Home Scenes, and Home Influence | Page 4

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.
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 costly piano, once
coveted and afterwards admired. But it possessed no charm to lay the
troubled spirit within him. He had bought it as a marriage present for
his wife, who had little taste for music, and preferred reading or sewing
to the blandishment of sweet sounds. And for this toy--it was little
more in his family--a debt of four hundred dollars had been created.
Had it brought him an equivalent in comfort? Far, very far from it.
As Brainard stood in his elegant parlour, with troubled heart and

troubled face, his wife came in with a light step.
"George!" she exclaimed on seeing him, her countenance falling and
her voice expressing anxious concern. "What is the matter? Are you
sick?"
"Oh, no!" he replied, affecting a lightness of tone.
"But something is the matter, George," said the young wife, as she laid
her hand upon him and looked earnestly into his face. "Something
troubles you."
"Nothing of any consequence. A mere trifle," returned Brainard,
evasively.
"A mere trifle would not cloud your brow as it was clouded a moment
since, George."
"Trifles sometimes affect us, more seriously than graver matters." As
Brainard said this, the shadows again deepened on his face.
"If you have any troubles, dear, let me share them, and they will be
lighter." Anna spoke with much tenderness.
"I hardly think your sharing my present trouble will lighten it," said
Brainard, forcing a smile, "unless, in so doing, you can put some four
hundred dollars into my empty pockets."
Anna withdrew a pace from her husband, and looked at him
doubtingly.
"Do you speak in earnest?" said she.
"In very truth I do. To-morrow I have four hundred dollars to pay; but
where the money is to come from, is more than I can tell."
"How in the world has that happened?" inquired Mrs. Brainard.
Involuntarily the eyes of her husband wandered towards the piano. She
saw their direction. Her own eyes fell to the floor, and she stood silent
for some moments--silent, but hurriedly thoughtful. Then looking up,