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!" 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.