There is, perhaps, in every man a certain element of moral obliquity, which, as he is put through any civilizing process, is squeezed out of him from time to time in varying forms and quantities. It comes to the surface, makes itself acutely felt and apparent for a short time, and then drops off,--just as a physical poison would act in his veins. At any rate, this is the only theory that can explain the highly reprehensible but firmly established custom among Harvard Freshmen of "ragging" signs. "Ragging," uninitiated reader, simply means stealing. What amusement, profit, or glory the Freshman finds in it has never been ascertained. He cannot tell exactly himself, and, as soon as he ceases to be a Freshman, wonders why he ever indulged in the habit. Perhaps the charm lies in the chance of getting into a scrape; but in most instances a sign can be taken with perfect safety. Now I cannot possibly think why I--but that is another story, as Mr. Kipling says. I am going to digress, however, for one story in this connection. Ned Burleigh used to tell it on his room-mate, Steve Hudson. Steve always denied it vehemently, and declared that Burleigh did not even deserve the credit of a fabricator; that the story had been in college for years, and he had heard it told by a '42 man. Ned held that made no difference; that some one had to carry it for our four years and Steve was the best man for the position. According to him, Hudson, in walking back from Boston on a dark night in Freshman year, spied a tempting sign hanging on a door-post. He secured it by some difficult climbing, and tucking it under his overcoat, went on his way. On arriving in his room he announced that he had a prize, and, unbuttoning his coat, he displayed to Burleigh's delighted gaze, his only evening suit and the sign "Fresh Paint."