Home Scenes and Home Influence; a series of tales and sketches

"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."

"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?"