* * * * *

HOW TO REPORT THE PRACTICE OF THE CREWS.

(_NEWEST STYLE._)

Scarcely had the tintinabulum fixed on the altitude of the clock tower
of the ecclesiastical building known to fame and rowing men as Putney
Church sounded out the merry chimes of eleven in the forenoon, when
the wielders of the sky-blue (or dark-blue) blades were observed by
the eager frequenters of the tow-path carrying their trim-built ship
to the water's edge. Not many moments were cut to waste before each
man had safely ensconced himself on the thwart built for him under the
experienced eyes of the champion boat-builder. The men looked, it must
in all fairness be admitted, in the high level of condition. In each
eye there blazed a stern determination to do or die on every possible
occasion. When the signal to start was given, the boat was observed
to move with the bounding speed of a highly-trained greyhound. The
oars dipped into the water like one man, though a marked inclination
was observed on the part of two or three of the oarsmen to "hurry,"
while the rest seemed equally disposed to be "late." A few fatherly
words from the prince of modern coaches soon had the desired effect
of placing matters on a more completely satisfactory footing. The
suggestion often made in these columns that a swifter rate of striking
should be introduced, was acted upon. The boat moved with perfect
evenness, while the wavelets played round her like young dolphins out
for a holiday.

I need only add that our old friend Jupiter Pluvius proved once again