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The Jungle Online Book

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The Jungle: A Upton Sinclair Novel Paperback – 30 Sept. 2019

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The Jungle Online Book Table of Contents Video

THE JUNGLE BOOK by Rudyard Kipling - FULL AudioBook - Greatest AudioBooks V2

Artikelinfos. Mit "The Jungle Book" kehrt eines der bekanntesten Abenteuer aller Zeiten auf die große Kinoleinwand zurück und erzählt eine vertraute Geschichte​. The Jungle Book brings the forest to life - where animals talk, and Mowgli the man-cub is brought up the wolves of the Seeonee Pack, Baloo the Bear, Bagheera. The Jungle Book DVD im Onlineshop von MediaMarkt kaufen. Jetzt bequem online bestellen. Buy The Jungle: A Upton Sinclair Novel Paperback – 30 Sept. ✓FREE Delivery Across Albania. ✓FREE Returns. ✓75M+ Products. Abenteuer in München - Rätsel um die Morisken Petra Breuer 0 Sterne. Highly recommend Was Ist League Of Legends book and the rest of the series. This book caused such a sensation when it was first published at the turn of the 20th century, that it actually sparked legislation from the White House. The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling. Table of Contents. Mowgli's Brothers Hunting-Song of the Seeonee Pack Kaa's Hunting "Tiger! Tiger!" Mowgli's Song The White Seal Lukannon "Rikki-Tikki-Tavi" Darzee's Chant Toomai of the Elephants Shiv and the Grasshopper Her Majesty's Servants Parade Song of the Camp Animals. The Jungle Book is a popular book by Rudyard Kipling. Read The Jungle Book, free online version of the book by Rudyard Kipling, on fredericksantiqueswords.com Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book consists of 14 parts for ease of reading. Choose the part of The Jungle Book which you want to read from the table of contents to get started. The Jungle -- Hypertext and E-Text. The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. Table of Contents. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter Chapter

He had no intention of losing any advantage of the ground, and coiled and uncoiled himself once or twice, to be sure that every foot of his long body was in working order.

All that while the fight with Baloo went on, and the monkeys yelled in the tank round Bagheera, and Mang the Bat, flying to and fro, carried the news of the great battle over the jungle, till even Hathi the Wild Elephant trumpeted, and, far away, scattered bands of the Monkey-Folk woke and came leaping along the tree-roads to help their comrades in the Cold Lairs, and the noise of the fight roused all the day birds for miles round.

Then Kaa came straight, quickly, and anxious to kill. The fighting strength of a python is in the driving blow of his head backed by all the strength and weight of his body.

If you can imagine a lance, or a battering ram, or a hammer weighing nearly half a ton driven by a cool, quiet mind living in the handle of it, you can roughly imagine what Kaa was like when he fought.

A python four or five feet long can knock a man down if he hits him fairly in the chest, and Kaa was thirty feet long, as you know.

His first stroke was delivered into the heart of the crowd round Baloo. It was sent home with shut mouth in silence, and there was no need of a second.

It is Kaa! Generations of monkeys had been scared into good behavior by the stories their elders told them of Kaa, the night thief, who could slip along the branches as quietly as moss grows, and steal away the strongest monkey that ever lived; of old Kaa, who could make himself look so like a dead branch or a rotten stump that the wisest were deceived, till the branch caught them.

Kaa was everything that the monkeys feared in the jungle, for none of them knew the limits of his power, none of them could look him in the face, and none had ever come alive out of his hug.

And so they ran, stammering with terror, to the walls and the roofs of the houses, and Baloo drew a deep breath of relief.

Then Kaa opened his mouth for the first time and spoke one long hissing word, and the far-away monkeys, hurrying to the defense of the Cold Lairs, stayed where they were, cowering, till the loaded branches bent and crackled under them.

The monkeys on the walls and the empty houses stopped their cries, and in the stillness that fell upon the city Mowgli heard Bagheera shaking his wet sides as he came up from the tank.

Then the clamor broke out again. The monkeys leaped higher up the walls. They clung around the necks of the big stone idols and shrieked as they skipped along the battlements, while Mowgli, dancing in the summerhouse, put his eye to the screenwork and hooted owl-fashion between his front teeth, to show his derision and contempt.

They may attack again. Stay you sssso! I am sore. Kaa, we owe thee, I think, our lives—Bagheera and I. The curve of the broken dome was above his head.

