Officials       

With bated breathe the mighty concourse hung on the movements of the silent players dotted about on the green surface of the arena, ready, like hounds on a leash, for the order to get loose. The Scots had been led on by Captain Robertson, and Corinthian Smith showed the way to England. The English captain guessed the coin, and as the sun was behind some clouds and a light breeze blowing, he took the ball with him and faced the direction Old Sol was standing in. The judgment proved good, for in the second moiety Scotland found the sun's rays very strong in their eyes.
But let us to this game, which opened so suddenly with success. M'Coll gave the ball its initial impetus, and it went over to Campbell. Across to Smith on the extreme left and down the touch line deer hound like the Ranger darted. He dashed far on to the corner flag, and with a perfect screw he sent the ball like a cannon ball into the goal mouth. Here M'Coll was up, and catching the ball as it dropped, banged the sphere into the net. The remarkable start took even the onlookers aghast. The yell which had signalised the opening was still lingering in the air, and when it had been fully realised what had happened, the tremendous multitude gave vent to the enthusiasm pent up within them. And what a sight it was! This gathering, equal in men to Lord Roberts' whole army within a few acres, cheering and cheering with joy. No thought of Boer war or ambuscade disaster in any mind just then. Not even Lord Rosebery's, we trow. Stolidly the Saxons returned to the centre line. Bloomer from Smith's pass dashed off, but his pass was spoiled, and Robertson picking up the ball popped it over to Campbell. Moving like one man, the Scottish forwards fairly ran round the opposition. The English halves could not master the situation, they could not hold their men at all. M'Coll, Campbell, and Smith played with effect, and in a minute or two Bell landed a second point. The play which led up to the scoring was unfortunate to England. To be accurate in details let it be said Smith had shot the ball high over. As it was dropping Robinson saw it would come about ten yards from him, and he observed Bell coming tearing in from the wing. The Southampton goalkeeper therefore rushed out, and intended to punt it away. Oakley unfortunately made for it too, and collided with the custodian just as the ball was above them. Oakley fell stunned, Robinson missed through the concussion, and the Scotsman caught it. Oakley was hurt, and for five minutes lay on the ground. He was carried behind the goal, and it took him ten minutes before he recovered sufficiently to play. Resuming, the Englishmen set to work resolutely. They found the Scotch halves too much, and in act Raisbeck was so completely checkmating Smith that the combination of the Southern front rank was broken up, while Robertson was successfully accounting for the efforts of Bloomer and Athersmith. The other wing was worthless. When they got the ball, they kicked it to a Scot. The play was open, but not interesting for a lengthy time. After about half an hour the Scots took operations completely into hand. They were always dangerous, and Robinson was never off the ball; that is to say, he was constantly clearing well-timed messages. Such pressure was bound to have its effect, and M'Coll ast last got in a beauty, which no goal-keeper could save. This was the third, and perfectly astounded the crowd. The Englishmen looked a bit limp after this, but they did not throw up the sponge. They rapidly settled into their stride, and Johnstone sent in an awkward one from long range. Rennie was ready, but not long afterwards Bloomer shot with unerring accuracy. It was a typical shot, just like what the Derby wonder always brings off. It was now nearing half-time. The effort of the Englishmen died away, and the Scotsmen plucked up again. They made a determined onslaught, and on the eve of the sounding of the whistle M'Coll made no mistake. This was the fourth—the third off M'Coll's own foot—and with the lead of four goals to one the Thistle crossed over.
   During the first half of the game there had been several breaks in people scrambling over the iron-spiked palings in hundreds, but during the interval they attacked on two flanks, and a couple of thousand or more got into the cycling track. They were, however, orderly, and sat down on the cement in rows, and there was no trouble to those behind at all. It was a winning lead the Scotsman held, and the way they set off in the opening moments of the second half betokened further disaster to the English. Shots were rained in, but Robinson was in remarkable form, and got them at all corners. At one time he plunged from one corner of the goal to the other, and laying straight on the ground his full length he caught the ball. Two Scots were on him, but he rolled himself up and got the object of contention away. This was a miraculous save. Just picture it up if you can. He did this sort of thing every odd minute. The English halves were broken. They could do nothing to stem the tide, and as the Saxon forwards could not raise a gallop, the whole burden was cast on the last line of defence. Nobly did they do their work, and time and again they baffled the Scots of their merited reward. Fooling the English halves became an amusement with the Scotch forwards, and Chadwick and Needham were more on the ground than elsewhere. We were sorry for Needham, because we remembered him of old. The interest in the game died out long before the end. The English forwards were held up at every turn, and to go into details would simply be a tireless repetition. Any moment Scotland looked like scoring, but they could not outwit Crabtree, Oakley, and the marvel, Robinson, and the game finished.