THERE

EXERCISE. HERE is a pleasurable, as well as a healthful glow, attending the development of animal power, as manifested by the bounding movements of the healthful child, of the skipping lamb and of the proudly prancing horse. Indeed, so far as health, and consequently pleasurable enjoyments are concerned, the decree ordaining that man should earn his bread "by the sweat of his brow," is in strict accordance with the principles of the operation of the mechanism of his body.

When the body is fixed stationary in any one position, as is common in many sedentary branches of human labor, there is not the designed extent of animal power developed, which is requisite to exhaust the accumulated stock of fuel in the blood. As if by natural instinct, to accomplish this result, most persons employed in such constrained vocations may be seen to exert some peculiar action of the muscles, by occasionally swaying their bodies or their limbs to and fro. Compositors may sometimes be noticed mechanically nodding their heads, as if in token of familiar recognition to every type they pick up. Wild animals confined within narrow cages of menageries, relieve themselves of the inactivity consequent on their confinement, by incessantly swaying their bodies or pacing back and forth. The common habit of the vibrating movement of the foot, the process of yawning and the use of rocking-chairs, are so many illustrations of the truth of the preceding principles.

The wealthy and the luxurious, who are exempted from the necessity of daily labor, are commonly found to suffer more bilious disorders and plethora, and on the other hand, it may sometimes afford philosophical consolation to those whose tables are scantily supplied with luxurious food, to recur, in memory, to the constituent elements of the formations of food, as a sort of bill of fare. This would show satisfactorily, that even cold potatoes and cold bread contain plenty of carbon to fire up with, and that all kinds of vegetable for

mations are nearly the same things; whilst at the same time the soothing reflection may steal consolingly over the mind, that turtle-soup and roast pigs are dangerous, explosive things, producing risks of the bursting of blood-vessels by apoplexy-a fearful blow-up of the animal mechanism.

A

EARLY CHRISTIAN DEFENCES. TRAVELER rambling through the Pyrenees, makes these remarks on certain peculiarities of the churches erected by the Templars in the higher parts of the valleys of the French Pyrenees, near the ports or passes into Spain.

"These churches partake in some degree of the character of a fortress, or at least of a place of refuge. That the Christians of former times required and possessed such places of refuge is evident. In most of the frontier villages may be remarked one stone house, with its tower, and so arranged as to be capable of defence. At Lortet, in the entrance of the Valée d'Cure, is a spacious natural cavern in the rock, which has here an almost perpendicular face, the only entrance to which is by an opening about 180 feet above the level of the plain. Should the necessity arise, retreat may be made to a second cavern still higher than the first, whilst the schist rock of the mountain afforded abundant weapons wherewith to annoy the enemy. A bell placed outside formerly gave the alarm to the inhabitants. The most striking example of a fortified church is that of Luz. This church is protected by two towers which flank the chancel, one containing a machicolated gateway and by a crenulated wall pierced with loopholes which surrounds the churchyard. One of these towers possesses a little museum, containing four wall-pieces and a collection of medieval bits, stirrups and armor. Should the enemy succeed in forcing this enclosure, he would be received by a murderous fire from crenulated openings in the gallery, which exists over the vaulted stone roof of the chancel and beneath the external roof.”

THE HAPPY CHILD.

BY MRS. HARRIET B. STOWE.

"And besides, papa," said Edward, "he has

a real live pony to ride on, such a funny little fellow you never saw, and he has such a

father, "you don't know what beau

tiful things James Robertson has of all kinds."

"Oh, yes," said little Robert, "when we were there yesterday, he took us up into a little room that was full of playthings, just like a toy-shop."

"He has little guns and two drums, and a trumpet and a fife," said Edward, "and one of the drums was a real one papa, such as men play on."

"And, papa, he had railroad cars, with a little railroad for them to go on, and steamengine and all," said Robert.

"And a whole company of wooden soldiers," said Edward.

"And all sorts of blocks to build houses," said Robert.

and bridle."

"Really," said their father, "you make out quite a list of possessions."

"Oh, but papa, we have not told you half; he has a beautiful flower garden, and a gardener to cultivate it for him, so that he don't have to take any trouble with it, and he can do anything with the flowers he chooses."

"Oh! and papa, he has rabbits, and a beautiful gray squirrel, with a cage fixed so nicely, and the squirrel plays so many droll tricks; and he has a parrot that can talk and laugh, and call his name, and say a great many funny things."

"Well," said their father, "I suppose you think that James is a very happy boy?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, papa, how can he help being happy?" said both boys: "besides, his

mamma, he says, lets him do very much as he likes about everything."

"Indeed," said their father, "and was he so very happy all day when you were there?" "Why no, not all day," said Edward, "but there was a reason for it; for in the morning we had planned to go out to the lake to fish, and it rained, and it made James feel rather cross, I suppose."

"But," said his father, "I should have thought, from your account, that there were things enough in the house to have amused you all."

"But James said he was so used to all those things that he did not want to play with them," said Robert. "He called some of the prettiest things he had ugly old things, and said he hated the sight of them."

"Well," said their father, "I suppose if the truth was known, James is not to be so much envied after all. I have been a week at a time at his father's house, and I have thought that a more uncomfortable, unhappy tempered little fellow, I never saw."

"Well, that is strange," said Edward. "I am sure I would be happy if I was in his place."

