rs?" "Go it, white legs!"
"Who's yer hatter?" and many similar cries, all testify to the joyous
humour of the riverside youth.

Hardly less amusing are the comments of the crowd as the men pass
through to their boat-house. "That's Nickalls," explains the
well-informed gentleman as a Cambridge man goes by. Or, as the
lightweight hurries past, "Don't look as if 'e could do it," remarks a
bystander, "looks to want a day out at grass for them calves." Or,
"'Ere, I say, 'e's eat a bit of beef in his day, I know," as the heavy
man comes in sight. It is a good-humoured crowd, and if the strong
tobacco is a bit offensive when one's not allowed to smoke oneself,
things can't be always as we should like them to be.

[Illustration: "'E'S EAT A BIT OF BEEF IN HIS DAY."]

[Illustration: "GETTING RID OF FAT."]

It is the custom for the Oxford crew to use the London Rowing Club
boat-house, while the Cambridge men are accommodated at the Leander Club
next door, and there is accordingly a good crowd in front of each at
practice times, eager to see the men on whose prowess their own modest
half-crowns are staked. Unfortunately, as some of my readers may have
experienced, it is not always easy to find out the exact time when the
crews are going out. In fact, the Captain is an autocrat on these
occasions, who rules alike over crew, critics, and the general public
without distinction of persons, and who shows a splendid indifference
for the latter's convenience. He launches the boat at all kinds of
wondrous times, not shrinking from starting half-an-hour or more before
the time he has arranged, and thus disappointing a number of would-be
spectators. It is even said that he often chooses parts of the river for
doing the hard work where there are no well-known landmarks, so that no
clear "line" can be given to the outside public. This may be so. The
workings of the Presidential mind are dark and mysterious. But I doubt
if the convenience of the public has sufficient weight with him either
one way or the other to influence his plans in that manner. And though
perhaps this indifference may be carried too far, yet the idea which
underlies it is a perfectly just one. The University Boat Race began as
a private match, of a more or less impromptu character (those were the
days when they rowed from Westminster to Putney in a huge Noah's Ark of
a boat, and stopped for beer and biscuits on the way down, and when, it
is said, the Speaker of the Hou