cordant 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!"

Poor fellow! I felt sorry for him. He had been buying comfort at
rather too large a price.

The more Brainard cast about in his mind for the means of lifting
his notes, the more troubled did he become.

"I might borrow," said he to himself; "but how am I to pay back the
sum?"

To borrow, however, was better than to let his notes be dishonoured.
So Brainard, as the time of payment drew nearer and nearer, made an
effort to get from his friends the amount of money needed.

But the effort was not successful. Some looked surprised when he
spoke of having notes to meet; others ventured a little good advice
on the subject of prudence in young men who are beginning the world,
and hinted that he was living rather too fast. None were prepared to
give him what he wanted.

Troubled, mortified, and humbled, Brainard retired to his
comfortable home on the evening before the day on which his note
given for the piano was to fall due. Nearly his last effort to raise
money had been made, and he saw nothing but discredit, and what he
feared even worse than that before him. Involved as he was in debt,
there was no safety from the sharp talons of the law. They might
strike him at any moment, and involve all in ruin.

Poor Brainard! How little pleasure did the sight of his large and
pleasant house give him as it came in view on his return home. It
stood, rather as a monument of extravagance and folly, than the
abode of sweet contentment.

"Three hundred dollars rent!" he murmured. "Too much for me to pay."
And sighed deeply.

He entered his beautiful parlour, and gazed around upon the elegant
furniture which he had provided as a means of comfort. All had lost
its power to communicate pleasure. There stood the co