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.

“Monday.—Racket rowed me up at seven o’clock—sleepy and queer, but forced to get up and make breakfast for him—eight to five in the afternoon, hunting—famous run, and killed near Bicester—number of tumbles—Freshman out on Rackett’s stone horse—got the devil of a fall into a ditch—horse upon him—but don’t know whether he was killed or not. Five, dressed and went to dine with Rackett—Dean had cross’d his name, and no dinner to be got—went to the Angel and dined—famous evening till eleven, when the Proctors came and told us to go home to our colleges—went directly the contrary way—eleven to one, went down into St Thomas’s and fought a raff—one, dragged home by somebody, the Lord knows whom, and put to bed.

“Tuesday.—Very bruised and sore, did not get up till twelve—found an imposition on my table—mem. to give it to the hairdresser—drank six dishes of tea—did not know what to do with myself, so wrote to my father for money. Half after one, put on my boots to ride for an hour—met Careless at the stable—rode together—asked me to dine with him and meet Jack Sedley, who is just returned from France—two to three, returned home and dressed—four to seven, dinner and wine—Jack very pleasant—told some good stories—says the French women have thick legs—no hunting to be got, and very little wine—won’t go there in a hurry—seven, went to the stable, and then looked in at the coffee-house—very few drunken men, and nothing going forwards—agreed to play Sedley at billiards—Walker’s table engaged, and forced to go to the Blue Posts—lost two guineas—thought I could have beat him, but the dog has been practising in France—ten, supper at Careless’s—bought Sedley’s mare for thirty guineas—think he knows nothing of a horse, and believe I have done him. Drank a little punch and went to bed at twelve.

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Off to a Badger-Baiting.

“Wednesday.—Hunted with the Duke of B.—very long run, rode the new mare, found her sinking, so pulled up in time and swore I had a shoe lost—to sell her directly—buy no more horses of Sedley—knows more than I thought he did.—Four, returned home, and as I was dressing to dine with Sedley, received a note from some country neighbours of my father’s to desire me to dine at the Cross—obliged to send an excuse to Sedley—wanted to put on my cap and gown—cap broke and gown not to be found, forced to borrow—half after four to ten, at the Cross with my Lions—very loving evening indeed—ten, found it too bad, so got up and told them it was against the rules of the university to be out later.