One of the first places of interest to which the visitor to Harvard University is directed is the gymnasium, and if attended by a student it is extremely improbable that he will escape from the building without first inspecting the Trophy Room, or as one is informed by the inscription on the door, the Meeting Room. Trophy it should be called; meeting room is a conundrum that has puzzled the undergraduate brain since the erection of the gymnasium, and will probably continue to do so. There is a tradition that the candidates for the Mott Haven team were once notified to assemble there, and with this single exception, there is no record of any kind of a meeting ever having taken place there, either spiritual or temporal. Grouped picturesquely on the walls and ceiling are the pennants which tell of many a closely contested race at Worcester, Saratoge, New London and on the Charles. In a case at one side are deposited a large number of base-balls, which bear witness to the games in which Harvard has been the victor. Hanging on the walls are photographs of the winning crews of all the class races which have taken place since their institution, while pictures of foot-ball, lacrosse and cricket teams, as well as of prominent college athletes contribute their part towards Harvard's history. Fastened to the walls near the floor are wooden tablets on which are inscribed the names of those students who have succeeded in breaking or tieing the best Harvard record in running, leaping and other field sports. Every pennant, ball and record has its history telling of the last hot minutes of the race, the winning run, and the final spurt. No easy victories those,-won only after a deal of work and a desperate struggle with an equally welltrained opponent.

One would scarcely notice that unpretentious blue flag with gilt border which falls gracefully from one of the supports, and on which is the brief inscription: "Harvard vs. Yale, Lake Quinsigamond, 1866." But it is the emblem of one of the first, prettiest, and most decisive races that Harvard ever rowed. Decisive from the fact that the Harvard stroke which had been in vogue some time among the class crews, was for the first time to be tested by the university boat. The first Harvard-Yale race was to have taken place in '58, but owing to the death of Yale's coxswain, by drowning in an unfortunate collision of boats, it was deferred. It had been proposed to have that race on the Connecticut river, near Springfield, but on account of the disadvantage of rowing against a current, it was decided to have the next race come off on Lake Quinsigamond, near Worcester. This sheet of water is undoubtedly one of the finest courses in the United States, as it is free from all currents, and is small enough to avoid a swell. It was reluctantly given up when the number of men in the crews was changed from six to eight, and the distance was raised to four miles. Accordingly, in the regatta of '59 and '60 Quinsigamond saw the crimson wave victorious, and an impetus given to a sport which is now so prominent a feature of American college life. In 1861 the call for volunteers was responded to by many a patriotic son of Harvard and Yale who would otherwise have competed for the laurels of the oar. Partly on this account, and partly because the faculty seemed disinclined to favor a continuance of the sport, the annual boat-race was given up.

In '64, however, when the war was virtually ended and a change of policy had been inaugurated by the faculty, it was deemed expedient to revive the custom. In '64 and '65, Harvard again measured the merits of her oarsmen with those of Yale, but was in each instance signally defeated. The record now stood two to two, and consequently the race of '66 was looked forward to with the deepest interest by both colleges. Every possible exertion was made by the crews in order to be thoroughly prepared, and they were urged on by the members of both colleges. Harvard, for once, seemed to lose her customary indifference, and the merits of the crews and of the new stroke were the topics of conversation on every hand. At last, July 27th came, and with it the usual rush of collegians to Worcestes. A ball match and several races of minor importance were quickly finished, and at three o'clock in the afternoon of an almost perfect day, the Crimson and the Blue for the fifth time in the history of inter-collegiate boating, confronted each other. From the banks as well as from a countless number of steamboats and small craft, fluttered strips of color which showed the presence of the respective adherents of Harvard and Yale. Of course the Blue, as is usual until after the race, predominated. A glance at the boats as they back up against the line show that Yale is slightly heavier; but the snug, trimbuilt figures of the Harvard men instinctively inspire confidence. A warning from the referee, a pistol shot, and they are off. The spray is dashed in the air by twelve oars, twelve backs rise and fall with the regularity of clockwork. Cries of "Yale !" and "Harvard !" burst from the throats of thousands of spectators, while the noise of steam whistles and of several bands of music contribute to the general uproar. Yale, spurred on by the excitement, starts in on a spurt which sends the nose of her boat to the front, while Harvard, on the outside, gives a dozen quick strokes as a starter, and then settles down to steady work. Yale eases up on her spurt and Harvard pushed her boat a little to the front, but at the turning stake Yale starts on the homeward trip a length ahead of Harvard, which she maintains until the beginning of the last mile, when Harvard quickens her stroke and pushes up to and by her. Yale makes a determined effort to regain her ground but her spurts at the first of the race have taken the life out of her and she settles back to second place. On the last half mile word is passed to Harvard's stroke to "hit her up," and pulling steadily and in splendid form she crosses the line in 18m. 13s., with Yale bringing up the procession seven seconds behind, and the Harvard-Yale race of '66 is a thing of the past.