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 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
el praiterea 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
lessened, 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.
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