my friend, smiling.

"Nothing very elegant, but as good as we can afford, and with that
we have made up our minds to be content."

"If all the world were as wise, all the world would be happier," I
remarked.

"Perhaps so," returned Tyler. "Brainard tried to get me into a house
like the one he occupies; but I thought it more prudent to cut my
garment according to my cloth. The larger your house, the more
costly your furniture and the higher your regular expenses. He
talked about having things comfortable, as he called it, and
enjoying life as he went along; but it would be poor comfort for me
to know that I was five or six hundred dollars in debt, and all the
while living beyond my income."

"In debt? What do you mean by that?" said I. "It isn't possible that
Brainard has gone in debt for any of his fine furniture?"

"It is very possible."

"To the extent of five or six hundred dollars?"

"Yes. The rose-wood piano he bought for his wife cost four hundred
dollars. It was purchased on six months' credit."

"Foolish young man!" said I.

"You may well say that. He thinks a great deal about the comforts of
life; but he is going the wrong way to secure them, in my opinion.
His parlour furniture, including the new piano, cost nearly one
thousand dollars; mine cost three hundred; and I'm sure I would not
exchange comforts with him. It isn't what is around us so much as
what is within us, that produces pleasure. A contented mind is said
to be a continual feast. If, in seeking to have things comfortable,
we create causes of disquietude, we defeat our own ends."

"I wish our friend Brainard could see things in the same light,"
said I.

"Nothing but painful experience will open his eyes," remarked Tyler.

And he was correct in this. Brainard continued to take his comfort
for a few months, although there was a gradual sinking in the
thermometer of his feelings as the time approached when the notes
given for a part of his furniture would fall due. The amount of
these notes was six hundred dollars, but he had not saved fifty
towards meeting the payments. The whole of his income had been used
in taking his comfort.

"Why, Brainard!" said I, in a tone of surprise, on meeting him one
day, nearly six months after his marriage. "What has happened?"

"Happened? Nothing. Why do you ask?" replied the young man.

"You look troubled."

"Do I?" He made an effort to smile.

"Yes, you certainly do. What has gone wrong with yo