A JUNGLE LABOR-UNION 159 



his head, the leaf rises with it, suspended high 

 over his back, out of the way. Down the stem 

 or tree-trunk he trudges, head first, fighting 

 with gravitation, until he reaches the ground. 

 After a few feet, or, measured by his stature, 

 several hundred yards, his infallible instinct 

 guides him around pebble boulders, mossy or- 

 chards, and grass jungles to a specially prepared 

 path. 



Thus in words, in sentences, we may describe 

 the cutting of a single leaf; but only in the im- 

 agination can we visualize the cell-like or crys- 

 tal-like duplication of this throughout all the 

 great forests of Guiana and of South America. 

 As I write, a million jaws snip through their 

 stint; as you read, ten million Attas begin on 

 new bits of leaf. And all in silence and in dim 

 light, legions passing along the little jungle 

 roads, unending lines of trembling banners, a 

 political parade of ultra socialism, a procession 

 of chlorophyll floats illustrating unreasoning un- 

 morality, a fairy replica of "Birnam Forest come 

 to Dunsinane." 



In their leaf-cutting, Attas have mastered 

 mass, but not form. I have never seen one cut 

 off a piece too heavy to carry, but many a hard- 



