At half past 1 o'clock the press boat had been advertised to leave the Temple Pier for the scene of the race. Taking a cab at the head of Regent street, I had a good opportunity to observe the streets and shops and numerous vehicles. Of the six or seven thousand cabs which are to be found at the different stands all over London, hardly one this morning but is in some way decorated for the festival. These sharp-eyed, cunning-looking cabbies, in their careless attire, each with a brass medal depending from his breast, giving his number and license, have an eye to the main chance. Their long whips are tipped with short bows of blue ribbon in the greater number, while a few have magenta ties. Out of respect for the Yankees, they will charge them to-day a shilling a head more than they dare ask from an Englishman. The great clumsy busses, that look more like advertising vans than vehicles for the purpose of carrying passengers, are splendid this day with decoration. They are made, as the sign above each tells you, to carry twelve inside and sixteen outside. The drivers of the busses have a more respectable look and are more profound in their wit than the cabbies. They have a solid British look that tells plainly of roast beef and careful usage. The cabbies are to the buss drivers a sort of gypsies, and are looked upon by them with suspicion. Every omnibus is crowded with passengers this cheerful, sunny day. All London seems going to the race. Dry goods clerks, licensed victualers, "cads," grocers, public-house keepers, bar-boys, stable-boys, bar-maids, servant-maids, well-to-do tradesmen and their wives and children, apothecaries' assistants, golden-haired milliners nicely gloved, dressmakers' apprentices, pickpockets, peers of the United Kingdom, University men in cap and gown, Charter House boys with yellow stockings on their legs, and dark-blue frocks fastened at their waists with leather straps, wandering Americans displaying large diamonds and shocking bad hats, Westminster schoolboys on the foundation of Elizabeth, the Dean of St. Paul's in his shovel hat, city men, brokers and bankers, watermen from the Thames, professional oarsmen, Jew and Gentile;--they are all interested and will all see the race or a part of it. I never saw anything like this great crowd before. It is believed that two hundred and fifty thousand people is the average number that are in the habit of witnessing a Cambridge and Oxford boat-race, but Cambridge has been beaten so often that the interest does not compare at one of these races with the tumultuous, all-pervading feeling that is borne in every man's bosom as he hurries along to-day. It is not so very certain that Harvard will be beaten, although it is rumored here and there that Loring, the stroke of the crew, is unwell, which rumor only tends to increase the odds on Oxford.