es, at last--the flash of the starting gun. Long
before the sound of the report can roll up the river, the whole
pent-up life and energy which has been held in leash, as it were,
for the last six minutes, is let loose, and breaks away with a
bound and a dash which he who has felt it will remember for his
life, but the like of which, will he ever feel again? The
starting-ropes drop from the coxswains' hands, the oars flash
into the water, and gleam on the feather, the spray flies from
them, and the boats leap forward.

The crowds on the bank scatter, and rush along, each keeping as
near as it may be to its own boat. Some of the men on the towing
path, some on the very edge of, often in, the water--some
slightly in advance, as if they could help to drag their boat
forward--some behind, where they can see the pulling better--but
all at full speed, in wild excitement, and shouting at the top of
their voices to those on whom the honor of the college is laid.

"Well pulled, all!" "Pick her up there, five!" "You're gaining,
every stroke!" "Time in the bows!" "Bravo, St. Ambrose!"

On they rushed by the side of the boats, jostling one another,
stumbling, struggling, and panting along.

For a quarter of a mile along the bank the glorious maddening
hurly-burly extends, and rolls up the side of the stream.

For the first ten strokes Tom was in too great fear of making a
mistake to feel or hear or see. His whole soul was glued to the
back of the man before him, his one thought to keep time, and get
his strength into the stroke. But as the crew settled down into
the well known long sweep, what we may call consciousness
returned; and while every muscle in his body was straining, and
his chest heaved, and his heart leapt, every nerve seemed to be
gathering new life, and his senses to wake into unwonted
acuteness. He caught the scent of the wild thyme in the air, and
found room in his brain to wonder how it could have got there, as
he had never seen the plant near the river, or smelt it before.
Though his eye never wandered from the back of Diogenes, he
seemed to see all things at once. The boat behind, which seemed
to be gaining--it was all he could do to prevent himself from
quickening on the stroke as he fancied that--the eager face of
Miller, with his compressed lips, and eyes fixed so earnestly
ahead that Tom could almost feel the glance passing over his
right shoulder; the flying banks and the shouting crowd; see them
wit