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. 
