By the side of the Press boat, the Umpire's boat--a craft similar in build and appearance--was anchored, many of the passengers wearing the rival colors; the Americans drinking brandy and soda to refresh themselves, and the Englishmen giving odds on Oxford with great good will and humor. The picture on the river was a most striking one, and worthy of a master's brush, with its vivid color, the striking dresses of the crowds, the flags and bunting from housetops and steam funnels; the green-leaved trees, their branches covered with human fruit, and the hot August sun, just losing its intensity, as a cool breeze came down from the direction of Mortlake to ruffle the surface of the river, its eddies and wavelets sparkling and dancing like diamonds of price. It was now within a few minutes of five o'clock. There was a sudden hum above on the river, at a place called the Crab Tree, as the Oxford crew got into their boat, and the hum became distinct and swelled into a pronounced noise, and the noise became a great solid, full cheer from a hundred thousand throats, as the bright blue blades of the Oxford Four were dipped in the water, and they came paddling down the stream in their narrow shell to take position by the Umpire's boat near the bridge. They paddled easily, and took position with a quiet look in their fair English faces that impressed every American favorably. Then there was another hum as before, when the Harvard crew came down from the boat-house of the London Rowing Club, and a tremendous cheer as their boat came up to the Middlesex shore--in among the seedy long grass. And now let us look for a moment at the two crews as they sit there passively awaiting the order to "go." The Harvard boat is long, narrow, and the frail cedar wood timbers that compose it are polished like a steel mirror. Its nose and bow are sharp as a lancet, and amidships it is but a few inches out of the water. So frail, and yet to carry the good or bad fortune of a mighty nation's hope. [Sidenote: LORING'S CONDITION.] The Harvard crew wore white flannel shirts, the sleeves cut away at the shoulders, with white drawers shortened above the ankles, and white fillets bound around their temples to save their heads from the sun's rays. To a spectator they looked magnificent--all of them bronzed as they sat well forward in the boat, their skins like a new guinea. Burnham, the coxswain, had his back to the steamer and faced the stroke, Mr. Loring. Burnham looked stout, massive, and in good condition. His broad back, rather too broad for a coxswain, gave an idea of endurance and "staying" more useful in a stroke than a "cox." His face was tanned, and his quick, restless eyes scanned the broad Thames with a short, momentary glance, and then they rested on Simmons, the hope of the American boat.