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. “Neal,” said the wife, on perceiving him dressed, “where are you bound for?” “Faith, for life,” replied Neal, with a mitigated swagger; “and I'd as soon, if it had been the will of Provid--” He paused. “Where are you going?” asked the wife, a second time. “Why,” he answered, “only to the dance at Jemmy Connolly's; I'll be back early.” “Don't go,” said the wife. “I'll go,” said Neal, “if the whole counthry was to prevent me. Thunder an' lightnin,' woman, who am I?” he exclaimed, in a loud but rather infirm voice; “arn't I Neal Malone, that never met a man who'd fight him! Neal Malone, that was never beat by man! Why, tare-an-ounze, woman! Whoo! I'll get enraged some time, an' play the divil? Who's afeard, I say?” “Don't go,” added the wife a third time, giving Neal a significant look in the face. In about another half-hour, Neal sat down quietly to his business, instead of going to the dance!