He dances like Mao the Peacock. Stand back, manling. And hide you, O Poison People. I break down the wall. Kaa looked carefully till he found a discolored crack in the marble tracery showing a weak spot, made two or three light taps with his head to get the distance, and then lifting up six feet of his body clear of the ground, sent home half a dozen full-power smashing blows, nose-first.

The screen-work broke and fell away in a cloud of dust and rubbish, and Mowgli leaped through the opening and flung himself between Baloo and Bagheera—an arm around each big neck.

But, oh, they have handled ye grievously, my Brothers! Ye bleed. Thank him according to our customs, Mowgli.

Have a care, manling, that I do not mistake thee for a monkey some twilight when I have newly changed my coat. My kill shall be thy kill if ever thou art hungry, O Kaa.

I ask that I may follow when next he goes abroad. When thou art empty come to me and see if I speak the truth.

I have some skill in these [he held out his hands], and if ever thou art in a trap, I may pay the debt which I owe to thee, to Bagheera, and to Baloo, here.

Good hunting to ye all, my masters. But now go hence quickly with thy friends. Go and sleep, for the moon sets, and what follows it is not well that thou shouldst see.

The moon was sinking behind the hills and the lines of trembling monkeys huddled together on the walls and battlements looked like ragged shaky fringes of things.

Begins now the dance—the Dance of the Hunger of Kaa. Sit still and watch. He turned twice or thrice in a big circle, weaving his head from right to left.

Then he began making loops and figures of eight with his body, and soft, oozy triangles that melted into squares and five-sided figures, and coiled mounds, never resting, never hurrying, and never stopping his low humming song.

It grew darker and darker, till at last the dragging, shifting coils disappeared, but they could hear the rustle of the scales.

Baloo and Bagheera stood still as stone, growling in their throats, their neck hair bristling, and Mowgli watched and wondered.

The lines of the monkeys swayed forward helplessly, and Baloo and Bagheera took one stiff step forward with them.

Mowgli laid his hands on Baloo and Bagheera to get them away, and the two great beasts started as though they had been waked from a dream. And his nose was all sore.

Neither Baloo nor Bagheera will be able to hunt with pleasure for many days. For, remember, Mowgli, I, who am the Black Panther, was forced to call upon Kaa for protection, and Baloo and I were both made stupid as little birds by the Hunger Dance.

All this, man-cub, came of thy playing with the Bandar-log. But remember, Bagheera, he is very little. But he has done mischief, and blows must be dealt now.

Mowgli, hast thou anything to say? When it was all over Mowgli sneezed, and picked himself up without a word. One of the beauties of Jungle Law is that punishment settles all scores.

There is no nagging afterward. Now we must go back to the first tale. So he hurried on, keeping to the rough road that ran down the valley, and followed it at a steady jog-trot for nearly twenty miles, till he came to a country that he did not know.

The valley opened out into a great plain dotted over with rocks and cut up by ravines. At one end stood a little village, and at the other the thick jungle came down in a sweep to the grazing-grounds, and stopped there as though it had been cut off with a hoe.

All over the plain, cattle and buffaloes were grazing, and when the little boys in charge of the herds saw Mowgli they shouted and ran away, and the yellow pariah dogs that hang about every Indian village barked.

Mowgli walked on, for he was feeling hungry, and when he came to the village gate he saw the big thorn-bush that was drawn up before the gate at twilight, pushed to one side.

The man stared, and ran back up the one street of the village shouting for the priest, who was a big, fat man dressed in white, with a red and yellow mark on his forehead.

The priest came to the gate, and with him at least a hundred people, who stared and talked and shouted and pointed at Mowgli. They are the bites of wolves.

He is but a wolf-child run away from the jungle. Of course, in playing together, the cubs had often nipped Mowgli harder than they intended, and there were white scars all over his arms and legs.

But he would have been the last person in the world to call these bites, for he knew what real biting meant.

He is a handsome boy. He has eyes like red fire. By my honor, Messua, he is not unlike thy boy that was taken by the tiger. He is thinner, but he has the very look of my boy.

The priest was a clever man, and he knew that Messua was wife to the richest villager in the place. Take the boy into thy house, my sister, and forget not to honor the priest who sees so far into the lives of men.

