Eager to get out of such society, I retired early to bed. As I left the room the diminutive Scotch individual was describing to the old simpleton, who, on the ground of the other’s being a “member,” was listening to him with extreme attention, how he was labouring under an excess of bile, owing to his having left his licorice somewhere or other. I passed a quiet night, and in the morning breakfasted, paid my bill, and departed. As I went out of the coffee-room, the spuddy, broad-faced military puppy with spectacles was vociferating to the languishing military puppy, and to his old simpleton of a father, who was listening to him with his usual look of undisguised admiration, about the absolute necessity of kicking Lieutenant P— out of the army for having disgraced “the service.” Poor P—, whose only crime was trying to defend himself with fist and candlestick from the manual attacks of his brutal messmates. CHAPTER XLVI The Valley of Gelert—Legend of the Dog—Magnificent Scenery—The Knicht—Goats in Wales—The Frightful Crag—Temperance House—Smile and Curtsey. Bethgelert is situated in a valley surrounded by huge hills, the most remarkable of which are Moel Hebog and Cerrig Llan; the former fences it on the south, and the latter, which is quite black and nearly perpendicular, on the east. A small stream rushes through the valley, and sallies forth by a pass at its south-eastern end. The valley is said by some to derive its name of Beddgelert, which signifies the grave of Celert, from being the burial-place of Celert, a British saint of the sixth century, to whom Llangeler in Carmarthenshire is believed to have been consecrated; but the popular and most universally received tradition is that it has its name from being the resting-place of a faithful dog called Celert, or Gelert, killed by his master, the warlike and celebrated Llywelyn ab Jorwerth, from an unlucky misapprehension. Though the legend is known to most people, I shall take the liberty of relating it.