This serving up with breakfast was a very wise move on the editors’ part, for they knew from experience that it was the only hour when they stood the least chance of being read--the rest of the day being passed by most men in the strenuous occupation of killing time. The writer of article number four in _The Loiterer_ was on his way to a lecture one morning when he saw a man whom he knew leaning against the college gate with a vacant expression on his serene countenance. Thinking that the poor fellow did not know what to do with himself, the writer offered to take him to the lecture which, he said, was to be remarkably entertaining. The lounger was most polite in his thanks, and said he should have liked it above all things, but that at the moment he was extremely busy and really had not time. The writer, a little surprised, left him and attended the lecture, returning two hours later to find the man leaning against the same gate-post in nearly the same attitude. In the face of such stagnation who shall deny the wisdom of sending the paper in with the hot roll, thereby catching the time-killers before they have begun their day’s task? The writer concluded his narrative of ancient lounging and reflections on the passing of the law whereby Undergraduates were forbidden under severe penalties to loiter away their time in sitting on Pennyless Bench, by giving the diary of a week in the life of an Undergraduate in 1789. It is an extremely excellent and amusing piece of work, which shows that there were past-masters in the gentle art of slacking who seriously challenge some of the present-day exponents. “DIARY OF A MODERN OXFORD MAN (1789). “_Sunday._--Waked at eight o’clock by the scout, to tell me the bell was going for prayers--wonder those scoundrels are allowed to make such a noise--tried to get to sleep again, but could not--sat up and read Hoyle in bed--ten, got up and breakfasted--Charles called to ask me to ride--agreed to stay until the President was gone to Church--half after eleven, rode out, going down the High Street saw Will Sagely going to St Mary’s--can’t think what people go to church for. Twelve to two, rode round Bullington Green, met Careless and a new Freshman of Trinity--engaged them to dine with me--two to three, lounged at the stable, made the Freshman ride over the Bail, talked to him about horses: see he knows nothing about the matter--went home and dressed--three to eight, dinner and wine--remarkable pleasant evening--sold Rackett’s stone horse for him to Careless’s friend for fifty guineas--certainly break his neck--eight to ten, coffee-house, and lounged in the High Street--Stranger went home to study; am afraid he’s a bad one--engaged to hunt to-morrow and dine with Rackett--twelve, supped and went to bed early, in order to get up to-morrow.