leveller of all distinctions; and many a pleasant conversation took place
about its wooden trough. No student thought of owning an equipage, and a
Russell or a Longworth would as soon have hired a sedan chair as a horse
and buggy, when he might have gone on foot. Good pedestrianism was the
pride of the Harvard student; and an honest, wholesome pride it was.
There was also some good running. Both Julian Hawthorne and Thomas W.
Ward ran to Concord, a distance of sixteen miles, without stopping, I
believe, by the way. William Blaikie, the stroke of the University crew,
walked to New York during the Thanksgiving recess--six days in all.

The undergraduates had not yet become acquainted with tennis, the most
delightful of light exercises, and foot-ball had not yet been regulated
according to the rules of Rugby and Harrow. The last of the pernicious
foot-ball fights between Sophomores and Freshmen took place in September,
1863, and commenced in quite a sanguinary manner. A Sophomore named
Wright knocked over Ellis, the captain of the Freshman side, without
reason or provocation, and was himself immediately laid prostrate by a
red-headed Scotch boy named Roderick Dhu Coe, who seemed to have come to
college for the purpose, for he soon afterwards disappeared and was never
seen there again. With the help of Coe and a few similar spirits, the
Freshmen won the game. It was the first of President Hill's reforms to
abolish this brutal and unseemly custom.

The New York game of base-ball, which has since assumed such mammoth
proportions, was first introduced in our colleges by Wright and Flagg, of
the Class of '66; and the first game, which the Cambridge ladies
attended, was played on the Delta in May of that year with the
Trimountain Club of Boston. Flagg was the finest catcher in New England
at that time; and, although he was never chosen captain, he was the most
skillful manager of the game. It was he who invented the double-play