FOOTBALL, BANNED BY FACULTY IN 1860, WAS INTERRED WITH CEREMONY ON DELTA

The present agitation over the football situation has an amusing counterpart in the excltement concerning the game more than 60 years ago. Interclass football was abolished by order of the Faculty in 1860, due to the roughness in the annual Sophomore-Freshman game; and a pompous funeral of "Football Fightum" was held. An elaborate account of the funeral is given in a scrapbook kept by C. C. Read '64, and is reprinted below.

Yesterday, just at dusk, the Sophomore class of 1863 assembled with proper decorum, to perform the funeral obsequies of the football.

It will be remembered that the Faculty, by a vote of July 2, 1860, prohibited the usual football match between the newly made Sophomores and Freshmen.

This time honored institution has heretofore been celebrated on the first Monday in September and has been witnessed by hundreds of spectators, ladies and gentlemen, assembled from Boston and vicinity, comprising all the friends of the collegians.

"Mourners" March in Costume

The procession consisted of a Grand Marshal, with a huge bearskin cap and baton, assistants with craped staves and torches; a coffin, six feet long, inscribed "Football, 1860," borne by four pall bearers: the Chaplain, with a very large craped that, and huge eye-glasses; the class, wearing invalied beavers inscribed "63," and having crape tied on the right leg. Behind the coffin were the gravestones made of wood, painted black, with the following inscription in white letters: (Headstone) HIC JACET FOOTBALL FIGHTUM AET LX YRS OBIIT, JULY 2, '60. RESURGAT (Footstone) FOOTBALL, 1860 IN MEMORLAM, (over a winged skull,)

The procession marched to the music of two mufiled brass bands, to the Delta, where the football game is usually played, and formed a circle, surrounded by a large crowd of students and others. The sextons dog the grave, while the Chaplain delivered the funeral oration, of which we are able to give a verbatim report:

Funeral Oration

Dearly Beloved:--We have met together on this mournful occasion to perform the sad offices over one whose long and honored life was put an end to 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 more years to be added to a long life, which even then eclipsed the "Oldest graduates."

"Exult, Ye Freshmen!"

When he rose exulting in the air, propelled by the toe of the valiant Ropes, looking like the war-angle sounding the onset and hovering o'er the mingling fray, we little thought then, that today he would lie so low, surrounded by weep-ing "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 by the aegies of Minerva.

The Upperclassmen Grieve

But for us there is naught but sorrow, the sweet associations and tender memoirs 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 outbursts of grieved spirits and sad hearts. What remains for me to say is short and in the words of a well known poem.

But one drum we had with its funeral note,

As the coffin we hitherward hurried, And in crape we are decked, for proudly we dote.

On the football that is soon to be buried.

We'll bury him sadly, at dim twilight,

As day, into night is just turning, With a solemn dirge, by the dismal light.

Of the torches dimly burning. With pall and bier that's borne by the crew,

And the headstone carried behind them, His corpse shall ride, with becoming pride,

With martial music before him.

Gainst the Faculty, let not a word be said.

Thought we cannot but speak our sprrow,

We'll steadfastly gaze on the face of the dead,

And bitterly think on the morrow.

We think as we hollow the narrow bed,

And fasten the humble foot board,

That tomorrow at chapel we'll see no black eyes.

Or noses that show thev've been hit hard.

The Faculty talk of the spirity, that gone,

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, But little we'll care, if they'll let him sleep on,

In the grave where a Sophomore laid him.

This time that over heavy task were done,

And I would advise our retiring, Or we'll hear the voice of some savage one.

For the ring-leader gruffly inquiring.

Dirge Follows Oration

The coffin was then lowered into the grave, and while the sextons filled it up, the class united in singing the following dirge, to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne":-

Ah! Woe betide the luckless time.

When manly sports decay, And football stigmatized as crime, Must sadly pass away.

Beneath this sod we lay you down, This seen of glorious fight.

With dismal groans and yells we'll drown Your mournful burial rite.

Chorus:

For sixty-three will never see Such a cruel murder done,

And not proclaim the deed of shame, No! Let's unlte as one.

Cheeru ware then given for the Senior and Junior classes, and groaus for the Faculty, after which the procession marched home singing their old College songs, and the crowd which had gathered dispersed.