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entirely swept away? The Jansenists were much more the friends of enlightenment and of civil progress than the Jesuits; yet they confined the elect strictly within the visible limits of the Catholic Church. Pius IX was too benevolent a man not to have large hopes of the saving mercies of God; but he was too narrow-minded a man to reconcile himself with the modern age. He cordially detested its abounding evils, and hardly less cordially its new forms of higher good. As remarked by Dr. Roswell D. Hitchcock, his famous encyclical and syllabus are curiously divided, about half and half, between condemnations of flagrant evils, and of precious benefits, of modern civilization. In what way can the old formula, "Out of the Church no salvation," be reconciled with the new formula, "A devout heretic may be saved?" There seem to be two ways. One is to use the word "Protestant" in two senses. Protestantism, to Catholic apprehension, means the spirit of rebellion against the legitimate authority of the Church. A genuine Protestant, therefore, cannot be saved. Or "Protestant Or "Protestant" simply means one who is devoted to his ancestral religion, not because of its rebelliousness, but because of its Christianity. Such a one is, in the view of God, simply a Roman Catholic Christian unhappily circumstanced. No one can be saved unless he follows the Roman Catholic religion; but he may, by invincible error, call by a hostile name that which the divine judgment accepts as true Catholic piety. He will not, it is held, be saved simply by good faith in his heresy. There must be added to this actual faith and love. Therefore, one catechism might teach that a Protestant can be saved, and another that he cannot be, without any contradiction between them. These distinctions, as we know, are familiar even to illiterate Catholics. Thus, when Bishop Wilberforce's Irish coachman declared that his lordship would be saved "on account of his inconsavable ignorance," he showed that he had been well taught in his religion, although he was somewhat more severe in his choice of an adjective than he intended to be. dinal Gibbons declares that whoever is not with the pope is not with Christ, his meaning, as the Independent well says, is by no means so truculent as his words. His book, The Faith of our Fathers, unequivocally acknowledges as a justified Christian everyone who receives the evangelical message with faith

Thus, also, when Car

and love, however ignorant of Christ's full will. The more direct way is to distinguish between the soul of the Church and her body. Thus, the highly authoritative catechisin of the Jesuit Deharbe says, "Such as are heretics without their own fault, but sincerely search after the truth, and in the meantime do the will of God to the best of their knowledge, although they are separated from the body, remain, however, united to the soul of the Church and partake of her graces;" though, of course, they are regarded as suffering many grievous spiritual privations.

Of course, the presumption as to the greater or less number of God's elect children outside the visible limits of the Catholic Church will be greater or less from man to man, according to temper or the measure of familiarity with Protestants. No doubt there are whole regions of the Church where Protestants are practically regarded as, one and all, children of perdition. Indeed, Orestes A. Brownson, complaining of Lady Georgiana Fullerton, that in her stories she assumes all religious Protestants to be virtually Catholics, insists that every particular Protestant ought always to be regarded as out of a state of salvation. He may indeed, says Brownson, be known to God as a member of the Catholic Church; but this ought never to be assumed. The prevailing tone of feeling in instructed Catholic circles seems to be between these extremes, but decidedly and increasingly inclining rather to Lady Georgiana than to Orestes A. Brownson.

Charles C. Starbuck во

ART. V.-JOHN WOOLMAN AND STEPHEN GIRARDA STUDY IN COMPARATIVE BIOGRAPHY,

In the year 1681, sixty-one years after the landing of the Pilgrims and seven years prior to the English Revolution, a deputy surveyor of the province of West New Jersey, North America, made to the council of proprietors a report containing this statement: "Surveyed one parcel of land abutting on Rancocas Creek, within which tract of land is a mountain, to which the province, east, west, south, and north, sends a beautiful aspect, named by the owner thereof Mount Holly." At the base of this "mountain," which, in fact, is only a modest hill two hundred feet high, and on the banks of the Rancocas there arose in due time a town, to which was also given the name of Mount Holly. The history of the place during a period of two hundred years, from the days of its life as "a good-sized hamlet" in 1750, through the French and Indian War, the Revolution, the War of 1812, the Mexican War, and the Rebellion, to this last decade of the nineteenth century, in which it reports itself as a "thriving city of sixty-five hundred inhabitants," would, no doubt, prove of interest. But it is not of Mount Holly itself that I write, though the theme is attractive. I write of two men whose names appear in the category of the world's distinguished philanthropists, one of whom was born in or near the village, and the other of whom resided there for a year during the British supremacy in Philadelphia — John Woolman, tailor, nurseryman, Quaker preacher, social reformer; and Stephen Girard, mariner, merchant, millionaire. Each of these transacted business in the streets of Mount Holly.

