one it is to tell of any of our species, that while he was flattering Miss Henderson, and paying constant and unremitting attention to her, he was far from any intention of a serious nature, and he absolutely did by her means endeavour to make himself agreeable to Clara. Towards her he was serious, not however from sentiment but from selfishness. He saw, however, that so far as the mother of the young lady was concerned, there was no hopes of success; but he had some hopes from the young lady and from the old gentleman: they were accessible to flattery. To Mr. Martindale, therefore, did the crafty one address himself. He introduced such topics as pleased the old gentleman, because they gave him an opportunity to display his wisdom and indulge his humor. He talked of the follies and frivolities of the fashionable world, and said much concerning the good old times. He expressed his great dislike to late hours and French cookery. In short, he so pleased the old gentleman, that he was urged to dine with their family party.

Now a very good and ample opportunity was offered him for saying and looking all that might be agreeable to Clara and to Mr. Martindale the elder. To the old gentleman a very handsome and well-turned compliment was paid on the title lately conferred on his relative. To Clara little was said directly, but much indirectly. To Colonel Rivolta very little was said, for he was not a talking man. He was very quiet, inoffensive, not very extensively informed, having a profound respect and veneration for the superior wisdom and good sense of his lady. His ordinary occupation was smoking, sometimes he would take snuff. People wondered that so superior a woman as Signora Rivolta should ever have accepted the hand of such a dull common-place man as the Colonel. But what is the use of wondering: there is in fact nothing wonderful in the matter; it is the most ordinary and every-day occurrence. It is as common as day-light to find couples thus unequally yoked. Perhaps the Signora loved rule, and found that the Colonel was very tractable. Perhaps the Signora loved talking, and found the Colonel very silent, but not deaf. Perhaps the Signora loved admiration, and found the Colonel disposed to look with reverence on her superior mental powers. Perhaps the Signora thought that she might not have another offer. Perhaps the Signora thought that a quiet simpleton was better than a prating one. Perhaps the Signora did not like diversity of opinion, and therefore preferred a husband who had no opinions at all. Perhaps the Signora did not know any better than we do what were the motives which actuated her. But we beg of our readers that they would not trouble themselves to wonder at the matter. Ten thousand are the affairs and events of ordinary occurrence, at which nobody wonders and for which nobody can account. But to return.

We have said what Mr. Tippetson was, but we have not said who he was. This information ought not to be withheld from our readers. It is rather difficult to use few words, and it is not fitting for so insignificant a personage that we should use many. We will endeavour to condense. His father was a country attorney; his grandfather a village apothecary; his uncle was steward to a nobleman of large estate; and he himself, Mr. Tippetson, the Henry Augustus, was destined for the church. For the purpose of preparing the young gentleman, he was sent to Cambridge; but unfortunately he came away from thence without taking a degree. Every body knows what immense labor and incessant toil are required to take the degree of Bachelor of Arts. It has been said by very good judges, that a man of the greatest powers of mind, supposing him previously ignorant of the subjects of examination, would not be able to prepare himself for a bachelor's degree in less than a week, and that ordinary geniuses require a fortnight or three weeks. To study three weeks in three years was too much for Mr. Tippetson's nerves, so he left Cambridge without his degree; and as his uncle died in good circumstances and left Henry Augustus a handsome legacy, and as the young gentleman's father also was deceased having left a good fortune to this his only son, the young gentleman thought that his wisest step would be to become a gentleman at once, and relinquish all idea of professional pursuits. As to taking orders, he could not bear the thoughts of those impertinent questions which examining chaplains propose to candidates for holy orders, and he never would give up fancy waistcoats. Thus situated, the young gentleman lounged about and dawdled away his time with considerable ingenuity.

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.