78 AN ANGLER AT LARGE 



of her too far. There are men, who can ill afford 

 it, who buy weeks in Lovely Lucerne from Mr. 

 Cook (the extent of human discomfort caused by 

 this person is shocking to contemplate) and stand- 

 ing upon the Rigi Kulm, congratulate themselves 

 that modern civilisation has brought this marvel 

 within their reach for a five-pound note. My wife 

 and I go up on to the Beacon Down, and, lying 

 very comfortably on our backs, feast our eyes in 

 half an hour with ten spectacles infinitely more 

 gorgeous than that which these men have gone 

 so far to see. For our mountains change, sir. 

 They change. The Cloud Artist (having the root 

 of the matter in him) never rests and says, " This 

 is good enough." You say, " Ah, but the moun- 

 tains change." I admit it. Within limits the 

 mountains do change. But who, I ask you, 

 changes them ? The Cloud Artist. 



It is, I think, this Great Lovely Lucerne Joke 

 which makes the Cloud Artist so humorous on 

 days of cumulus. While humanity is staring 

 fixedly at its own element he, aloft there, for his 

 own amusement, caricatures its treble-chinned 

 self-satisfaction. And Earth, who knows her own 

 limitations, shares the jest at her children's 

 expense ; but, the while, like a good mother, 

 smiles indulgently on the loyal little things, and 

 spares no pains to make them happy. 



