"REALLY, this is comfortable!" said I, glancing around the
handsomely furnished parlour of my young friend Brainard, who had, a
few weeks before, ventured upon matrimony, and was now making his
first experiments in housekeeping.
"Yes, it is comfortable," replied my friend. "The fact is, I go in
for comforts."
"I'm afraid George is a little extravagant," said the smiling bride,
as she leaned towards her husband and looked tenderly into his face.
"No, not extravagant, Anna," he returned; "all I want is to have
things comfortable. Comfort I look upon as one of the necessaries of
life, to which all are entitled. Don't you?"
I was looking at a handsome new rose-wood piano when this question
was addressed to me, and thinking about its probable cost.
"We should all make the best of what we have," I answered, a little
evasively; "and seek to be as comfortable as possible under all
circumstances."
"Exactly. That's my doctrine," said Brainard. "I'm not rich, and
therefore don't expect to live in a palace, and have every thing
around me glittering with silver and gold; but, out of the little I
possess, shall endeavour to obtain the largest available dividend of
comfort. Ain't I right?"
"Perhaps so."
"You speak coldly," said my friend. "Don't you agree with me? Should
not every man try to be as comfortable as his means will permit?"
"Yes, certainly."
"Of course he should. Some men set a value upon money above every
thing else, and sacrifice all comfort to its accumulation; but I
don't belong to that class. Money is a good gift, because it is the
means of procuring natural blessings. I receive it thankfully, and
use it wisely. You see how I am beginning life."
"I do."
"Well, what do you think of it?"
By this time my observation of things had become more particular,
and I saw many evidences of expenditures that indicated a lavish
spirit.
"What rent do you pay?" I asked.
"Three hundred."