“Dear B.—To-day the first race of the season comes off. Be at my room not later than two, and I will show you the way. D. I. H.”

Such were the contents of a curiously twisted note which I found upon my breakfast table one morning on returning from lectures. The writer was a Bachelor Fellow of Trinity, who knew more about America and Americans than any other Cantab then resident. Poor fellow! he had rather too much intercourse with us for his own profit: when the U. S. Bank blew up, “Dunny H.” was in for some £1000, or it may have been more—he never would own how much.

But I am digressing. There was not much time to lose, for it wanted but a quarter of two, and “Dunny” was a punctual man. So, arming myself with an umbrella (it has a habit of raining at least once a day in England), I sallied forth to witness for the first time that exciting spectacle, a University boat-race.

There is one great point where the English have the advantage over us: they understand how to take care of their health. Not that the Cantabs are either “tee-totallers” or “Grahamites.”