wage a universal battle with mankind. He | from his own shadow-a circumstance which was now a married man. Sneakingly and was of great inconvenience to him. Several with a cowardly crawl did he creep along, as grasped at the hand of the shadow instead if every step brought him nearer to the gal- of his, and one man was near paying it five lows. The schoolmaster's march of misery and sixpence for making a pair of smallwas far slower than Neal's; the latter dis- clothes. Neal, it is true, undeceived him tanced him. Before three years passed he with some trouble, but candidly admitted had shrunk up so much that he could not that he was not able to carry home the monwalk abroad of a windy day without carry-ey. windy day without carry-ey. It was difficult indeed for the poor tailor ing weights in his pockets to keep him firm to bear what he felt; it is true he bore it as on the earth, which he once trod with the step long as he could, but at length he became suiof a giant. He again sought the schoolmas- cidal, and often had thoughts of "making his ter, with whom, indeed, he associated as much own quietus with his bare bodkin." After as possible; here he felt certain of receiving many deliberations and afflictions he ultimatesympathy. Nor was he disappointed; that wor-ly made the attempt; but, alas! he found that thy but miserable man and Neal often retired beyond the hearing of their respective wives and supported each other by every argument in their power. Often have they been heard in the dusk of evening singing behind a remote hedge that melancholy ditty "Let us Let us both be unhappy together," which rose upon the twilight breeze with a cautious quaver of sorrow truly heartrending 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." 66 'Faith," said Neal, "I'm for ever oblaged to you, They then separated. 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 disappointment 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, could not last always. Though wearing the shape of a menace, naturally Some weeks after this a partial action took place with the enemy. Suppose yourself a spectator and looking down into a valley oc still alive, he was to all intents and purposes imperceptible. He could now only be heard; he was reduced to a mere essence-the very echo of human existence, vox et præterea nihil. It is true the schoolmaster asserted that he occasionally caught passing glimpses of him, but that was because he had been himself nearly spiritualized by affliction and his visual ray purged in the furnace of domestic tribulation. By and by Neal's voice less-cupied by the two armies. They are facing ened, got fainter and more indistinct, until at length nothing but a doubtful murmur could be heard, which ultimately could scarcely be distinguished from a ringing in the ears. Such was the awful and mysterious fate of the tailor, who, as a hero, could not, of course, die he merely dissolved like an icicle, wasted into immateriality, and finally melted away beyond the perception of mortal sense. Mr. O'Connor is still living, and once more in the fulness of perfect health and strength. His wife, however, we may as well hint, has been dead more than two years. A WILLIAM CARLETON. A NOBLE REVENGE. YOUNG officer-in what army no matter-had so far forgotten himself in a moment of irritation as to strike a private soldier full of personal dignity, as sometimes happens in all ranks, and distinguished for his courage. The inexorable laws of military discipline forbade to the injured soldier any practical redress: he could look for no retaliation by acts. Words only were at his command, and in a tumult of indignation, as he turned away, the soldier said to his officer that he would make him repent it. This, each other, you see, in martial array. But At The plume-crested officer in command rushes forward, with his left hand raising his hat in homage to the blackened fragments of what was once a flag, whilst with his right hand he seizes that of the leader, though no more than a private from the ranks. That perplexes you not, mystery you see none in that; for distinctions of order perish, ranks are confounded, "high" and "low" are words without a meaning, and to wreck goes every notion or feeling that divides the noble from the noble or the brave man from the brave. But wherefore is it that now, when suddenly they wheel into mutual recognition, suddenly they pause? This soldier, this officer-who are they? O reader, once before they had stood face to face-the soldier that was struck, the officer that struck him. Once again they are meeting, and the gaze of armies is upon them. If for a moment a doubt divides them, in a moment the doubt has perished. Once glance exchanged between them publishes the forgiveness that is sealed for ever. As one who recovers a brother whom he has accounted dead the officer sprang forward, threw his arms around the neck of the soldier, and kissed him as if he were some martyr glorified by that shadow of death from which he was returning; whilst, on his part, the soldier, stepping back and carrying his hand through the beautiful motions of the military salute to a superior, makes this immortal answer-that answer which shut up for ever the memory of the indignity offered to him, even while for the last time alluding to it. open WILFULNESS. FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. HE man who brooks no self- | The grateful force of drugs, one cure re Not the first simplest duty Drink water."-" Water! No, not I! No of all men To make wise choice of food and drink, which he, As being free from brutish bonds, should do Freely and wisely; but we see him rather, Even as a child, the slave to every taste That lords his palate. He disdains to mix His wine with water, and with hasty gulp Swills all strong drinks and high-spiced liquors down His inconsiderate throat, and after talks Not his own folly. Let him chance be sick, My swift recovery."-" Well," replies the leech, "This food avoid, and that."-" Nay, but I can't." "Then take this draught."-"No; that tastes as distilled From Stygian pools: against such drug my whole Nature rebels."-" Well, if you will not own |