JUNGLE NIGHT 



tation branches and swaying lianas, to which the 

 last-comers cling jealously, and swing with more 

 or less of the grace of their distant forbears. 

 Their fur, to be sure, is rubbed thinner; nuts 

 and fruits have given place to newspapers and 

 novels, and the roar and odors are not those of 

 the wind among the leaves and blossoms. But 

 the simile is amusing enough to end abruptly, 

 and permit individual imagination to complete it. 



When I see an overtired waiter or clerk 

 swaying from foot to foot like a rocking ele- 

 phant, I sometimes place the blame further 

 back than immediate impatience for the strik- 

 ing of the closing hour. It were more true to 

 blame the gentlemen whose habits were formed 

 before caste, whose activities preceded speech. 



We may be certain that chairs will never go 

 out of fashion. We are at the end of bodily 

 evolution in that direction. But to see a white- 

 draped, lanky Hindu, or a red-cloaked lama of 

 the hills, quietly fold up, no matter where he may 

 be, is to witness the perfection of chairless rest. 

 One can read or write or doze comfortably, 

 swaying slightly with a bird's unconscious bal- 

 ance, or, as in my case at present, wholly dis- 

 arm suspicion on the part of the wild creatures 



