rose upon the twilight breeze
with a cautious quaver of sorrow truly heart-rending and lugubrious.

"Neal," said Mr. O'Connor, on one of those occasions, "here is a book
which I recommend to your perusal; it is called 'The Afflicted Man's
Companion;' try if you cannot glean some consolation out of it."

"Faith," said Neal, "I'm forever oblaged to you, but I don't want it.
I've had 'The Afflicted Man's Companion' too long, and divil an atom of
consolation I can get out of it. I have one o' them I tell you; but, be
me sowl, I'll not undhertake a pair o' them. The very name's enough for
me." They then separated.

The tailor's _vis vitae_ must have been powerful, or he would have died.
In two years more his friends could not distinguish him from his own
shadow; a circumstance which was of great inconvenience to him. Several
grasped at the hand of the shadow instead of his; and one man was near,
paying it five and sixpence for making a pair of smallclothes. Neal, it
is true, undeceived him with some trouble; but candidly admitted that he
was not able to carry home the money. It was difficult, indeed, for the
poor tailor to bear what he felt; it is true he bore it as long as
he could; but at length he became suicidal, and often had thoughts of
"making his own quietus with his bare bodkin." After many deliberations
and afflictions, he ultimately made the attempt; but, alas! he found
that the blood of the Malones refused to flow upon so ignominious an
occasion. So he solved the phenomenon; although the truth was, that his
blood was not "i' the vein" for't; none was to be had. What then was to
be done? He resolved to get rid of life by some process; and the next
that occurred to him was hanging. In a solemn spirit he prepared a
selvage, and suspended himself from the rafter of his workshop; but here
another disappintment awaited him--he would not hang. Such was his want
of gravity, that his own weight proved insufficient to occasion his
death by mere suspension. His third attempt was at drowning, but he
was too light to sink; all the elements,--all his own energies joined
themselves, he thought, in a wicked conspiracy to save his life. Having
thus tried every avenue to destruction, and failed in all, he felt like
a man doomed to live for ever. Henceforward he shrunk and shrivelled by
slow degrees, until in the course of time he became so attenuated, that
the grossness of human vision could no longer reach him.

This, however