Vachel could talk above this roar; I could not. So I listened to him and his cataclysmic accompaniment. It was, I think, on the subject of Turner and heroic painting. Vachel, and Ruskin before him were attracted to Turner by the heroic style. “Scenes such as this beside the waterfall delighted Turner. Just at dusk it was a perfect Turner painting. Did you ever see that ‘elegant’ edition of Rogers’s _Italy_ which old Mr. and Mrs. Ruskin read with their child? It is profusely illustrated with vignettes by Turner. They are all in the heroic spirit and they started Ruskin on his speculation about cloud-forms and in his idealistic interpretation of Turner.” “I love the heroic,” Vachel went on. “I hate the game of puncturing heroics which people think so clever nowadays.” I made no objection. A poet whose voice can be heard above the jazz band is a hero, and my sympathies are not with the flood of the burlesque--unless, as now, they begin to wrap my soul in slumber’s holy balm. * * * * * NEXT day we went up to the clouds, climbing by tiny steps of rock and slippery tussocks, and Vachel went ahead and became pioneer of the way. For it was a left-handed mountain, and I had no left hand that I could use, and I kept slipping five feet down in making one foot up. I got left behind, and when I caught up with the poet he was sitting stripped under a waterfall and leaning against a gleaming rock whilst the stream splashed downward over him. It was a day of great moving clouds. Clouds with personalities came stalking out of chasm bed-chambers, clouds overtook us and enveloped us. We found November’s home, where sweeping rains cross and recross on the mountains. We passed near the base of the black and dirty glacier and watched the clouds smoking over it like a spreading fire. And presently there was not a particle of view above us except cloud, and no view below except of the rocks at our feet and the cloud-filled ravines. We stood in perplexity. In clear weather it is difficult to get over the “Garden Wall” from this side. Now we could not see our way any further. We retired to twin slits in the cliff, stretched ourselves on our blankets, and gave way to meditation. [Illustration]