Well, if I am a man, a man I must become. The crowd parted as the woman beckoned Mowgli to her hut, where there was a red lacquered bedstead, a great earthen grain chest with funny raised patterns on it, half a dozen copper cooking pots, an image of a Hindu god in a little alcove, and on the wall a real looking glass, such as they sell at the country fairs.

She gave him a long drink of milk and some bread, and then she laid her hand on his head and looked into his eyes; for she thought perhaps that he might be her real son come back from the jungle where the tiger had taken him.

Mowgli was uneasy, because he had never been under a roof before. But as he looked at the thatch, he saw that he could tear it out any time if he wanted to get away, and that the window had no fastenings.

Now I am as silly and dumb as a man would be with us in the jungle. I must speak their talk. It was not for fun that he had learned while he was with the wolves to imitate the challenge of bucks in the jungle and the grunt of the little wild pig.

So, as soon as Messua pronounced a word Mowgli would imitate it almost perfectly, and before dark he had learned the names of many things in the hut.

There was a difficulty at bedtime, because Mowgli would not sleep under anything that looked so like a panther trap as that hut, and when they shut the door he went through the window.

If he is indeed sent in the place of our son he will not run away. So Mowgli stretched himself in some long, clean grass at the edge of the field, but before he had closed his eyes a soft gray nose poked him under the chin.

Thou smellest of wood smoke and cattle—altogether like a man already. Wake, Little Brother; I bring news. Now, listen.

Shere Khan has gone away to hunt far off till his coat grows again, for he is badly singed. When he returns he swears that he will lay thy bones in the Waingunga.

I also have made a little promise. But news is always good. I am tired to-night,—very tired with new things, Gray Brother,—but bring me the news always.

Men will not make thee forget? I will always remember that I love thee and all in our cave. But also I will always remember that I have been cast out of the Pack.

Men are only men, Little Brother, and their talk is like the talk of frogs in a pond. When I come down here again, I will wait for thee in the bamboos at the edge of the grazing-ground.

For three months after that night Mowgli hardly ever left the village gate, he was so busy learning the ways and customs of men.

First he had to wear a cloth round him, which annoyed him horribly; and then he had to learn about money, which he did not in the least understand, and about plowing, of which he did not see the use.

Then the little children in the village made him very angry. Luckily, the Law of the Jungle had taught him to keep his temper, for in the jungle life and food depend on keeping your temper; but when they made fun of him because he would not play games or fly kites, or because he mispronounced some word, only the knowledge that it was unsportsmanlike to kill little naked cubs kept him from picking them up and breaking them in two.

He did not know his own strength in the least. In the jungle he knew he was weak compared with the beasts, but in the village people said that he was as strong as a bull.

And Mowgli had not the faintest idea of the difference that caste makes between man and man. That was very shocking, too, for the potter is a low-caste man, and his donkey is worse.

No one was more pleased than Mowgli; and that night, because he had been appointed a servant of the village, as it were, he went off to a circle that met every evening on a masonry platform under a great fig-tree.

It was the village club, and the head-man and the watchman and the barber, who knew all the gossip of the village, and old Buldeo, the village hunter, who had a Tower musket, met and smoked.

The monkeys sat and talked in the upper branches, and there was a hole under the platform where a cobra lived, and he had his little platter of milk every night because he was sacred; and the old men sat around the tree and talked, and pulled at the big huqas the water-pipes till far into the night.

They told wonderful tales of gods and men and ghosts; and Buldeo told even more wonderful ones of the ways of beasts in the jungle, till the eyes of the children sitting outside the circle bulged out of their heads.

Most of the tales were about animals, for the jungle was always at their door. The deer and the wild pig grubbed up their crops, and now and again the tiger carried off a man at twilight, within sight of the village gates.

It is the jungle brat, is it? Better still, talk not when thy elders speak. Mowgli rose to go. How, then, shall I believe the tales of ghosts and gods and goblins which he says he has seen?

The custom of most Indian villages is for a few boys to take the cattle and buffaloes out to graze in the early morning, and bring them back at night.

The very cattle that would trample a white man to death allow themselves to be banged and bullied and shouted at by children that hardly come up to their noses.

So long as the boys keep with the herds they are safe, for not even the tiger will charge a mob of cattle. But if they straggle to pick flowers or hunt lizards, they are sometimes carried off.

Mowgli went through the village street in the dawn, sitting on the back of Rama, the great herd bull.

