The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1869-07-17 00:00:00

THE GREAT CRICKET MATCH AT

LORDS.

As many of our readers take great Interest In the healthful
and harmless game of cricket, the f-llowing ii teresth.g
de.eription (from ,he Daily News) of the assemblage who
were present at the annual match between the Eton and
Harrow "boys," last week. In which Eton won by all innings
awl nineteen runs, will not be uninteresting :
Many things coml me to render the Eton and Harrow
Cricket Ntatch one of the fashionable events of the
year. The season, the relations of the players to
people of rank, and the situation of the ground, go for
a great deal; while, if the weather is only fa, ourable,
the athletic contest between the two famous school' in
sure to be attended by witnesses far more chi doe ttian
the mixed multitude to he found on the banks of the
Thames at the Oxford and Cambridge boat rave.
The crowd at Lord's this year was very great. The
weather was everything that csnild be deldreil, and at,
cordingly Lord's had the benefit of a ravishing display
of the toilettes of the lawn and garden pa, ty order.
And. indeed, they were admirable, these light, gauzy
costumes, placed out of the way on the earn •1‘.89 and
in that position reconciling us to their abundance.
The carriages were at mule restaurant. and show.atalla
To them came for refreshment and light talk the men
who brought the latest cricket news, for the 1 idies in-
sisted on knowing how the game went. Underneath
these vehicles toiled Adolphus, the worn page, at the
opening of pies; while a mire cunning hand mixed the
ice cup or the cooling salad. Pigeon pies are always
to be found in hampers on thin ground. Invitations
to that vague luxury are incessant,. So are challenges
from fair dames to 'squires who are for betting gloves.
You know how sides are taken by the colours worn
—by the dark blue or the light blue. "I shall stick
to my parasol to the last !" defiantly cries an excited
blonde, who holds in her tiny hand a sunshade of the
Eton tout. These war cries are, however, part of the
fun When the game in over this fancy fair ceases not.
Perched on high seats are two beauties chatting with
a dandy who is hanging on by the rail, his legs on the
top of the wheel. Every outside part of this vehicle is
loaded with his kind, the inside being freighted with
huge flounces and their owners. It is the same all
round this ring—eating and flirting.
You do not here perceive that slight savour of dingi-
ness and patchouli which lingers in the Row. The
few tow-haired e7u,strwanes who are croi-ing about
are utterly ignored and half-abashed. Propriety has
nothing to blush for. Che. ry it is too, in addition to
the sight of the pretty women, to note the old boys
with the piece of significant rildstn in their button-
holes, watching the fortunes of play, and brightening
up at a brilliant hit, or cheering a clever fielder—
thinking, no doubt, 14 that time before chalk-stones or
rheumatism, when they could wield a hat for the
honour of the school. You observe how warmly they
gr.iet each other, and turn off for hospitable bouts, and
speak of the year when Tom So-and-So was captain
an] Plaume was consul. Some of them have lads of
their I.WII in the present match, and with that fact
you may easily become acquainted without eaves-
dropping.
But the plummeted eight is that of the boys—the