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Cambridge!" "That's your sort, light blue!" "Take the bumptiousness out of 'em, Vialls!" "Glorious, Oxford !" Hurrah, seven-oars!" "They can't shake you off!" "Here's a go!" "Oar and oar, by all that's wonderful!" "Dark blue goes ahead!" "Hurrah!"

"By Jove!" exclaimed Cobbold, as he cleared at a bound one of the fences about half-way down the course, alighting heavily on a Cambridge man's toe; "our fellows are really holding their own. The others can't get away,

though they're working hard all.”

"Get away!" responded Hunt, picking himself up out of a rather miry ditch as he spoke. "Get away! I should think not indeed! Our fellows mean to win, and they will. See if they don't."

"It isn't possible, you know," exclaimed Cobbold. "It's a wonder how with seven oars they can manage to row at all. And yet," he added a moment afterwards, "upon my life, they are going ahead! They really are, though I can hardly believe my eyes."

He was not the only one so amazed. About half the course, as the reader has heard, had now been traversed. During this time the boats had been partially sheltered by the opposite bank from a sharpish wind, which was blowing across the stream. Thus far, therefore, the disproportionate force on one side of the Oxford boat had to be counteracted by the rudder; and this, of course, retarding the boat's way, the Oxonians, notwithstanding the most desperate and gallant exertions, could only just contrive to keep their bow level with that of their adversaries. But at the point which the crews had now reached, the river was more exposed to the wind;

and this, being in favour of the three-oared side of the boat, allowed the coxswain to slacken the rudder again, while it acted unfavourably against one side of the opponents'. The effect of this became almost instantly apparent. The dark-blue jerseys began to move, slowly but surely, away from their antagonists. Presently their steersman was on a level with the bow of the Cambridge. In spite of the most resolute efforts of the light blue. their rivals continued slowly to draw ahead, until, as they neared the spot where the barges were moored, they were nearly two lengths in advance. A very short distance, comparatively, had now to be surmounted, and it was almost impossible for the Cambridge Rooms to recover their ground.

It would be vain to attempt any description of the frenzy of delight which this extraordinary result produced on the excited Oxonians. They capered, they waved their hats, they yelled themselves hoarse with rapture. When the gallant seven oars at length stepped ashore, they were surrounded by a troop of admiring devotees, who did not know how sufficiently to express their admiration. Long afterwards, even to the present day, the memory of this extraordinary feat has been retained. The steersman's seat and the timbers of the boat in which the seven oars won their victory has been converted into a chair, preserved in the University barge, with the names of the crew engraved upon it.* Whether it was, after all, the marvel it has been declared to be, may be open to doubt; but that it was an extraordinary instance of what pluck and resolution may accomplish, as well as a most

*The gift of Alderman Randall, of Oxford.

spirited and stirring scene, none who witnessed it will ever dispute.

A word or two of comment may not be amiss. All fair-minded men will, now at least, agree that the Cambridge men were unjustly blamed for their refusal to allow a new oar to be taken into the Oxford boat, or to turn out one of their own crew. No one can doubt that every man among them was as unwilling to row against a crippled antagonist, as he would have been to fight with an adversary, whose arm was in a sling. Nothing but a sense of justice to the numerous persons who had staked their money on the race, would have induced them to refuse their assent to the suggestion of the stewards. It is said, indeed, that their resolution did give way just at the last (though too late to effect the alteration) under the severe pressure put upon them. On the other hand, it would be hard to blame the Oxford men for feeling aggrieved at what seemed to them, under the excitement of the moment, an unworthy refusal of a reasonable demand. The blame rather rests-first, with the rules of the regatta, which forbade the substitution of a new man under the circumstances of the case; and secondly, with the stewards, who ought to have decided the matter, one way or the other, themselves, instead of throwing the odium of the responsibility on one of the parties engaged in the struggle.

CHAPTER XIV.

AN AFTERNOON OF MISHAPS.

N the Saturday morning, Osborne and Wilton, having taken leave of their hosts, embarked once more in their boats, and started for Endicot. They had returned rather later than had been intended on the previous evening; and an animated discussion on the great event of the day had taken place among the gentlemen over the supper-table, detaining them so long, that it was past twelve o'clock before they got to bed. The breakfast was, in consequence, an hour later than usual the next morning; and when that was over, so many civil speeches had to be made, and thanks rendered, that it was approaching twelve o'clock before the two Oxonians had cleared Wargrave lock. But this consideration did not trouble them much. The distance to be rowed was nothing to speak of-nothing at all, when compared with their row of the Thursday previous. The weather was delightfully warm -the only fear being that it would become too warm, as

the afternoon came on. They rowed leisurely down to Henley, and were just passing through the reach which had been the scene of such intense excitement on the previous day, when they were hailed by a well-remembered voice, and perceived Cobbold and Hunt located in a punt, under the shade of some trees on the Buckinghamshire shore-Hunt employed apparently in the study of a green railway novel, and Cobbold stretched at his full length on some boating jackets, enjoying the dolce far niente of the situation to the utmost.

"Hallo, Wilton, there! Siste viam pelago, duramque huc flecte carinam,' as the siren said to Ulysses. Whatever are you dreaming of, to be rowing after that fashion on a regular broiler like this?"

"Hallo, Jerry!" returned Wilton; "I thought you had been off to London long ago."

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'No; the coaches, I believe, were full. At all events, there was a frightful crowd. Hunt and I agreed we'd stay another day, and have some fishing. But it's too hot, and there's too little wind for fishing. One can do nothing on a day like this, but lie still, and eat and drink.”

"Three very pleasant things, I've no doubt, Jerry," observed Osborne, laughing, "when you've nothing else to do; but we've got to reach Endicot by tea-time, and we're behind time already."

"Endicot? That's no distance at all. Why, you'd do that in four hours or less, I should think."

"Not less, and hardly in four, unless we rowed pretty hard; and I'm not disposed for that, under this sun," rejoined Osborne.

"I should think not. Now, just listen. We've got a

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