“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 you?”

“Oh, nothing.”  And he tried to assume an air of indifference; but, seeing me look incredulous, he added—­

“Nothing particularly wrong.  I’m only a little worried about money matters.  The fact is, I’ve got two or three notes to pay next week.”

“You have?”

“Yes; and what is more, I haven’t the means to lift them.”

“That is trouble,” said I, shaking my head.

“It’s trouble for me.  Oh, dear!  I wish my income were larger.  A thousand dollars a year is too little.”