him that he was in love.

"In love, Neal!" said the schoolmaster. "May I inquire with whom?"

"Wid nobody in particular, yet," replied Neal; "but of late I'm got
divilish fond o' the girls in general."

"And do you call that being in love, Neal?" said Mr. O'Connor.

"Why, what else would I call it?" returned the tailor. "Amn't I fond of
them?"

"Then it must be what is termed the Universal Passion, Neal," observed
Mr. O'Connor, "although it is the first time I have seen such an
illustration of it as you present in your own person."

"I wish you would advise me how to act," said Neal; "I'm as happy as a
prince since I began to get fond o' them, an' to think of marriage."

The schoolmaster shook his head again, and looked rather miserable. Neal
rubbed his hands with glee, and looked perfectly happy. The schoolmaster
shook his head again, and looked more miserable than before. Neal's
happiness also increased on the second rubbing.

Now, to tell the secret at once, Mr. O'Connor would not have appeared so
miserable, were it not for Neal's happiness; nor Neal so happy, were it
not for Mr. O'Connor's misery. It was all the result of contrast; but
this you will not understand unless you be deeply read in modern novels.

Mr. O'Connor, however, was a man of sense, who knew, upon this
principle, that the longer he continued to shake his head, the more
miserable he must become, and the more also would he increase Neal's
happiness; but he had no intention of increasing Neal's happiness at
his own expense--for, upon the same hypothesis, it would have been for
Neal's interest had he remained shaking his head there, and getting
miserable until the day of judgment. He consequently declined giving the
third shake, for he thought that plain conversation was, after all,
more significant and forcible than the most eloquent nod, however ably
translated.

"Neal," said he, "could you, by stretching your imagination, contrive to
rest contented with nursing your passion in solitude, and love the sex
at a distance?"

"How could I nurse and mind my business?" replied the tailor. I'll never
nurse so long as I'll have the wife; and as for imagination it depends
upon the grain of it, whether I can stretch it or not. I don't know that
I ever made a coat of it in my life."

"You don't understand me, Neal," said the schoolmaster. "In recommending
marriage, I was only driving one evil out of you by introducing another.
Do you think that, i