Their merit indeed has even been admitted by an enemy; for a poet of the Calvinistic Methodist persuasion, one who calls himself Einion Du, in a very beautiful ode, commencing with-- "Tangnefedd i Llangollen," says that in no part of the world do bells call people so sweetly to church as those of Llangollen town.
In the evening, at about half-past six, I attended service again, but without my family.

This time the congregation was not numerous, and was composed principally of poor people.

The service and sermon were now in Welsh, the sermon was preached by the younger gentleman, and was on the building of the second temple, and, as far as I understood it, appeared to me to be exceedingly good.
On the Monday evening, myself and family took a walk to the abbey.

My wife and daughter, who are fond of architecture and ruins, were very anxious to see the old place.

I too was anxious enough to see it, less from love of ruins and ancient architecture, than from knowing that a certain illustrious bard was buried in its precincts, of whom perhaps a short account will not be unacceptable to the reader.
This man, whose poetical appellation was Iolo Goch, but whose real name was Llwyd, was of a distinguished family, and Lord of Llechryd.