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SPORT IN SOUTH WALES. A GLIMPSE OF LONG-FORGOTTEN TIMES. "Augur," in Saturday's Sporting Life, writes as follows Times may not be so merry in South Wales as they used to be in the days when the ever-to-be-respected Mr Powell, of Maesgwynne, was a kind of a king in the land, when poor Jack Olive held the reins of government at the Boar's Head, at Carmarthen, and when ap-Morgan, ap- Jenkins, and ap-Jones mixed up English and Welsh in the most charming fashion, and the famous Welsh steeplechase rider, Pope, used to carry a big ball of strong string in his pocket, one ^■nd of which was fastened to the near side of his horse's bit, so that in the case of his coming to giief over the big fence that had to be negotiated lie could pull his mount round within the same field as he lay on his back, take Raddle again, and then go on and win. In those times theee used to be a day's steeplechasing and then a day's hunting, followed by a night's dancing, attending by all the representatives of the best county families, and more steeplechasing again, hunting, and dancing, until the Welsh week came to an end, to the grief of some and to the joy d'f others, for many a sweet- heart was lost and won. HORSES OF WALES. One of the best horses I ever saw run over the Carmarthen course was that famous old Irish chaser of Mr Garret Moore's, called Scotch Grey, who at on3 time, even in his oldest day, looked liked spread-eagling bis field for the Liverpool Grand National, when he was as white as a snow- ball. I suppose one of Mr Powell's best horses was Flyfisher, who would distinguish himself over the old Croydon course under a big weight. Many good horses and natural jumpers have come out of Wales, as, for instance, Old Oswestry, while sturdy pouies can climb hills or slide down fences as sure- footed as goats. Wales, like some parts of Scotland, contains the truest representatives of the old English blood, which, with all the advancement of modern civilisation, cannot flow undefiled in the veins of a mixed tribe. Without wishing to pose ,i, an authority, I should question if anvone could tell me a better steeplechaser than was Congress in his day, and this famous horse was picked up in a promiscuous, roadside sort of manner, for, I think, X40, by Mr Wilson. the father of Mr E. P. Wilson, or, as he is familiarly termed, Teddy Wilson," to whom no man in the world can give a start when one; in the pigskin. What Congress subsequently did in the best of company under big weights can easily be verified by the public records, while those who saw the big fight at Woodside between the Welsh-bred horse and the handsome Irish chaser, Clonard, will never forget the struggle as long as their memory lasts. CARMARTJIEN AND MONMOUTH. One misses Carmarthen now, neither is there racing over the little circular course at Monmouth, although the game is kept alive down in that part of the country in another way by the exertions of Captain F. Herbert, Sir Charles Nugent, and many other good sportsmen who study lucal require. ments, and do all they can to keep up the old spirit. By this latter remark it may be understood that I particularly allude to galloway racing. There are many other subjects connected with South Wales, and the short sea distance from Bristol to Cardiff, over which one might easily get prosy, notably in so tar as boxing is concerned, these plac s being at ?u6 ajnC* ^act uovv> bke Birmingham is in the Midlands, amongst the best recognised schools of the exponents of the "noble art." RACING AT TENBY. The horse and his master, however, are subjects to which I desire to confide myself at present, and so let us leave Carmarthen and the other spots that I trust I have dwelt upon with a kindly hand, and flit to Tenby, some 40 miles distant. It may be that few modern racegoers have ever visited Tenby although not a few of the old school—say, in the days of the be Mr Cartwright and Tom Oliver (" Black Tom")—used to affect the place amazingly. The last time I was at Tenby we bad to drive about seven miles to get to the course, and the grand stand was a fanner's big wagon, with a gipsy caravan for the ladies in case of rain, and the re- freshments were not supplied by Bertram and Roberts or Spiers and Pond, but carried in the boot," or some other place. Where the course is now I could uot positively state, but I suppose it is somewhere about," as the man said when he lost half a sovereign through a hole in his trousers pocket, and found it in the heel of his boot. Tenby itself is really a charming place, and a flourishing town, with good hotels, where the old custom was and I hope still obtains-kept up of having a race dinner at the end of each day, where lords and squires fraternised with all who cared to join. The sands at Tenby cannot be surpassed, and not a few horses have been trained to win races over the long stretches of firm galloping by the sea shore. Of course sands, let them be ever so perfect, do not possess the elasticity of turf, and consequently horses trained on them are apt to lose speed, and some say they do on tan gallops, but they make an excellent substitute when the green grass is not available. Let it be understood that I ani not writing from a guide look, although an excellent one is published, and would well repay perusal in more ways than one. I simplv speak of what I know. Tenby, I believe, in the old English or Welsh (I will not say Cymric) signifies the Bay of Fishes, and truly enough well deserves its title, as you can go a very little distance out and eatch fi3h galore, from the cod to his more humble but not less toothsome congener, the whiting, to say nothing of other varieties, for, as the old saw has it, "all is fish that comes to the net or the book," except that wretched variety of the small shark know as the dog fish, which is no good to anybody. There are tales that I could ten of Taffy in his native haunts, and one once of a famous journey of two benighted Englishmen, but perhaps I have said enough for the present on this subject.