On the first week after his marriage, there chanced to be a fair in the next market-town.  Neal, after breakfast, brought forward a bunch of shillelahs, in order to select the best; the wife inquired the purpose of the selection, and Neal declared that he was resolved to have a fight that day, if it were to be had, he said, for love or money.  “The thruth is,” he exclaimed, strutting with fortitude about the house, “the thruth is, that I’ve done the whole of yez—­I’m as blue-mowlded as ever for want of a batin’.”

“Don’t go,” said the wife.

“I will go,” said Neal, with vehemence; “I’ll go if the whole parish was to go to prevint me.”

In about another half-hour Neal sat down quietly to his business, instead of going to the fair!

Much ingenious speculation might be indulged in, upon this abrupt termination to the tailor’s most formidable resolution; but, for our own part, we will prefer going on with the narrative, leaving the reader at liberty to solve the mystery as he pleases.  In the mean time, we say this much—­let those who cannot make it out, carry it to their tailor; it is a tailor’s mystery, and no one has so good a right to understand it—­except, perhaps, a tailor’s wife.

At the period of his matrimony, Neal had become as plump and as stout as he ever was known to be in his plumpest and stoutest days.  He and the schoolmaster had been very intimate about this time; but we know not how it happened that soon afterwards he felt a modest bridelike reluctance in meeting with that afflicted gentleman.  As the eve of his union approached, he was in the habit, during the schoolmaster’s visits to his workshop, of alluding, in rather a sarcastic tone, considering the unthriving appearance of his friend, to the increasing lustiness of his person.  Nay, he has often leaped up from his lap-board, and, in the strong spirit of exultation, thrust out his leg in attestation of his assertion, slapping it, moreover, with a loud laugh of triumph, that sounded like a knell to the happiness of his emaciated acquaintance.  The schoolmaster’s philosophy, however, unlike his flesh, never departed from him; his usual observation was, “Neal, we are both receding from the same point; you increase in flesh, whilst I, heaven help me, am fast diminishing.”

The tailor received these remarks with very boisterous mirth, whilst Mr. O’Connor simply shook his head, and looked sadly upon his limbs, now shrouded in a superfluity of garments, somewhat resembling a slender thread of water in a shallow summer stream, nearly wasted away, and surrounded by an unproportionate extent of channel.

The fourth month after the marriage arrived.  Neal, one day, near its close, began to dress himself in his best apparel.  Even then, when buttoning his waistcoat, he shook his head after the manner of Mr. O’Connor, and made observations upon the great extent to which it over-folded him.

Well, thought he, with a sigh—­this waistcoat certainly did fit me to a T:  but it’s wondherful to think how—­cloth stretches.