“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 o’ 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 ’magination, it depends upon the grain o’it whether I can stretch it or not. I don’t know that I ever made a coat o’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, if you abandoned all thoughts of a wife, you would get heroic again--that is, would you take once more to the love of fighting?” “There is no doubt but I would,” said the tailor; “if I miss the wife, I’ll kick up such a dust as never was seen in the parish, an’ you’re the first man that I’ll lick. But now that I’m in love,” he continued, “sure, I ought to look out for the wife.” “Ah, Neal,” said the schoolmaster, “you are tempting destiny; your temerity be, with all its melancholy consequences, upon your own head.” “Come,” said the tailor; “it wasn’t to hear you groaning to the tune o’ ‘Dhrimmindhoo,’ or ‘The old woman rockin’ her cradle,’ that I came; but to know if you could help me in makin’ out the wife. That’s the discoorse.”