CHAPTER XXXVI.
Moelfre--Owain Gwynedd--Church of Penmynnydd--The Rose of Mona.
Leaving Pentraeth Coch I retraced my way along the Bangor road till I came to the turning on the right.

Here I diverged from the aforesaid road, and proceeded along one which led nearly due west; after travelling about a mile I stopped, on the top of a little hill; cornfields were on either side, and in one an aged man was reaping close to the road; I looked south, west, north and east; to the south was the Snowdon range far away, with the Wyddfa just discernible; to the west and north was nothing very remarkable, but to the east or rather north-east, was mountain Lidiart and the tall hill confronting it across the bay.
"Can you tell me," said I to the old reaper, "the name of that bald hill, which looks towards Lidiart ?" "We call that hill Moelfre," said the old man desisting from his labour, and touching his hat.
"Dear me," said I; "Moelfre, Moelfre!" "Is there anything wonderful in the name, sir ?" said the old man smiling.
"There is nothing wonderful in the name," said I, "which merely means the bald hill, but it brings wonderful recollections to my mind.

I little thought when I was looking from the road near Pentraeth Coch yesterday on that hill, and the bay and strand below it, and admiring the tranquillity which reigned over all, that I was gazing upon the scene of one of the most tremendous conflicts recorded in history or poetry." "Dear me," said the old reaper; "and whom may it have been between?
the French and English, I suppose." "No," said I; "it was fought between one of your Welsh kings, the great Owain Gwynedd, and certain northern and Irish enemies of his." "Only think," said the old man, "and it was a fierce battle, sir ?" "It was, indeed," said I; "according to the words of a poet, who described it, the Menai could not ebb on account of the torrent of blood which flowed into it, slaughter was heaped upon slaughter, shout followed shout, and around Moelfre a thousand war flags waved." "Well, sir," said the old man, "I never before heard anything about it, indeed I don't trouble my head with histories, unless they be Bible histories." "Are you a Churchman ?" said I.
"No," said the old man, shortly; "I am a Methodist." "I belong to the Church," said I.
"So I should have guessed, sir, by your being so well acquainted with pennillion and histories.

Ah, the Church.

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