There are two harpers at Llangollen, one at each inn, and both blind!  (I suppose that they put out their eyes, when young, as they do those of bullfinches who are taught to pipe).

 The waiter says that our harper, of the Hand Inn, is very good, but that the other is infamous:

 I shall judge, I hope, in the evening.

 […]

 After dinner, […] I am afraid I slumber’d, till most agreeably awaken’d roused by the harper rattling away, at the bottom of the stairs.

 Good, or bad, provincial musick delights me […] and were I a Scotch or a Welsh resident, I certainly would retain a piper, or a harper; depend upon it, that hilarity would accompany him:―He would lead to the dance; and to the bowling green, and to dairy in the summer; and in winter, he would enlivene the hall―and make merry the laundry.―I find that they should play noisy, and bustling tunes; not dwelling upon notes, but throwing them together.