I dined at Mr. Myddleton's, of Gwaynynog. The house was a gentleman's
house, below the second rate, perhaps below the third, built of stone
roughly cut. The rooms were low, and the passage above stairs gloomy,
but the furniture was good. The table was well supplied, except that the
fruit was bad. It was truly the dinner of a country gentleman. Two
tables were filled with company, not inelegant.
After dinner, the talk was of preserving the Welsh language. I offered
them a scheme. Poor Evan Evans was mentioned, as incorrigibly addicted
to strong drink. Worthington[1210] was commended. Myddleton is the only
man, who, in Wales, has talked to me of literature. I wish he were truly
zealous. I recommended the republication of David ap Rhees's
Welsh Grammar.