At "Craven Cottage" Oxford gains slightly, but the fact is hardly noticed by the Harvard men, who can see but one thing, and that is the Harvard boat, now ahead by a length and a half. I never imagined that Loring could do the work he is now doing, which is superhuman, and therefore cannot last. At the "Soap Works," a crazy old place, Darbishire seems to be creeping up, and his stroke is most assuredly telling on the Harvard energy and fire. Oxford is now pulling 40, and the cheers are deafening from the shore, while cries and exclamations and yells of encouragement come from the countless wherries, stationary barges, and craft of all kinds that line the Surrey side. [Illustration: THE UNIVERSITY RACE.] "Well pulled, Willan. Nobly done for Exeter," shouts an excited Oxford University man from a small boat. "You are sure to win." [Sidenote: BURNHAM'S BAD STEERING.] "Oh, _go_ it Harvard; _go_ it Harvard. 'Rah--'Rah--'Rah--'Rah. Hit her up, Loring." "Keep your steam on, Burnham. Don't get frightened." "What's the matter with Harvard, now," says a Harvard man to a dignified English gentleman on the Press boat. "Wonderful stroke, sir; 'fraid it can't last. Great power, sir, in the Oxford crew," says the old gentleman rather curtly. "Well done, Simmonds, you are the man for my money," cries a Western man who has a bottle of soda water in his hand, and has been betting heavily all the way down the river on the boat. Opposite the "Doves," Harvard goes away splendidly from Oxford; but now the Harvard men on the steamboats begin to notice something queer in the steering of Burnham. Briefly, he is steering wide of his race, and very badly, and his nerve seems to be going, for the boat looks quite unsteady and veers in the water more than she ought to. Now we are rounding a bend in the river, and the great, single span of Hammersmith Bridge looms up before us. Every coigne of vantage on this immense pile, from one side of the river to the other, is covered with vehicles, broughams, carriages, 'busses, and at least thirty thousand people are clustered and hanging on to the structure in a most astonishing manner. It was a mad sight, that bridge, with the great swaying masses, pushing, shouting, and fighting to get a look at the boats. Cries of "Hoxford," "Hoxford," come down from above our heads as we near the bridge, and the excitement is perfectly terrific. We have already passed a quarter of a million of people, to estimate them in the rough, and still they line the banks above us in impenetrable masses. The waving of handkerchiefs and shouting is enough to make a man lose his senses, if the race did not claim so much attention from the spectators. Harvard prepares to shoot under the bridge, being still a length and a half ahead, but Loring is not doing his work so stoutly now, although the Harvard boat glides through the water at 46 strokes a minute. The pace is too hard and it will not and cannot last five minutes longer.