The slaty-blue buffaloes, with their long, backward-sweeping horns and savage eyes, rose out their byres, one by one, and followed him, and Mowgli made it very clear to the children with him that he was the master.

He beat the buffaloes with a long, polished bamboo, and told Kamya, one of the boys, to graze the cattle by themselves, while he went on with the buffaloes, and to be very careful not to stray away from the herd.

An Indian grazing ground is all rocks and scrub and tussocks and little ravines, among which the herds scatter and disappear.

The buffaloes generally keep to the pools and muddy places, where they lie wallowing or basking in the warm mud for hours.

What is the meaning of this cattle-herding work? What news of Shere Khan? Now he has gone off again, for the game is scarce.

But he means to kill thee. When he comes back wait for me in the ravine by the dhak tree in the center of the plain. Then Mowgli picked out a shady place, and lay down and slept while the buffaloes grazed round him.

Herding in India is one of the laziest things in the world. The cattle move and crunch, and lie down, and move on again, and they do not even low.

They only grunt, and the buffaloes very seldom say anything, but get down into the muddy pools one after another, and work their way into the mud till only their noses and staring china-blue eyes show above the surface, and then they lie like logs.

The sun makes the rocks dance in the heat, and the herd children hear one kite never any more whistling almost out of sight overhead, and they know that if they died, or a cow died, that kite would sweep down, and the next kite miles away would see him drop and follow, and the next, and the next, and almost before they were dead there would be a score of hungry kites come out of nowhere.

Then they sleep and wake and sleep again, and weave little baskets of dried grass and put grasshoppers in them; or catch two praying mantises and make them fight; or string a necklace of red and black jungle nuts; or watch a lizard basking on a rock, or a snake hunting a frog near the wallows.

Then evening comes and the children call, and the buffaloes lumber up out of the sticky mud with noises like gunshots going off one after the other, and they all string across the gray plain back to the twinkling village lights.

If Shere Khan had made a false step with his lame paw up in the jungles by the Waingunga, Mowgli would have heard him in those long, still mornings.

At last a day came when he did not see Gray Brother at the signal place, and he laughed and headed the buffaloes for the ravine by the dhk tree, which was all covered with golden-red flowers.

There sat Gray Brother, every bristle on his back lifted. Mowgli frowned. Now he is telling all his wisdom to the kites, but he told me everything before I broke his back.

He is lying up now, in the big dry ravine of the Waingunga. Remember, Shere Khan could never fast, even for the sake of revenge. Fool, fool!

Eaten and drunk too, and he thinks that I shall wait till he has slept! Now, where does he lie up? If there were but ten of us we might pull him down as he lies.

These buffaloes will not charge unless they wind him, and I cannot speak their language. Can we get behind his track so that they may smell it?

He would never have thought of it alone. That opens out on the plain not half a mile from here. I can take the herd round through the jungle to the head of the ravine and then sweep down—but he would slink out at the foot.

We must block that end. Gray Brother, canst thou cut the herd in two for me? Then there lifted up a huge gray head that Mowgli knew well, and the hot air was filled with the most desolate cry of all the jungle—the hunting howl of a wolf at midday.

We have a big work in hand. Cut the herd in two, Akela. Keep the cows and calves together, and the bulls and the plow buffaloes by themselves.

In one, the cow-buffaloes stood with their calves in the center, and glared and pawed, ready, if a wolf would only stay still, to charge down and trample the life out of him.

In the other, the bulls and the young bulls snorted and stamped, but though they looked more imposing they were much less dangerous, for they had no calves to protect.

No six men could have divided the herd so neatly. Gray Brother, when we are gone, hold the cows together, and drive them into the foot of the ravine.

They charged down on him, and he ran just before them to the foot of the ravine, as Akela drove the bulls far to the left.

Another charge and they are fairly started. Careful, now—careful, Akela. A snap too much and the bulls will charge.

This is wilder work than driving black-buck. Didst thou think these creatures could move so swiftly? Swiftly turn them! Rama is mad with rage. Oh, if I could only tell him what I need of him to-day.

The bulls were turned, to the right this time, and crashed into the standing thicket. The other herd children, watching with the cattle half a mile away, hurried to the village as fast as their legs could carry them, crying that the buffaloes had gone mad and run away.

