THE origin of football seems to be the old "rushes" between the Sophomores and Freshmen. The Delta (the name given to the space now occupied by Memorial Hall) was the scene of those terrible contests which so characterized the opening life of the Freshmen. The game - for game they called it, though it was no more than a fight - began at half-past six and was often prolonged far into the night. Few of us now at College can conceive of the enthusiasm which attended a rush. The fence enclosing the Delta was packed with Juniors and Seniors, while the road was literally thronged with lookers-on. The classes now stand front to front, the word is given for the kick-off (first blow), then the struggle has begun. The Freshmen's head man, with his backers, throws himself into the heart of the Sophs, and is knocked down without the least ceremony. The indignant class rush forward to avenge their leader. Then one was deafened by the cries, - "At them, Freshies!" "Down with them, Sophs!" the Seniors urging on the Sophomores, and the Juniors the Freshmen. Soon the football was forgotten, and the game was wont to take the appearance of the traditional bloody rush. Usually the fight became so fierce that there was need of a band of proctors to clear the field. Often six or seven of the Sophs ruminated over this night's struggle for six months in some retired spot in Maine or New Hampshire. In 1860 the Faculty, feeling the contests had grown too savage in late years, decided to prohibit the encounter, and therefore the undergraduates determined upon having a solemn closing service, - namely, the burial of the football.

After tea the Delta and its vicinity was not thronged as usual with students in their most ragged attire, and with spectators; but ere long the sound of drum was heard, and soon a procession appeared, at the head of which was a drum-major, or grand-marshal, with a huge bearskin cap and baton, followed by two students; the elegist, with his Oxford cap and black gown, and brows and cheeks cropped so as to appear as if wearing huge goggles; four spade-bearers, six pall-bearers, with a six-foot coffin on their shoulders. They looked poverty-stricken: their hats, with rims torn off or turned in, bore the figures '63 in front; their apparel being such as is suited to the tearing football fight, and their left legs having crape on them. "The procession moved on," says John Langdon Sibley, "in perfect order to the Delta, and halted under the trees towards the upper end, where a circle was formed, and the coffin passed around for the friends to take a last look at the contents, - simply a football, with painted frill fastened to the head of the coffin." The elegist then, in the most excessively mock sanctimonious manner, amid sighs and sobs and groans and lamentations, the noise of which might have been heard for a mile, read by torch-light the address, which we will reprint, with Mr. King's permission, from the Harvard Register: -

"DEARLY BELOVED, - We have met together upon this mournful occasion to perform the sad offices over one whose long and honored life was put to an end in a sudden and violent manner. Last year, at this very time, in this very place, our poor friend's round, jovial appearance (slightly swollen, perhaps), and the elasticity of his movements, gave promise of many years more to be added to a long life which even then eclipsed the oldest graduate's. When he rose exulting in the air, propelled by the toe of the valiant Ropes, looking like the war angel sounding the onset and hovering over the mingling fray, we little thought then that to-day he would lie so low, surrounded by weeping Sophs! Exult, ye Freshmen, and clap your hands! The wise men who make big laws around a little table have stretched out their arms to encircle you, and for this once, at least, your eyes and noses are protected; you are shielded behind the aegis of Minerva. But for us there is naught but sorrow, the sweet associations and tender memories of eyes bunged up, of noses wonderfully distended, of battered shins, the many chance blows anteriorly and posteriorly received and delivered, the rush, the struggle, the VICTORY! They call forth our deep regret and unaffected tears. The enthusiastic cheers, the singing of 'Auld Lang Syne,' each student grasping a brother's hand, - all, all have passed away, and will soon be buried with the football beneath the sod, to live hereafter only as a dream in our memories and in the College annals. Brothers, pardon my emotion, and if I have kept you already too long, pardon me this also. On such an occasion as this but few words can be spoken, but those must be spoken, for they are the outburst of grieved spirits and sad hearts."

A poem followed, and then, with cheers for the various classes and groans for the Faculty, the students dispersed in good order.

The College had no organized football team until Mr. Harry Grant with Mr. Arthur Ellis and Mr. W. J. Prince got together the first fifteen to play against McGill College, May 14, 1874. The first game with any American college was played with Yale, Nov. 13, 1875, Harvard winning with four goals and four touch-downs. Up to '82's entrance into College, Harvard had won fourteen games, lost five, and had one draw. The captains have been Mr. Grant, Mr. Ellis, Mr. Whiting, Mr. Cushing, Mr. Bacon, and Mr. Manning.