"I am afraid you would not," said his father, "for I believe it is having so many things that makes him unhappy."

a little stand by him was a cracked brown mug, in which were some sweet peas, and larkspurs, and lavender, bright yellow marigold; beside this lay a well-worn Bible and hymn-book. His mother was ironing in the next room, but when she saw the boys and their father, she came foward to receive them. "Well, my little fellow," said Mr. Thompson, "how do you do to-day?"

"Oh, pretty comfortable,” he said.

"I have brought up my boys to see you," said Mr. Thompson.

The sick boy smiled, and reached out one of his thin little hands to welcome them. Edward and Robert took his hand, and then turned and looked anxiously at their father. "Papa, how long has he been so sick?" asked Robert.

"More than a year, young gentlemen," said his mother; "it's a year since he's been able to sit up, and it's four months since he's been able to be turned at all in bed; he has to lie all the time, just as you see on his back.”

"Oh, what a long time!" said Edward, "why can't you turn him, and let him lie on his side?"

"Because it hurts him to lie on either side." "What is the matter with him?" asked Robert.

"Why, the doctor says it's complaint of the

"I wonder if this can be the house," said Edward to Robert, as the carriage stopped before a very small brown house.

Their father got out, and asked them to walk in with him. It was a very little house, with only two rooms in it; and in the one they entered they saw a very pale, thin little boy, lying on a small low bed, in front of the door. His face was all worn away by disease, and his little hands, which were folded on the outside of the bed, were so thin, one could almost see through them. He had a few play-things lying by him on the bed, and on

in his foot, and they had to cut the foot off, in hope that it would stop it, but it didn't and they cut off the leg above the knee, and that didn't stop it, and it's creeping up, up and finally it will be the death of him. He suffers dreadfully of nights, sometimes no sleep at all for two or three nights."

"Oh, father, how dreadful!" said Edward, pressing close to his father.

"Papa," said Robert, looking up and whispering, "I thought we were going to see a little boy that was very happy?"

"Wait a little," said Mr. Thompson," and you will see," and then he turned to the sick boy.

"My little fellow," said he, "you find it very tiresome lying here so long?"

"A little so," said the boy, smiling very pleasantly; "but then I have so many things to make me comfortable."

"What things?"

"Oh, I have a knife, and I can whittle a little at a time, and I have this little china dog that a lady gave me; I play with that sometimes, and then don't you see my flowers?"

The little boy pointed to a small bed of flowers just before the door, where there were some pinks, some larkspurs, marigolds and sweet peas; it was weeded very clean, and the flowers made it bright enough.

"Mother planted all those flowers for me in the spring," he said, "and she has watered and weeded them every night after she has done her work; and they grow beautifully, and I lie here every day and look at them. Sometimes when the rain is falling, or in the morning when the dew is on them, they look so bright and fresh. Mother puts some in the mug, to stand by me every day." "But don't you suffer a great deal of pain?" "Sometimes I do; but then, sir, I know that God would not send it if it was not best for me, so I am willing to bear it; besides, I know that the Lord Jesus Christ suffered more pain for me than I suffer. There are some beautiful hymns about it in this book; and then I have the Bible; oh, I don't know how I could get along if it were not for that!" "But are you never unhappy when you see other boys jumping and playing about?" "No, I am not; I know God knows what is best for me; besides, my Saviour comforts me. I love to lie here, when it is all still, and think about him."

"Don't you hope sometimes that you will get well, and be able to go about again?"

"No, I know that I can't; I shall not live a great while; they all say so."

"And don't you feel afraid to die?" "Oh, no; I feel as if I would be glad to. I long to see my Saviour. All that I feel sad about is, that mother will be lonesome when I am gone."

"Well, my little boy, if there is anything I can send you to make you more comfortable, I shall be glad to."

not best, I would rather he would not do it. Because, I think I am happier now than I used to be when I was well."

"Ah! how can that be?"

"I did not love God so much then, and I used to forget to read the Bible. I had not so much pleasure in thinking about heaven," said the little boy.

"You remember," said Mr. Thompson, "it says in the Bible-Before I was afflicted, I went astray, but now I have kept thy word.'"

"That is just it, sir," said the boy; "just the way I feel. Oh, I've been so happy since I have been sick here."

Edward and Robert looked at their father at these words. Mr. Thompson now rose to go.

"If you please, sir, perhaps the boys would like some of my flowers; there is a beautiful root of pinks there, and some roses," said the sick boy.

"Oh, no," said Edward, "we won't take them away from you."

"Oh, I like to give them away," said the boy, earnestly; "do take some?"

"Take some, my dear children, it will please him," said Mr. Thompson, in a low voice, as he picked a few and gave to each of the boys; and then added aloud, "we will keep them to remember you by, my dear little fellow."

As they parted with the little boy, he smiled sweetly, and put out his hand, and added" If you'll come when my latest rosebush is in blossom, I'll give you some roses."

"Papa," said Edward, "that poor little boy really does seem to be happy, and yet he is poor and sick and in pain; and he has a very few things, too. It is strange; he certainly is a great deal happier than James Robertson."

"Well, I can tell you the reason," said his father. "It is because James Robertson is a

selfish boy that he is unhappy. From morning till night he thinks of nothing but how to please himself. His father and mother have

tle fellow," said Mr. Thompson.

"God would do it in a moment, if it was only best for me," said the boy; "and if it is

There is nothing so minute or inconsiderable, that I would not rather know it than not.