“Osbaldeston’s mother sat by in her carriage, and enjoyed the match; and then,” said Beldham, “Lambert was called to the carriage and bore away a paper parcel: some said it was a gold watch,--some, bank notes. Trust Lambert to keep his own secrets. We were all curious, but no one ever knew:”--nor ever will know. In March, 1851, I addressed a letter to him at Reigate. Soon, a brief paragraph announced the death of “the once celebrated cricket player William Lambert.”
A DARK CHAPTER IN THE HISTORY OF CRICKET.
The lovers of cricket may congratulate themselves that matches, at the present day, are made at cricket, as at chess, rather for love and the honour of victory than for money.
It is now many years since Lord’s was frequented by men with book and pencil, betting as openly and professionally as in the ring at Epsom, and ready to deal in the odds with any and every person of speculative propensities. Far less satisfactory was the state of things with which Lord F. Beauclerk and Mr. Ward had to contend, to say nothing of the earlier days of the Earl of Winchelsea and Sir Horace Mann. As to the latter period, “Old Nyren” bewails its evil doings. He speaks of one who had “the trouble of proving himself a rogue,” and also of “the legs of Marylebone,” who tried, for once in vain, to corrupt some primitive specimens of Hambledon innocence. He says, also, that the grand matches of his day were always made for 500_l._ a side. Add to this the fact that bets were in proportion; and that Jim and Joe Bland, of turf notoriety, with Dick Whitlom of Covent Garden, Simpson, a gaming-house keeper, and Toll of Esher, as regularly attended at a match as Crockford and Gully at Epsom and Ascot; and the idea that all the Surrey and Hampshire rustics should either want or resist strong temptations to sell, is not to be entertained for a moment. The constant habit of betting will take the honesty out of any man. A half-crown sweepstakes, or betting such odds as lady’s long kids to gentleman’s short ditto, is all very fair sport; but, if a man, after years of high betting, can still preserve the fine edge and tone of honest feeling he is indeed a wonder. To bet on a certainty all admit is swindling. If so, to bet where you feel it is a certainty, must be very bad moral practice.