HAMMOCK NIGHTS 199 



cannot be taught. It is an art; and any art is 

 one-tenth technique, and nine-tenths natural tal- 

 ent. However, it is possible to acquire a certain 

 virtuosity, which, after all is said, is but pure 

 mechanical skill as opposed to sheer genius. One 

 might, perhaps, get a hint by watching the living 

 chrysalid of a potential moon-moth wriggle back 

 into its cocoon — but little is to be learned from 

 human teaching. However, if, night after night, 

 one observes his Indians, a certain instinctive 

 knowledge will arise to aid and abet him in his 

 task. Then, after his patient apprenticeship, he 

 may reap as he has sowed. If it is to be disaster, 

 it is as immediate as it is ignominious ; but if suc- 

 cess is to be his portion, then he is destined to 

 rest, wholly relaxed, upon a couch encushioned 

 and resilient beyond belief. He finds himself 

 exalted and supreme above all mundane disturb- 

 ances, with the treetops and the stars for his can- 

 opy, and the earth a shadowy floor far beneath. 

 This gentle aerial support is distributed through- 

 out hundreds of fine meshes, and the sole con- 

 tact with the earth is through twin living boles, 

 pulsing with swift running sap, whose lichened 

 bark and moonlit foliage excel any tapestry of 

 man's devising. 



