many readers to be going over an oft-traversed road. Of articles and
treatises on the ever-vexing subject there is no end. The whole human
creation or, at all events, a vast majority of it, groaneth and
travaileth together in the agony of trying to spread a little
substance over a vast surface,--in the desperate endeavor to make a
little money go a very long way. Every few months we notice in a daily
newspaper the offer of a money-prize for the best bill of fare for a
company-dinner for six people, to be prepared upon a ludicrously-small
allowance. The number of contestants for this prize proves, not only
the general interest felt in the subject, but also testifies to the
urgent need of the reward on the part of the various would-be winners.
The probabilities are that few of these writers have the means to set
forth such a dinner as they describe.

Books portraying the feasibility of "Comfortable living on seven
hundred a year," or "How to keep house on a restricted income," are
both helpful and pernicious. The prospective housewife buys them
eagerly and devours them with avidity. She and John are boarding now,
but are soon to have a home of their own, and after perusing their
newly purchased volumes, they decide that their limited income will
amply enable them to live in comfort although, perhaps, not in luxury.
The tiny house or flat is rented, and they settle down, as Mrs.
Whitney's Emery Anne would say, "to realize their geography," or, more
properly speaking, to live their recently acquired knowledge, which
is, in many points, very useful.

But--and here comes the mischief wrought by over-sanguine
literature--the authors of these books leave too many things out of
the question. The expenses of moving and the purchase of necessary
furniture are, of course, omitted, but Mary finds to her chagrin that