I still looked at the edifice.
"You seem to admire the old building," said my companion.
"I was not admiring it," said I; "I was thinking of the difference
between its present and former state. Formerly it was a place
devoted to gorgeous idolatry and obscene lust; now it is a quiet
old barn in which hay and straw are placed, and broken tumbrels
stowed away: surely the hand of God is visible here?"
"It is so, sir," said the man in a respectful tone, "and so it is
in another place in this neighbourhood. About three miles from
here, in the north-west part of the valley, is an old edifice. It
is now a farm-house, but was once a splendid abbey, and was called
- "
"The abbey of the vale of the cross," said I, "I have read a deal
about it. Iolo Goch, the bard of your celebrated hero, Owen
Glendower, was buried somewhere in its precincts."
We went on: my companion took me over a stile behind the house
which he had pointed out, and along a path through hazel coppices.
After a little time I inquired whether there were any Papists in
Llangollen.
"No," said he, "there is not one of that family at Llangollen, but
I believe there are some in Flintshire, at a place called Holywell,
where there is a pool or fountain, the waters of which it is said
they worship.
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