The latter, however, has also certain advantages. He retains his peace of mind far more easily than does the mountaineer. He is free to rest when he may choose, to lie throughout the noon-day heat--‘patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi’; nor does he care one rap about ‘times.’ To the mountaineer, on the contrary, a long halt is not often permitted; for he must always keep some spare time before him, lest some sudden obstacle leave him for the night on the mountain-side. So long as the rope is still round his waist he is not often entirely free from some anxiety, and he remains somewhat restless in spirit until the path leading valleywards is reached. It is therefore not surprising to find the most calm of men turn quick-tempered upon the mountains, a state of mind which agrees ill with their enthusiasm. It is difficult to explain away this fault as superficial; for the serene pilgrim can point to a hundred instances where the climber was in such a bad temper that he would allow no one else their share in the hard work. But if a slight matter can upset him, his good temper returns also as quickly as it departs; and if you keep out of his way while busy and meet him jogging peacefully down through the thickening pine woods towards evening, you will find him as cheerful a companion as the wanton and merry Friar.
Again, both in the pilgrim and the mountaineer there is a delight in the unexpected; which is a remarkable thing, since the mountaineer, unlike the pilgrim, has chosen what he is to expect in detail. The pilgrim sets out to bear cheerfully such adventures as may lie in Fortune’s lap; the mountaineer has been planning for months, and a cherished scheme may fail owing to bad weather or other mischance. However, he takes a certain pleasure in failure, for he has discovered two benefits to be derived from it. That which is unaccomplished one year may be carried out at a later date, until which time the hope of success makes ample amends for the failure; also an unsuccessful attempt often leaves a greater stamp on the memory, when the mountain is seen in wrathful mood. The climber may praise himself for perseverance or prudence, throwing all blame upon the shoulders of Chance. He goes out, indeed, half prepared to fail; he is extravagantly thankful for small mercies received; he adopts a somewhat pessimistic attitude, since