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Updated: June 20, 2025
We gently lift him from his labor, and a drop of chloroform banishes from his ganglia all memory of the hundred thousand years of pruning. Under the lens his strange personality becomes manifest, and we wonder whether the old Danish zoölogist had in mind the slender toe-tips which support him, or in a chuckling mood made him a namesake of C. Quintius Atta.
My Atta city was only two hundred feet away from the laboratory, in fairly high jungle, within sound of the dinner triangle, and of the lapping waves on the Mazaruni shore.
Of Heine’s humorous poetry, “Deutschland” is the most charming specimen—charming, especially, because its wit and humor grow out of a rich loam of thought. “Atta Troll” is more original, more various, more fantastic; but it is too great a strain on the imagination to be a general favorite.
The connection between Atta and the world about him is furnished by this same head: two huge, flail-shaped antennæ arching up like aerial, detached eyebrows vehicles, through their golden pile, of senses which foil our most delicate tests.
Two parts of hydrogen and one of oxygen, under the proper stimulus, invariably result in water; two and two, considered calmly and without passion, combine into four; the workings of instinct, especially in social insects, is so mechanical that its results can almost be demonstrated in formula; and yet here was my Atta leaf-carrier burdened with a minim.
He was dying for the things he loved, and by his death they would be blessed eternally. He would not have long to wait before bright eyes came to greet him in the House of Shadows. So Atta made the Song of Atta, and sang it then, and later in the press of battle. It was a simple song, like the lays of seafarers.
'Will you choose your own book? 'Let me read Heine. Fräulein looked doubtful. There were things in Heine an all-pervading tone which rendered him hardly an appropriate poet for 'the young person. But Fräulein compromised the matter by letting Mary read Atta Troll, the exact bearing of which neither of them understood. 'How beautifully Mr.
Atta, a subgenus of Atta, which is a genus of Attii, which is a tribe of Myrmicinæ, which is a subfamily of Formicidæ," etc.
From a normal link in the endless Atta chain, he had become an outcast snapped at by every passing ant, self-banished, wandering off at nightfall to die somewhere in the wilderness of grass. When well, an Atta has relations but no friends, when ill, every jaw is against him.
He seemed about to voice a demand, but the young actor glanced slowly up at him, achieving a superb transition surprise, annoyance, and, as the invader turned quickly away, pitying contempt. "Atta boy!" said his companion, who was, with the aid of a tiny gold-backed mirror suspended with the cigarette case, heightening the crimson of her full lips.
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