Another pleasing occurrence of a quite different character happened during Commencement. At this time the authorities chose certain men, who had distinguished themselves during their course, and gave them “parts.” I remember Fenollosa of my class, who afterward became the Imperial Commissioner of Arts for the Japanese government, was one of these selected, and delivered an essay on Leibnitz. The students always held fake Commencement and caricatured the parts. A boy can be disrespectful or irreverent, and a thing is generally no good if he does not make fun of it; but every now and then something hits him and he is serious. One of the students, Frank Low, had made himself so beloved by his fellows that they did not guy him, and I shall never forget how his mock part ran: Frank to all, Low in his own esteem. I wonder if this is not the kind of a mock part that America would write for Theodore Roosevelt? Arthur Bartlett Maurice, a Princeton graduate, once contradicted my statement that Harvard played the first game of intercollegiate football in America, claiming that honor for his own college. As Mr. Maurice is a much younger man than I, and must have it on hearsay, I am going to doubt his knowledge. Besides, I like my own story better. It was in my sophomore year, in 1872. Previous to this time, my class had started what later developed into the modern college yell. Each class had a cheer, generally ending with the usual, “Hip, hip, hurrah!” But, we being very personal, decided to give ours in a different way. So we would begin the following slowly, gradually increasing the speed and making it staccato at the end: Whoop her up for ’74 Whoop her up, whoop her up, Whoop her up for ’74 Whoop her up, whoop her up, Whoop her up for ’74 Whoop her up, whoop her up, Whoop her up for ’74— Rah! Rah! Rah! Hurrah became “rah,” and in order that the men should keep together, one of us would beat time, which I believe was the origin of the “yell leader.” Returning from the athletic field one day, Harry Grant, Coe Taylor (captain of the baseball team), a man named Herrick, Harry Morse, myself, and others saw a crowd of Cambridgeport boys—hoodlums—kicking a football about. We took it away from them and started kicking it ourselves. Some one suggested that it would be fun to have a real football—this was a round rubber one—so we all subscribed and sent into Boston for an egg-shaped one made of leather. To our consternation, we found we could not handle it at all. However, we were interested; some one found a book of rules and gradually we learned the game.