All he wanted to do was to make a big circle uphill and get at the head of the ravine, and then take the bulls down it and catch Shere Khan between the bulls and the cows; for he knew that after a meal and a full drink Shere Khan would not be in any condition to fight or to clamber up the sides of the ravine.

He was soothing the buffaloes now by voice, and Akela had dropped far to the rear, only whimpering once or twice to hurry the rear-guard.

It was a long, long circle, for they did not wish to get too near the ravine and give Shere Khan warning. At last Mowgli rounded up the bewildered herd at the head of the ravine on a grassy patch that sloped steeply down to the ravine itself.

From that height you could see across the tops of the trees down to the plain below; but what Mowgli looked at was the sides of the ravine, and he saw with a great deal of satisfaction that they ran nearly straight up and down, while the vines and creepers that hung over them would give no foothold to a tiger who wanted to get out.

Let them breathe. I must tell Shere Khan who comes. We have him in the trap. He put his hands to his mouth and shouted down the ravine—it was almost like shouting down a tunnel—and the echoes jumped from rock to rock.

After a long time there came back the drawling, sleepy snarl of a full-fed tiger just wakened.

Cattle thief, it is time to come to the Council Rock! Down—hurry them down, Akela! Down, Rama, down! The herd paused for an instant at the edge of the slope, but Akela gave tongue in the full hunting-yell, and they pitched over one after the other, just as steamers shoot rapids, the sand and stones spurting up round them.

Once started, there was no chance of stopping, and before they were fairly in the bed of the ravine Rama winded Shere Khan and bellowed.

They knew what the business was before them—the terrible charge of the buffalo herd against which no tiger can hope to stand. Shere Khan heard the thunder of their hoofs, picked himself up, and lumbered down the ravine, looking from side to side for some way of escape, but the walls of the ravine were straight and he had to hold on, heavy with his dinner and his drink, willing to do anything rather than fight.

The herd splashed through the pool he had just left, bellowing till the narrow cut rang. Mowgli heard an answering bellow from the foot of the ravine, saw Shere Khan turn the tiger knew if the worst came to the worst it was better to meet the bulls than the cows with their calves , and then Rama tripped, stumbled, and went on again over something soft, and, with the bulls at his heels, crashed full into the other herd, while the weaker buffaloes were lifted clean off their feet by the shock of the meeting.

That charge carried both herds out into the plain, goring and stamping and snorting. Break them up. Scatter them, or they will be fighting one another.

Drive them away, Akela. Hai, Rama! Hai, hai, hai! Softly now, softly! It is all over. Shere Khan needed no more trampling.

He was dead, and the kites were coming for him already. His hide will look well on the Council Rock. We must get to work swiftly.

But it was hard work, and Mowgli slashed and tore and grunted for an hour, while the wolves lolled out their tongues, or came forward and tugged as he ordered them.

Presently a hand fell on his shoulder, and looking up he saw Buldeo with the Tower musket. The children had told the village about the buffalo stampede, and Buldeo went out angrily, only too anxious to correct Mowgli for not taking better care of the herd.

The wolves dropped out of sight as soon as they saw the man coming. Where did the buffaloes kill him? It is the Lame Tiger too, and there is a hundred rupees on his head.

Well, well, we will overlook thy letting the herd run off, and perhaps I will give thee one of the rupees of the reward when I have taken the skin to Khanhiwara.

Now it is in my mind that I need the skin for my own use. Old man, take away that fire! Thy luck and the stupidity of thy buffaloes have helped thee to this kill.

The tiger has just fed, or he would have gone twenty miles by this time. Thou canst not even skin him properly, little beggar brat, and forsooth I, Buldeo, must be told not to singe his whiskers.

Mowgli, I will not give thee one anna of the reward, but only a very big beating. Leave the carcass! Here, Akela, this man plagues me.

Thou wilt never give me one anna of the reward. There is an old war between this lame tiger and myself—a very old war, and—I have won.

To do Buldeo justice, if he had been ten years younger he would have taken his chance with Akela had he met the wolf in the woods, but a wolf who obeyed the orders of this boy who had private wars with man-eating tigers was not a common animal.

It was sorcery, magic of the worst kind, thought Buldeo, and he wondered whether the amulet round his neck would protect him. He lay as still as still, expecting every minute to see Mowgli turn into a tiger too.

I did not know that thou wast anything more than a herdsboy. May I rise up and go away, or will thy servant tear me to pieces?

