“Two persons ought to live on that sum very comfortably,” I remarked.

“We can’t, then; and I’m sure we are not extravagant.  Ah, me!”

“I spent the evening with our friend Tyler last week,” said I.  “His salary is the same as yours, and he told me that he found it not only sufficient for all his wants, but that he could lay by a couple of hundred dollars yearly.”

“I couldn’t live as he does,” said Brainard, a little impatiently.

“Why not?”

“Do you think I would be cooped up in such a pigeon-box of a place?”

“The house he lives in has six rooms, and he has but three in family—­your own number, I presume”—­

“I have four,” said Brainard, interrupting me.

“Four?”

“Yes.  We have a cook and chambermaid.”

“Oh!  Mrs. Tyler has but one domestic.”

“My wife wasn’t brought up to be a household drudge,” said Brainard, contemptuously.

“Your house has ten rooms in it, I believe?” said I, avoiding a reply to his last remark.

“It has.”

“But why should you pay rent for ten rooms, when you have use for only five or six?  Is not that a waste of money that might be applied to a better purpose?”

“Oh, I like a large house,” said my friend, tossing his head, and putting on an air of dignity and consequence.  “A hundred dollars difference in rent is a small matter compared with the increase of comfort it brings.”

“But the expense doesn’t stop with the additional rent,” said I.

“Why not?”

“The larger the house, the more expensive the furniture.  It cost you a thousand dollars to fit up your handsome parlour?” said I.

“Yes, I presume it did.”

“For what amount did you give your notes?”

“For six hundred dollars.”

“On account of furniture?”

“Yes.”

“Tyler furnished his parlour for three hundred.”

There was another gesture of impatience on the part of my young friend, as he said—­

“And such furnishing!”

“Every thing looks neat and comfortable,” I replied.

“It may do for them, but it wouldn’t suit us.”

“Whatever is accordant with our means should be made to suit us,” said I, seriously.  “You are no better off than Tyler.”

“Do you think I could content myself in such a place?” he replied.

“Contentment is only found in the external circumstances that correspond to a man’s pecuniary ability,” was my answer to this.  “Which, think you, is best contented?  Tyler, in a small house, neatly furnished, and with a hundred dollars in his pocket; or you, in your large house, with a debt of six hundred dollars hanging over you?”

There was an instant change in my friend’s countenance.  The question seemed to startle him.  He sighed, involuntarily.

“But all this won’t lift my notes,” said he, after the silence of a few minutes.  “Good morning!”