t-blue's winning,"
If ye would triumph in the end,
Remember the beginning!

P.S. The Muse true to her sex,
Less to be blamed than pitied,
A Post-script must of course annex
To state a point omitted.
When Granta glorying in success
With Camus pours her orisons;
One name she gratefully must bless,
That name is mighty Morrison's.

THE GREAT BOAT-RACE.

1. HAWKSHAW 3rd Trinity. 5. KINGLAKE 3rd Trinity.
2. PIGOTT Corpus. 6. BORTHWICK 1st Trinity.
3. WATSON Pembroke. 7. STEAVENSON Trinity Hall.
4. HAWKINS Lady Margaret. 8. SELWYN 3rd Trinity.
Steerer, ARCHER, Corpus.

BEFORE THE RACE.

Come, list to me, who wish to hear the glories of our crew,
I'll tell you all the names of those who wear the
Cambridge Blue.
First HAWKSHAW comes, a stalwart bow, as
tough as oak, nay tougher;
Look at him ye who wish to see the Antipodes to "duffer."
Swift as the Hawk in airy flight, strong as the guardsman SHAW,
We men of mortal muscles must contemplate him with awe.
Though I dwell by Cam's slow river, and I hope
am not a bigot,
I think that Isis cannot boast a better man than PIGOTT:
Active, and strong, and steady, and never known to shirk,
Of Corpus the quintessence, he is always fit for work.
The men of Thames will be amazed when they
see our "Three" so strong,
And doubt if such a mighty form to mortal mould belong.
"_What son_ is this?" they, one and all, will ask
in awe and wonder;
The men of Cam will answer make, "A mighty son of thunder."
Next HAWKINS comes at "number 4," the sole surviving pet
Of the patroness of rowing, the Lady Margaret;
When they think of his broad shoulders, and
strong and sinewy arms,
Nor parents dear, nor brothers stern, need foster fond alarms.
O! a tear of love maternal in Etona's eye will quiver
When she sees her favourate KINGLAKE also
monarch of the river.
Oh! that I could honour fitly in this unassuming song
That wondrous combination of steady, long, and strong.
Then comes a true-blue mariner from the ever-glorious "First,"
In the golden arms of Glory and the lap of Victory nurst;
Though blue may be his colours, there are better oarsmen few,
And Oxford when it sees him will perhaps look still more blue.
Then comes the son of STEPHEN, as solid as a wall;
We need not