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- 
