Tis early morning in a Cathedral town of Germany, and a boy is muffling his head in the bed clothes, trying to keep out the sound of the bells and the sight of the sunbeams. His comrade, however, is doing all he can to arouse him.

"Go away, I say," is all the reply to these wellmeant efforts. What's the use of getting up to be knocked about and scolded? When mother was here one was sure of a cup of milk and a kind word. I'm going to sleep again Do hush! There, take that!" and he gave his friend a cuff on the ear.

The friend howled, which sent a pang to the boy's heart. He stretched out his hand with a gesture prompted by remorse. 'Come here, come here. I've given you just what I don't like for myself, poor fellow. I beg your pardon.'

His face was well washed after that by a dog's warm tongue, which had also the effect of waking the boy very thoroughly. The conversation too,

went on:

Turk, old dog, you're the best friend I have in the world, and if you didn't wake me every day I'd never have gone to school. Since mother's death father is so cross, and still, and dull; he does nothing but work, work, work. But my rose tree must be planted to-day, and if I don't do it now, I don't know when I will have the chance."

So saying, he dressed rapidly, tossed open his lattice and took a small plant from the window-sill, ran down the outside flight of steps leading from the door of his father's shop, paused a moment to snatch up a roll and his bag of books, and then with his dog hurried down the village street.

He had soon passed the houses and shops and approaching the vast towers of the great church which was partly finished, he looked up at the points and pinnacles of heaven-aspiring height, when a thought which had long been in his mind burst into bloom. It was a simple thought, but a religious one, and it so absorbed him that for awhile he forgot his errand, and stood gazing up into the pure sky, blue as forget-me-nots. He was startled, however, by the village bells and clocks and a hurriedly approaching group of workmen, and quickly sought

out a lonely grave, took his plant from its pot, and digging a little hole, set the rose bush in it. Quick as he was, he was yet too late for school, and received frowning disapprobation from the master as he took his seat.

Unfortunately, Felix was often late, often too his lessons were unprepared. But he was so ready to make amends, and was so quick in learning, that he could get on better than the duller pupils who labored more systematically.

But to-day everything went wrong, his head was full of fancies, and with his ready pencil he was sketching when he should have been studying, scrawling scrolls and rose windows over his Latin, and sending flocks of pigeons up and down the margin of oceans and continents. He stumbled at his lessons, he bothered those who knew them, and perplexed those who did not, until the master's patience was exhausted, and he gave him a sound thrashing.

After that there was silence, sullenness and an appearance of work, but a sudden roar of laughter from the boys made the master look up. Felix was bending over his book as if he were the only one undisturbed. The master was not, however, very easily deceived.

Now Felix had a real liking for his master, and was usually sorry for offending him; but the whipping had not been beneficial, although his conscience told him that it was deserved. He presented the book. On its fly-leaf was a drawing of the master-a very clever caricature-as Cupid, drawing his bow at a group of girls, who with much derision were pelting him with sticks and stones.

The master's face flushed at the disrespect; but he quietly laid the book aside, and proceeded with his duties. Felix remained standing.

The recitations went on, the hum of study, the drawl of the lazy ones, and the quick, eager replies of the ambitious. Felix was forgotten.

The boy began to think he had made a mistake. What had he gained by misconduct? Where were the thoughts of the morning under the Cathedral windows? How was he fitting himself to work on the beautifiul structure which was to be the medium of praise and prayer for multitudes in the long ages to come? And yet he knew this had been his mother's hope and wish. Was he making good use of the talents God had given him? He was looking out of the window now, watching the lights and shadows on the carved stone of buttress and gable. The boys were dismissed. He sat down to the extra task assigned him. He was hungry, he was miserable, but he plodded on and finished his work. The master bade him go, and he went, but not home.

He lingered about the Cathedral, watching the workmen. Finally he became fascinated by their employment, and taking up their tools worked out a leaf pattern on a bit of refuse stone the men had left there. Tired and faint, he sought his mother's resting place. The rose was drooping for want of water.

66

Come, it is time you were home," said a familiar voice.

Felix looked up astonished. It was the master. "You must go with me to your father. I wish to speak to him."

Felix obeyed. The climax had come. His father was stern and hard, and the master, of course, would have a sorry tale to tell.

