We went to see Bodville. Mrs. Thrale remembered the rooms, and wandered
over them with recollection of her childhood. This species of pleasure
is always melancholy. The walk was cut down, and the pond was dry.
Nothing was better.[1229]
We surveyed the Churches, which are mean, and neglected to a degree
scarcely imaginable. They have no pavement, and the earth is full of
holes. The seats are rude benches; the Altars have no rails. One of them
has a breach in the roof. On the desk, I think, of each lay a folio
Welsh Bible of the black letter, which the curate cannot easily
read.[1230]
Mr. Thrale purposes to beautify the Churches, and if he prospers, will
probably restore the tithes. The two parishes are, Llangwinodyl and
Tydweilliog.[1231] The Methodists are here very prevalent. A better
church will impress the people with more reverence of publick worship.
Mrs. Thrale visited a house where she had been used to drink milk, which
was left, with an estate of two hundred pounds a year, by one Lloyd, to
a married woman who lived with him.
We went to Pwllheli, a mean old town, at the extremity of the country.
Here we bought something, to remember the place.