sacred obligation to prevent, as far as possible, their charges from coming into contact with moral contamination. "But," it is objected, "what good comes from all your protection? It usually happens that your pupil on leaving the place where he was protected against all dangers, falls the more quickly and the more shamefully. And why? For the very reason that he was shielded on all sides and never struggled with dangers and temptations. He is not prepared, he is caught unawares, and yields unconditionally and hopelessly, whereas had he been trained by daily encounter with temptation his character would have been hardened."[1] If the case were frequent, if the deeper fall inevitably followed the purer boyhood, then we may as well despair of all education and all virtue. Happily, we have here one of those sweeping generalizations and exaggerations, so common with certain writers. We answer: First, not all fall away after leaving the sheltering precincts of the college. Many remain good among the greatest dangers and temptations. And this perseverance they owe to the precautions taken in the college and to the virtuous habits acquired through the daily practice of observing the regulations of these institutions. The continued moral efforts required for doing this are as effective for
- ↑ Such objections have sometimes been made even by short-sighted Catholics who, dazzled by the outward brilliant successes of the great Protestant schools, wished some of their features to be introduced into Catholic colleges. These views have been ably refuted in various articles of the Dublin Review. See e. g. July and October 1878. – On the other hand, not long ago President Jones of Hobart plainly advocated greatly increased supervision in student life. He does not think that more stringent regulations would keep the students "milksops." The Forum, Jan. 1901, 592-593.