Fortunately the village people had gone in to their evening meal, and he would be spared the disgrace of being seen conducted like a culprit to his father's. He did not speak a word, neither did the master, but shame and remorse were written on every feature. He felt as if he were a criminal about to receive sentence-a sentence too which was deserved and which justice demanded.

"Well, Herr Professor, what is the matter now?" asked the father, grimly surveying his son.

Felix is in trouble again, Mr. Zimmerman." "Ha, idle as usual-good for nothing-won't study?"

Yes, a little of all, I am sorry to say. have a remedy to propose." "A thrashing of course."

But I

No; once a day is enough. We have tried that; it did not answer in this case as well as it does sometimes. May I have the pleasure of Master Felix's company to supper?"

"What, sir, you want the boy rewarded for bad behavior?"

"Not at all-not at all. Run away, Felix; get your face washed and your jacket on, and you shall be my guest this evening.'

Felix was almost too much move, but without daring to did as the master told him. conversation went on between the teacher.

surprised to be able to question his father he While he was gone a Mr. Zimmerman and

It is not necsssary to repeat it; but Felix saw a different expression on his father's face when, neatly dressed, he came down the steps and followed the master home.

He was fearfully hungry, and yet almost ashamed to take the good broth and bread which were set before him in the master's quaint and quiet little parlor; they somehow choked him, and as he looked about at the book-covered shelves and old engravings, the detestable caricature he had drawn in the morning danced before his eyes.

At last he could stand it no longer. The teacher seemed to have disappeared, and only this kind and genial host sat opposite him, heaping up his plate and bowl.

"Herr Professor," he stammered, "I beg your pardon; indeed I do."

"I am very glad to hear that, my boy; but don't think any more about it just now,' was the response, and filling his pipe, wreaths of smoke began to play about the old man's head.

"It is a great pity that a lad of your talent should waste any time, Felix, and if you are willing, I think your father will let me give you drawing lessons."

Felix could hardly believe his ears.

"To be sure, you will have to apply yourself more diligently, be prompt and industrious, or all the lessons in the world won't make a man of you." "I'll try," said Felix-though a mist was in his eyes.

"That's right," said the Professor, and he opened some great volumes full of pictures, and the boy gazed in delightful wonder at a world more beautiful than his dreams. Not an allusion did the Professor make again to anything that happened during the day.

When evening was over and he courteously bade him good night, Felix was dazed and went home with light steps to his bed.

As soon as Turk woke him next morning he sprang up with alacrity, and would have been off with the dawn to water his rose-bush, but his father detained him.

"Felix," said he somewhat sternly, "the master says there's good stuff in you, if you'll use it. Come here and eat your breakfast before you go, and let me hear what you have to say for yourself.'

"I'll try," was the sum and substance of Felix's talk over his brown bread and milk.

Ten years after there was a great celebration in the town, for the Cathedral was finished. Cannon thundered, bells pealed, and a grand "Te Deum was chanted to the rolling rhythm of a magnificent

FTER the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph, no Saint had been more favored by God or was more powerful for man in obtaining all his needs than St. Anthony of Padua. Until recently little has been known by the faithful at large regarding this wonderful servant of God, except that he is invoked to find things that were lost. The celebration of the seventh centenary of his birth, which occurred on the 15th of August, 1895, has brought him prominently before the people. The Church usually honors the Saints in their death and not in their birth, but to show her veneration for St. Anthony of Padua, she noted with the befitting pomp and ceremony of her gorgeous liturgy, as she does in the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin and St. John the Baptist, the birth of this most favored and powerful of Saints, who for so long seemed to be so little known to men. Leo XIII. gave the crowning impetus to this devotion by declaring that "St. Anthony is not a Saint of Padua alone, but a Saint of the Universal Church." So Pius IX said of St. Joseph that he is the patron of the Universal Church; so Leo XIII. would say of St. Anthony of Padua that he is a Saint of the Universal Church—that is, adapted to all states and conditions of life. But the Church was not alone in doing him honor; the Latin States, particularly Spain and Portugal, showed their great veneration for his memory by putting his image on the postage stamps in 1895.