Only, another time do not meddle with my game. Let him go, Akela. Buldeo hobbled away to the village as fast as he could, looking back over his shoulder in case Mowgli should change into something terrible.

When he got to the village he told a tale of magic and enchantment and sorcery that made the priest look very grave.

Mowgli went on with his work, but it was nearly twilight before he and the wolves had drawn the great gay skin clear of the body.

Help me to herd them, Akela. The herd rounded up in the misty twilight, and when they got near the village Mowgli saw lights, and heard the conches and bells in the temple blowing and banging.

Half the village seemed to be waiting for him by the gate. Jungle demon! Go away! Get hence quickly or the priest will turn thee into a wolf again.

Shoot, Buldeo, shoot! Buldeo, that was thy buffalo. Last time it was because I was a man. This time it is because I am a wolf.

Let us go, Akela. They say thou art a sorcerer who can turn himself into a beast at will. I do not believe, but go away or they will kill thee.

Mowgli laughed a little short ugly laugh, for a stone had hit him in the mouth. This is one of the foolish tales they tell under the big tree at dusk.

During their progress, needless to say, the sounds of the cello are pretty well extinguished; but at last the three are at the head, and Tamoszius takes his station at the right hand of the bride and begins to pour out his soul in melting strains.

Little Ona is too excited to eat. Once in a while she tastes a little something, when Cousin Marija pinches her elbow and reminds her; but, for the most part, she sits gazing with the same fearful eyes of wonder.

Teta Elzbieta is all in a flutter, like a hummingbird; her sisters, too, keep running up behind her, whispering, breathless.

But Ona seems scarcely to hear them—the music keeps calling, and the far-off look comes back, and she sits with her hands pressed together over her heart.

Then the tears begin to come into her eyes; and as she is ashamed to wipe them away, and ashamed to let them run down her cheeks, she turns and shakes her head a little, and then flushes red when she sees that Jurgis is watching her.

In this crisis, however, she is saved by Marija Berczynskas, whom the muses suddenly visit. Marija is short, but powerful in build.

She works in a canning factory, and all day long she handles cans of beef that weigh fourteen pounds. She has a broad Slavic face, with prominent red cheeks.

When she opens her mouth, it is tragical, but you cannot help thinking of a horse. She wears a blue flannel shirt-waist, which is now rolled up at the sleeves, disclosing her brawny arms; she has a carving fork in her hand, with which she pounds on the table to mark the time.

When the song is over, it is time for the speech, and old Dede Antanas rises to his feet. He has been only six months in America, and the change has not done him good.

Now as he rises he is seized with a coughing fit, and holds himself by his chair and turns away his wan and battered face until it passes.

Generally it is the custom for the speech at a veselija to be taken out of one of the books and learned by heart; but in his youthful days Dede Antanas used to be a scholar, and really make up all the love letters of his friends.

Now it is understood that he has composed an original speech of congratulation and benediction, and this is one of the events of the day.

Even the boys, who are romping about the room, draw near and listen, and some of the women sob and wipe their aprons in their eyes.

It is very solemn, for Antanas Rudkus has become possessed of the idea that he has not much longer to stay with his children.

His speech leaves them all so tearful that one of the guests, Jokubas Szedvilas, who keeps a delicatessen store on Halsted Street, and is fat and hearty, is moved to rise and say that things may not be as bad as that, and then to go on and make a little speech of his own, in which he showers congratulations and prophecies of happiness upon the bride and groom, proceeding to particulars which greatly delight the young men, but which cause Ona to blush more furiously than ever.

Now a good many of the guests have finished, and, since there is no pretense of ceremony, the banquet begins to break up. Some of the men gather about the bar; some wander about, laughing and singing; here and there will be a little group, chanting merrily, and in sublime indifference to the others and to the orchestra as well.

Everybody is more or less restless—one would guess that something is on their minds. And so it proves. The last tardy diners are scarcely given time to finish, before the tables and the debris are shoved into the corner, and the chairs and the babies piled out of the way, and the real celebration of the evening begins.

Then Tamoszius Kuszleika, after replenishing himself with a pot of beer, returns to his platform, and, standing up, reviews the scene; he taps authoritatively upon the side of his violin, then tucks it carefully under his chin, then waves his bow in an elaborate flourish, and finally smites the sounding strings and closes his eyes, and floats away in spirit upon the wings of a dreamy waltz.

