"Mary," said Mr. Norris to his wife, as he entered his snug little home one evening, "we are to have company to supper to-morrow. I met my old friend Henry Ard in the street to-day, and asked him to come out." "Isn't he the Ard who has grown so wealthy in the last few years?" asked Mrs. Norris, as she stepped briskly around, intent on the laying of the tea-table. "Yes; but I don't think his wealth has spoiled him. He was as cordial to me as ever, regretted that I was still only a clerk in Holden's, and wondered how I could get along on such a poor salary. He doesn't put on any airs at all. So wear your prettiest dress to-morrow, Mary, and have a good supper." "He shall have no reason to complain, I'll promise that," said Mrs. Norris, who was an excellent cook and a capable housekeeper. It was to her careful management that her husband owed his freedom from debt; for only the most systematic and judicious economy would have made his small salary adequate for the support of his large family. While several of his friends, among them Henry Ard, had risen rapidly, through fortunate speculations, to positions of affluence, Mr. Norris had remained poor, a clerk only in the house in which he had started as an errand boy. But, by means of the most rigid economy and numberless sacrifices, he had been able to purchase a small cottage on the outskirts of the city, and he declared that the day he made the last payment on it was the happiest of his life. It had been the dream of many years to own a home; and, in his enjoyment of it, he forgot the sacrifices he had made, which at the time seemed very hard. His wife had worked nobly to beautify the grounds, planting rose-bushes with her own hands, and training vines over the cottage. A prettier place in summer it would have been hard to find. Mrs. Norris was dressed in her best, and the children looked as fresh and sweet as could be, when Mr. Norris reached home next evening, accompanied by Mr. Ard. The gentleman was cordial in his manner, it is true; but his coming cast a gloom over the household, for he began at once to complain of the tedious ride he had had from the city, commiserated them on living so far out, and averred that he had heard that land was cheap in this section because it was said to be unhealthy. He asked Mrs. Norris if she did not think her children looked pale; and he advised Mr. Norris to sell out, and buy somewhere else. He dwelt earnestly upon the fact of there being so few neighbors, and no doctor within a mile or two; and he succeeded in filling the breast of his hostess with anxiety and alarm. At table, he spoke of the elegant silver tea-service he had given his wife, a few weeks previously; of the delicious tea he had drunk at the house of a friend the evening before; of the rare old china which had been used, and the dozens of luxuries which had been heaped upon the table in his honor. Mrs. Norris listened and sighed. Her china set, used for many years, began to look poor and mean in her sight, as she imagined the beauty of Mrs. Ard's silver; the tea tasted bitter and she had no appetite for the salad, jelly, and cake she had prepared so carefully, and with so much pleasure, anticipating, as she had, some compliments from her guest on her cooking. After supper, the whole family gathered about the stove, and listened enviously as Mr. Ard dilated on the delights of an open grate; of the actual necessity of a home library, where there were growing children; of the rare pictures and elegant furniture in the houses of his friends; of the fine society in which his wife moved, of her jewelry, her costly dresses, and the number of servants he found it incumbent on him to keep, in order to secure comfort; of the convenience of gas, and the danger of using kerosene; and of twenty other things that the host, of whose hospitality he was partaking, did not and could not possess. Yet he was neither boastful nor ill-tempered, and gave no occasion for offense in anything he said. But, when he rose to depart, neither Mr. Norris nor his wife felt any regret to have him go so early, nor did they urge him to come again. They felt sad and discontented. The little home in which they had taken such genuine comfort now looked shabby and mean. The small rooms seemed more cramped than ever, and they felt ashamed of the poverty which prevented their living as Mr. Ard and his friends lived. Mary put her children to bed and then went to bed herself, where, after thinking over her lot in life, and recalling the many sacrifices she had made, and the pinching economy she was obliged to practice, she finally cried herself to sleep. A few days passed, and the cloud of discontent which had settled upon the family was still heavy, when, one evening, a visitor, Mr. Andrews, called just as they were about to sit down to supper. Mr. Norris invited him to the table; and Mrs. Norris began to apologize for the homely fare, wishing it were better. "No apologies are necessary, my dear madam," said the gentleman, as he threw off his coat and seated himself at the table. "I walked out from the city, and have acquired the sharpest kind of an appetite. I feel as if I could relish any and everything." "We live such a terrible distance from town," said Mrs. Norris, "it is a wonder to me that our friends ever find us at all. As it is, they come very seldom." "Why, I think your home most delightfully situated!" exclaimed Mr. Andrews, who was even wealthier than Mr. Ard, and lived in far greater style. "I drove past here one day last summer, and remember thinking how like a bower of beauty this cottage looked, almost covered with climbing roses, and surrounded by shrubs. And you couldn't have found a healthier spot anywhere. Your children show the effect of the pure air they breathe. It is a shame to shut children up in the city, where they have no chance to play out doors." "They certainly enjoy the garden and lawn," said Mrs. Norris, beginning to feel in a little better spirits. "I never knew how to amuse them when we lived in the city." "Property out here is rising in value every day," continued Mr. Andrews, who dealt largely in real estate. "You'd better lay your hands on all the land you can, Norris. You may realize a fortune out of these few acres in ten years' time." It was now Mr. Norris' turn to look pleased. He began to think he had made a profitable investment, after all, in buying the place. Mr. Andrews continued to talk in the same strain all the evening. He praised everything on the table, apologized for eating so much, but declared he could not help it, for everything tasted so well; admired the tea-set as looking "just like one mother used to have;" and, when Mrs. Norris regretted not having open grates, he told her that open grates were a mistake, unless there was a furnace in the house; that they never threw out half so much heat as a stove; and, as for a furnace, several doctors he knew had declared them unhealthy; and they were ruinous to house plants, of which Mrs. Norris had a great many. He observed, in answer to a remark of Mr. Norris', that gas was a convenience certainly, but that kerosene gave a much softer light, and was not nearly so trying to the eyes. When he at length rose to go, both Mr. and Mrs. Norris urged him strongly to come again; and he replied that he would be very glad to do so, for he could not remember when he had spent a more pleasant evening or had been made to feel more at home. When he had gone, the husband and wife felt satisfied with themselves and their home. The cloud which had been cast over them by Mr. Ard's visit had flown away with Mr. Andrews', and they forgot their poverty and many discomforts, and felt thankful to Heaven for the many blessings they enjoyed. Both Mr. Ard and Mr. Andrews were sincere in what they said; but you see there are two ways of looking at everything, and always a bright and a dark side. We can make ourselves contented with our lot by viewing it always from the bright side, or we can become very much discontented by comparing it with that of our richer neighbor. It lies with us to choose.—Sel.