Catholic papers and periodicals have done much to promote devotion to St. Anthony by giving edifying instances of his life, and particularly of favors, both spiritual and temporal, obtained through his intercession, His life, which was a short one, embracing only thirty-six years, was yet full of good works and rich in the most stupendous miracles. He was not of German origin, as we might suppose from his name of Anthony, nor was he an Italian, as we might suppose from his surname of Padua, which is a prominent city of Italy. Italy was but Italy was but the land of his adoption, and Padua the home of his apostolic career. He was born at Lisbon, the capital of Portugal, on the Feast of the Assumption, in 1195, of parents illustrious alike for their virtue and nobility. In baptism he received the name of Ferdinand, which he afterwards changed when he became a Franciscan monk to that of Anthony, taking the great Patriarch of Egypt as the model of his reclusive life. His parents considering his birth an answer to their prayers, and he being born on the 15th of August, they dedicated him to the Blessed Virgin, towards whom he cherished a most tender devotion, reciting frequently, as we read, the "O Gloriosa Domina," as his favorite prayer. At the age of fifteen he joined the Augustinians and passed ten years in that community, spending most of the time in the study of the Scriptures. The effect of all study, whether sacred or profane, is the spiritual aridity of the heart, unless the soul is daily exercised in ardent prayer and meditation. This our Saint did not neglect, otherwise his knowledge would be useless to others, because lacking that

spiritual unction of the soul, which alone gives effect to the word of God. Our Saint, considering that perfection consists not only in sanctifying oneself, but also in being useful in the sanctification of others, resolved to combine the contemplative with the apostolic career. He became a disciple of St. Francis of Assisi, and changed the black to the brown habit.

From his picture, which we have all seen, we learn the supernatural favors which he enjoyed. His picture represents him as a young man clothed in the Franciscan habit and holding the Child Jesus in his arms. Like Mary and Joseph he enjoyed the privilege of embracing and caressing the Divine Child who appeared to him. And like Joseph he is represented as holding a lily in his hand, which is emblematical of the purity and innocence of his life. In another picture of his we learn a similar supernatural favor which he enjoyed. It is the apparition of the Blessed Virgin to him holding the Child Jesus in her arms. Of his miraculous favor of appearing in two different places at the same time we will not speak, nor of his instant and sudden transportation from one country to another, borne by an angel, as the prophet of old.

His first mission was Africa, where he asked to be sent to preach the Gospel with the hope of receiving the crown of martyrdom, as had five of his confreres a short time before. But God was pleased to accept his martyrdom of desire, for his health failing in Africa, he was ordered back to his native land. Providence decreed that Italy, the land of his adoption, was to be the scene of his missionary career; for the ship that carried him home was driven by a furious storm on the coast of Italy.

Gregory IX., whom St. Anthony had foretold. would one day be Pope, soon heard of the wonderful man of God, and he felt that Anthony was another St. John, sent by God to defend the Church against her enemies, who threatened her very life, both within and without the fold. He was to go forth to reclaim men by his preaching, from their evil ways. The Pope inaugurated his mission by listening to the first sermon of our Saint in the city of Rome. Great was his astonishment and admiration! -- astonishment that the miracle of the first Pentecost is repeated, that the vast audience, composed of all nations and races, each one understood the preacher in his own native tongue, and admiration at Anthony's wonderful knowledge of the Scriptures. After the sermon Pope Gregory embraced Anthony and styled him Ark of the Testament"—that is to say, had the Scriptures been destroyed, he could have rewritten them, so thoroughly did he know them. Similar miracles attended his Apostolic preaching everywhere. While addressing an immense audience one day in France, he commanded the pall-bearers who bore the remains of a young man up the aisle of the church to have the funeral rites performed over the body, to halt, as Christ did in the case of the widow's son, and in the name of Jesus he told the youth to arise; and he gave him back to his home and friends. Churches could no

longer hold the crowd that followed him, so he took to the open fields, where, like the Apostles, he continued to confirm his doctrine by prodigies. Though weak and delicate by nature, he could be miraculously heard by his audience at a distance of Once in addressing the Albigensian heretics, he commanded a dumb brute to adore the Blessed Sacrament which he held in his hands, "Prostrate yourself, O creature," he said, "adore Him in Whom men refuse to believe."

The consequence of his preaching was that thousands abjured heresy, sinners were converted, and came to him throwing themselves at his feet and confessing their sins. So great was his supernatural light that he penetrated the inmost recesses of conscience.

