The subject of conversation changed; I passed an agreeable evening; at the close of which I left my friend and his lovely young bride in their comfortable home.

What I had seen and heard during the few hours spent with Brainard made me fear that he was about committing a too common error.  His ideas of comfort were not in keeping with his circumstances.  Some days subsequently I saw my friend and his wife riding out in a handsome vehicle, drawn by a gay horse.

“Taking their comfort,” said I, as I paused and looked upon the happy young couple.

Not long after, I saw them dashing off again to enjoy an afternoon’s ride.  Next, I met them at a fashionable concert.

“Have you been to the opera yet?” asked Brainard, leaning forward to the seat that I occupied just in front of him.

“No,” was my answer.

“Then there is a treat in store for you.  We go twice, and sometimes oftener, every week.  Truffi, Benedetti, Rosi—­oh! they are enchanting.”

“Rather expensive,” said I.

“It does cost something,” and Brainard shrugged his shoulders.  “But I think it’s money well spent.  You know that I go in for the comforts of life.”

And he leaned back, while I thought I perceived a slight shadow flit across his face.  A singer came forward at the moment, and no more was said.

“It is possible,” thought I, “in seeking after comfort, to get into the wrong road.  I am afraid my young friends are about committing this error.”

I not only suggested as much to Brainard soon afterwards, but actually presented a serious remonstrance against the course of life he had adopted.  But he only smiled at the fears I expressed, and said he understood perfectly the nature of the ground he was treading.  Thus it is with most young persons.  Be their views true or false, they act upon them, in spite of all counsel from the more experienced, and in the end reap their harvest of trouble or pleasure, as the ease may be.  Pride, which stimulates the desire to make a certain appearance in the world, is generally more at fault than a wish to secure the comforts of which my friend talked so much.

I had another acquaintance, by the name of Tyler, who was married about the same time with Brainard.  His tastes were as well cultivated as those of the former, and his income was as large; yet, in beginning the world, he had shown more prudence and a wise forecast.  I found him in a small, neat house, at a rent of one hundred and seventy dollars.  His furniture was not costly, but in good taste and keeping with the house and his circumstances.  As for real comfort, as far as I could see, the preponderance was rather in his favour.

“This is really comfortable,” said I, glancing around the room in which he received me on the occasion of my first visit.

“We think so,” replied 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.”