Almost all memorial of Woolman has disappeared. The "small, plain, two-story structure, with two windows in each story in front," was long ago destroyed. The store in which he began his career as an antislavery agitator has been either removed or remodeled, so that its identity has been lost. No portrait of him was ever painted, no statue ever carved. There are no monuments to his memory, no institutions whose existence is due to his foresight or wealth. And yet John G. Whittier says, "A far-reaching moral, social, and political revolution, undoing the evil work of centuries, unquestionably

owes much of its original impulse to the life and labors of a poor, unlearned workingman of New Jersey, whose very existence was scarcely known beyond the narrow circle of his religious society." In language of sweet simplicity and beautiful naïveté he wrote a Journal and, dying in the city of York, England, bequeathed it to the sect with which his ministry had been identified. He did not know that in the inventory of the world's spiritual and literary resources it would be classed among the most valuable of its assets. Mount Holly loyally regards John Woolman as her greatest citizen, the one worthiest of reverence.

Stephen Girard, contemporary of Woolman for more than twenty-two years, is a far more familiar figure in the history of the United States and of Christendom. Of Girard there are memorials, unique and splendid; and in Mount Holly the house in which he lived may still be pointed out, and his store, though incorporated in a larger building, is yet identifiable. Portraits have been engraved, a statue has been erected, and in Philadelphia there stands, unsurpassed among modern reproductions of Greek architecture, the Girard College for Orphans. For half a century this institution has fulfilled its high purpose of educating boys-for this life. Thither thousands of visitors go every year to see its splendid buildings, its beautiful grounds, and the beneficiaries of the colossal bequest of the French cabin boy who, poor, uneducated, almost friendless, sailed away from Bordeaux to the West Indies and died an honored citizen of the United States, a multimillionaire at a time when millionaires were few.

It were easy to debate the question, "Who was the world's greater benefactor, John Woolman or Stephen Girard?" and good argument may be adduced to prove that the banker whose loans-at interest-saved the credit, if not the very life, of the United States in 1814, whose immense contributions to the city treasury of Philadelphia made many great public improvements possible, whose gifts to charitable institutions and churches sustained their life during critical emergencies, and whose beneficence created a great institution for the benefit of orphaned boys was a greater philanthropist, a nobler benefactor, a truer friend of humanity than a mere Quaker preacher, by trade a tailor, whose vocation was only that of a traveling evangelist in a minor religious sect, bearing his testimony against

slavery and other social evils and writing a few pamphlets and a journal of a few score pages. Judged by manifest achievement, the products of Girard's philanthropy are far beyond those of Woolman's. But, whatever the merit due to deeds of charity, whatever the place of alınsgiving in the economy of personal salvation, and whatever the degree of honor and admiration to be ascribed to him who gives or bequeaths the harvest of his successful ventures in business to his fellow-mortals in need, I am confident that there are such distinctions in the spirit in which philanthropists render service, such inherent differences in quality of character, that one who does less than another may be far greater and more fully realize the ideals of life than he whose gifts are known in all the crowded streets and glorified through all the passing centuries. Though Woolman's name is overshadowed by that of Girard, it stands for a better type of manhood, a more genial spirit of life, a sweeter heart, a truer solution of the complex problem of existence. And so in this study of comparative biography, gauging Girard's life according to the standard of Woolman's character and conduct, I pronounce Woolman to be the better man, and his life, considered in itself, a better life-better in its impulses and ideals, better in its immediate and ultimate relations and results.

Without attempting an analysis of the facts of heredity—that push under the effect of which life is begun, if not carried on, in this world-there are facts of ancestry which ought to be studied in comparing any two men and pronouncing equitable judgment upon their careers. Woolman's life was begun under the influence of parents who fulfilled the duties of their relation. Perhaps the boy was prematurely, certainly precociously, pious. At seven years of age he was acquainted, as he says, "with the operations of divine love." He remembered leaving the society of his schoolmates to read a chapter from his New Testament. On "first days," after the meeting, his parents used frequently to "set" him to read the Bible or other religious books. Still, he was a boy, and on at least one occasion was borne away by the stone-throwing instincts that characterize the "savage period" through which most boys pass in the evolution of normal manhood, and was guilty of killing a mother robin. Sinitten with remorse and wishing to obviate all ill consequence to the young birds in the nest, he promptly annihilated the whole

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