The social feature of the life of the cadet must not be underestimated. The youngsters who present themselves as candidates for admission, appointed politically, come from all parts of the country, and represent every shade of opinion and training in the United States. They are a smaller image of the large mass of our people. The problem of bringing these different natures into accord with the conditions which they must face is no easy one; and the weeding-out process, which immediately begins, is conducted by the superintendent--usually a captain in the navy--and the officers under his command, under rules which have been adopted after sixty years of previous administrations. There is an indefinable something in the organization of the place that makes an indelible impression upon the mind of the candidate, and as he enters upon his duties it does not take long to discover whether he is mentally and personally fitted for the long task before him. It was said in the old days that a seaman was born and not made. But modern warfare has so changed the conditions that, while the officers of the navy must always command men and have the instincts of the sailor, high mental attainments are also the requisite, and those instincts can be formed by experience and association. The course, then, in brief, is the training of the mind and the body, the school of the soldier and sailor, and the school of the gentleman. Here, then, is where the social influences of the Naval Academy are felt. Politics, like misfortune, makes strange bedfellows, and the scion of your Eastern banker may soon find himself detailed as the room-mate of the most impecunious and unpretentious of Uncle Sam’s younger sons. It is the democracy of military training, in which every man’s standing is governed alone by his professional qualifications. Money or position can in no way affect his life. His rise or fall depends entirely upon his own worth. To the young man fortunate enough to secure an early appointment from his representative in Congress, his new home, in the month of May, presents every attraction. From the moment he passes the gate, passes the marine guards, his eye meets the beautifully kept lawns of the campus and drill-ground, sweeping gradually down to the sea-wall on the north and east sides, where the Severn River flows, stretching out to the blue waters of Chesapeake Bay, only three miles from old Fort Severn. To the left, as he enters, are the New Quarters and hospital. To the right, the sacred precincts of “Lovers’ Lane,” into which he cannot go, under pain of displeasure of his upper classmen, until he has passed through the first, or “plebe,” year, and this rule is stringent.