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,