Not the least of his supernatural prerogatives was the gift of prophecy, which he possessed in an eminent degree. He bowed before a worldly man, who was incensed at his action, taking it for ridicule, and called Anthony to an account for it. "I thus salute you," said the Saint, "because you shall shortly wear the crown of martyrdom." The sinner

laughed him to scorn, but the prophecy was soon fulfilled. And the saintly renown which he foretold of Padua continues to be fulfilled.

As a wonder-worker, the glory of God still shines forth in the miraculous power of St. Anthony, the same to-day as during his life, in behalf of those

who have recourse to his intercession. Sin, disease and death, like the very elements, obey his word, and his voice has power beyond the grave in sundering the barriers that separate the living from the dead. Sight he restored to the blind, hearing to the deaf, speech to the dumb, the use of limbs to the crippled; and three times after the example of Christ, as recorded in the Gospel, did he raise the dead to life. Are you in need of bread, employment, the recovery of health, the regaining of some lost treasure, or any blessing either temporal or spiritual for yourself or others? Invoke the intercession of St. Anthony of Padua. "He is a saint of the Universal Church," said our reigning Pontiff, that is, that he is not a patron of any particular state, but adapted to all classes and conditions of life. As Pharaoh said of Joseph, Leo would say of St. Anthony, in all your wants go to Anthony." The pious union known as St. Anthony's Bread, a devotion although very recent in origin, is rapidly spreading throughout the five continents of the world, and it has been highly approved of by Leo XIII. It is a very simple devotion, and it consists of a promise to St. Anthony to give an alms to the poor, or a donation to the church, or some other parochial need, providing he obtains a favor. If he does not obtain what you ask, then there is no obligation to fulfill your promise of giving an alms.

THE HEROISM T. MICHAEL'S Church, in Charleston, S. C., is one of the venerable landmarks in American history. Many glorious memories cluster around this ancient edifice, which have been made the theme of story and of song. Stanton, the foremost poet in the South to-day, in one of his lyrics, "St. Michael's Bells," sings of "The solemn star-crowned tower, with the glittering cross of gold; The tower that overlooks the sea, whose shining bosom swells, To the ringing and the singing of sweet St. Michael's bells." The sunshine of many peaceful years have fallen upon and tipped its cross with golden flame. Storms and fire, and shot and shell, have made it the object of their fury, and have sought to destroy the ancient pile; but it still stands a venerable monument of the past, in serene old age, unharmed by the passing years which touch but to adorn it. Still the sweet music of its chimes floats over the city, calling the people to worship; still its splendid spire serves as a welcome beacon to sailors far out at sea, homeward bound; still it is the last object which their eyes behold as outward bound the lights fade in the distance, and the good ship glides deeper into the swelling bosom of the Atlantic.

There is an incident in the history of "old St. Michael's" which, doubtless, the oldest inhabitant of the city may remember to have heard in childhood. The story, as here related, writes Charles W. Hubner, in the Providence Visitor, came from

OF A SLAVE.

the lips of a venerable lady who said that she was a witness of the scene described.

A great fire broke out, raging with such fury that at one time it seemed as if the entire city was doomed to destruction, and people stood helpless in the streets, watching with weeping eyes the utter ruin of their homes. The Mayor and council and other city officials were in session, devising means for checking the course of the conflagration, and to adopt measures for the shelter and care of the helpless. Presently the news came to them that St. Michael's was in danger, as the flames were approaching it. Already great showers of sparks were falling upon its roof, and burning brands were dashed against the steeple. Men upon the roof, with difficulty, managed to remove the fiery missiles from the places upon which they fell, and they could also reach and dislodge those that dropped upon the lower part of the steeple. But the great danger to be apprehended was that some fragment of burning shingle, soaring high into the air out of the surrounding sea of fire and whirled by the fierce gale, would strike the spire and lodge there, far above the reach of the men below, set it on fire, threatening not only the destruction of the church, but endangering other portions of the city which had still been spared. Nor did the anxious spectators have long to wait for the dreaded catastrophe.

A flaming brand, whirling high through the air, struck the spire and lodged near the top of it. Thousands watched the smoking, sparkling spot