In becoming a member of the university, therefore, the eighteenth-century freshman received his first experience of the complete inanition and futility of the Don world. Apparently he suffered no apprehension on the score of not conducting himself with fitting politeness when in the presence of the authorities. Their opinion of him gave him no concern. He was far more anxious not to contravene the unwritten laws of the Undergraduate world. Once the tiresome but necessary matriculation became a thing of the past, he began to look about him, anxiously at first from the desire to avoid grievous blunders which would make him a laughing-stock. All initiative was far too dangerous when the lynx eyes of the entire college were upon him. Actuated by the firm belief that at least he could not be criticised for politeness and good-breeding, the timid freshman endeavoured to ingratiate himself in the eyes of all by doffing his cap with humble frequence. From “Academia, or the Humours of Oxford,” the following bitter excerpt on the question of the freshman’s manners is vastly entertaining. “Now being arrived at his College, The place of learning and of knowledge, A while he’ll leer about, and snivel ye, And doff his Hat to all most civilly, Being told at home that a shame face too, Was a great sign that he had some Grace too, He’ll speak to none, alas! for he’s Amased at every Man he sees: May-hap this lasts a Week, or two, Till some Scab laugh’s him on’t, so That when most you’d expect his mending, His Breeding’s ended, and not ending Now he dares walk abroad, and dare ye, Hat on, in peoples’ Faces stare ye; Thinks what a Fool he was before, to Pull off his Hat, which he’d no more do; But that the devil shites Disasters, So that he’s forc’d to cap the Masters, ... He must cap them; but for all other, Tho’ ’twere his Father, or his Mother, His Gran’num, Uncle, Aunt, or Cousin, He wo’ not give one Cap to a dozen.” What wonders may be worked in a week or two! From almost servile politeness he went to the extreme of discourtesy with the assurance of a second-year man. Imitation is, however, the essence of life. Because certain things are done, all men are compelled to do them unless they wish to incur social ostracism. We are like sheep and must follow our leaders with docility and readiness. If we decline to bow the neck to convention, and declare for originality and freedom, society turns and rends us. At Oxford the punishment for such a crime as originality is swift. A horde of outraged seniors descends like an avalanche upon the sinner’s rooms. They visit their wrath not only upon his belongings but upon his person, and eventually they leave him in a condition of mental and physical chaos, to realise the utter futility of kicking against the pricks.