The company pairs off quickly, and the whole room is soon in motion. Apparently nobody knows how to waltz, but that is nothing of any consequence—there is music, and they dance, each as he pleases, just as before they sang.

The older people have dances from home, strange and complicated steps which they execute with grave solemnity. Among these are Jokubas Szedvilas and his wife, Lucija, who together keep the delicatessen store, and consume nearly as much as they sell; they are too fat to dance, but they stand in the middle of the floor, holding each other fast in their arms, rocking slowly from side to side and grinning seraphically, a picture of toothless and perspiring ecstasy.

Of these older people many wear clothing reminiscent in some detail of home—an embroidered waistcoat or stomacher, or a gaily colored handkerchief, or a coat with large cuffs and fancy buttons.

All these things are carefully avoided by the young, most of whom have learned to speak English and to affect the latest style of clothing.

The girls wear ready-made dresses or shirt waists, and some of them look quite pretty. Some of the young men you would take to be Americans, of the type of clerks, but for the fact that they wear their hats in the room.

Each of these younger couples affects a style of its own in dancing. Some hold each other tightly, some at a cautious distance.

Some hold their hands out stiffly, some drop them loosely at their sides. Some dance springily, some glide softly, some move with grave dignity.

There are boisterous couples, who tear wildly about the room, knocking every one out of their way. Kas yra? Each couple is paired for the evening—you will never see them change about.

There is Alena Jasaityte, for instance, who has danced unending hours with Juozas Raczius, to whom she is engaged. Alena is the beauty of the evening, and she would be really beautiful if she were not so proud.

She holds her skirt with her hand as she dances, with stately precision, after the manner of the grandes dames.

Then there is Jadvyga Marcinkus, who is also beautiful, but humble. Jadvyga likewise paints cans, but then she has an invalid mother and three little sisters to support by it, and so she does not spend her wages for shirtwaists.

Jadvyga is small and delicate, with jet-black eyes and hair, the latter twisted into a little knot and tied on the top of her head. She wears an old white dress which she has made herself and worn to parties for the past five years; it is high-waisted—almost under her arms, and not very becoming,—but that does not trouble Jadvyga, who is dancing with her Mikolas.

She is small, while he is big and powerful; she nestles in his arms as if she would hide herself from view, and leans her head upon his shoulder.

He in turn has clasped his arms tightly around her, as if he would carry her away; and so she dances, and will dance the entire evening, and would dance forever, in ecstasy of bliss.

You would smile, perhaps, to see them—but you would not smile if you knew all the story. This is the fifth year, now, that Jadvyga has been engaged to Mikolas, and her heart is sick.

They would have been married in the beginning, only Mikolas has a father who is drunk all day, and he is the only other man in a large family.

Even so they might have managed it for Mikolas is a skilled man but for cruel accidents which have almost taken the heart out of them. He is a beef-boner, and that is a dangerous trade, especially when you are on piecework and trying to earn a bride.

Your hands are slippery, and your knife is slippery, and you are toiling like mad, when somebody happens to speak to you, or you strike a bone.

Then your hand slips up on the blade, and there is a fearful gash. And that would not be so bad, only for the deadly contagion.

The cut may heal, but you never can tell. Twice now; within the last three years, Mikolas has been lying at home with blood poisoning—once for three months and once for nearly seven.

When Tamoszius and his companions stop for a rest, as perforce they must, now and then, the dancers halt where they are and wait patiently.

They never seem to tire; and there is no place for them to sit down if they did. It is only for a minute, anyway, for the leader starts up again, in spite of all the protests of the other two.

This time it is another sort of a dance, a Lithuanian dance. Those who prefer to, go on with the two-step, but the majority go through an intricate series of motions, resembling more fancy skating than a dance.

The climax of it is a furious prestissimo , at which the couples seize hands and begin a mad whirling.

This is quite irresistible, and every one in the room joins in, until the place becomes a maze of flying skirts and bodies quite dazzling to look upon.

But the sight of sights at this moment is Tamoszius Kuszleika. The old fiddle squeaks and shrieks in protest, but Tamoszius has no mercy.

The sweat starts out on his forehead, and he bends over like a cyclist on the last lap of a race. His body shakes and throbs like a runaway steam engine, and the ear cannot follow the flying showers of notes—there is a pale blue mist where you look to see his bowing arm.

