[Side note: First Premium Men]

When we read of brilliant students at Cambridge or Oxford, we
naturally look forward to see them leaders of thought or action
in their own land, and we are seldom disappointed. Our Irish
colleges are discharging yearly swarms from their doors, many of
them men with brilliant records. Who hears of them after? What
have these first-class premium men, who gave such splendid
promise, done with their gifts and knowledge? How little does the
Irish Church owe them? The day the premium book was handed them,
all serious effort died. They were content to rest for the
remainder of their lives under the shade of their academic
laurels.

The soldier is not satisfied with the triumphs of his recruit
days. He knows that the purpose of his life then is not to gain a
prize and stop at that, but to acquire efficient skill in the use
of his weapons that he may become a living force on the future
field of action.

The college is but the training ground, not the final goal; the
real field of our activities lies outside its walls. Yet when the
scholastic course closes these richly-gifted men dip below the
horizon, and the world seldom hears of them again; the
destructive wave that in its silent strength is covering the land
receives no check from them; they are engraving no impression on
the intellect of the day.

Our humiliation and surprise increase when we turn to the