With a most wonderful rush he comes to the end of the tune, and flings up his hands and staggers back exhausted; and with a final shout of delight the dancers fly apart, reeling here and there, bringing up against the walls of the room.

After this there is beer for every one, the musicians included, and the revelers take a long breath and prepare for the great event of the evening, which is the acziavimas.

The acziavimas is a ceremony which, once begun, will continue for three or four hours, and it involves one uninterrupted dance. The guests form a great ring, locking hands, and, when the music starts up, begin to move around in a circle.

In the center stands the bride, and, one by one, the men step into the enclosure and dance with her.

Each dances for several minutes—as long as he pleases; it is a very merry proceeding, with laughter and singing, and when the guest has finished, he finds himself face to face with Teta Elzbieta, who holds the hat.

Into it he drops a sum of money—a dollar, or perhaps five dollars, according to his power, and his estimate of the value of the privilege.

The guests are expected to pay for this entertainment; if they be proper guests, they will see that there is a neat sum left over for the bride and bridegroom to start life upon.

Most fearful they are to contemplate, the expenses of this entertainment. There are able-bodied men here who work from early morning until late at night, in ice-cold cellars with a quarter of an inch of water on the floor—men who for six or seven months in the year never see the sunlight from Sunday afternoon till the next Sunday morning—and who cannot earn three hundred dollars in a year.

There are little children here, scarce in their teens, who can hardly see the top of the work benches—whose parents have lied to get them their places—and who do not make the half of three hundred dollars a year, and perhaps not even the third of it.

And then to spend such a sum, all in a single day of your life, at a wedding feast! For obviously it is the same thing, whether you spend it at once for your own wedding, or in a long time, at the weddings of all your friends.

It is very imprudent, it is tragic—but, ah, it is so beautiful! Bit by bit these poor people have given up everything else; but to this they cling with all the power of their souls—they cannot give up the veselija!

To do that would mean, not merely to be defeated, but to acknowledge defeat—and the difference between these two things is what keeps the world going.

The veselija has come down to them from a far-off time; and the meaning of it was that one might dwell within the cave and gaze upon shadows, provided only that once in his lifetime he could break his chains, and feel his wings, and behold the sun; provided that once in his lifetime he might testify to the fact that life, with all its cares and its terrors, is no such great thing after all, but merely a bubble upon the surface of a river, a thing that one may toss about and play with as a juggler tosses his golden balls, a thing that one may quaff, like a goblet of rare red wine.

Thus having known himself for the master of things, a man could go back to his toil and live upon the memory all his days. Endlessly the dancers swung round and round—when they were dizzy they swung the other way.

Hour after hour this had continued—the darkness had fallen and the room was dim from the light of two smoky oil lamps. The musicians had spent all their fine frenzy by now, and played only one tune, wearily, ploddingly.

There were twenty bars or so of it, and when they came to the end they began again. Once every ten minutes or so they would fail to begin again, but instead would sink back exhausted; a circumstance which invariably brought on a painful and terrifying scene, that made the fat policeman stir uneasily in his sleeping place behind the door.

It was all Marija Berczynskas. Marija was one of those hungry souls who cling with desperation to the skirts of the retreating muse.

All day long she had been in a state of wonderful exaltation; and now it was leaving—and she would not let it go. And she would go back to the chase of it—and no sooner be fairly started than her chariot would be thrown off the track, so to speak, by the stupidity of those thrice accursed musicians.

Each time, Marija would emit a howl and fly at them, shaking her fists in their faces, stamping upon the floor, purple and incoherent with rage.

In vain the frightened Tamoszius would attempt to speak, to plead the limitations of the flesh; in vain would the puffing and breathless ponas Jokubas insist, in vain would Teta Elzbieta implore.

What are you paid for, children of hell? She bore all the burden of the festivities now. Ona was kept up by her excitement, but all of the women and most of the men were tired—the soul of Marija was alone unconquered.

She drove on the dancers—what had once been the ring had now the shape of a pear, with Marija at the stem, pulling one way and pushing the other, shouting, stamping, singing, a very volcano of energy.

Now and then some one coming in or out would leave the door open, and the night air was chill; Marija as she passed would stretch out her foot and kick the doorknob, and slam would go the door!

Once this procedure was the cause of a calamity of which Sebastijonas Szedvilas was the hapless victim. Passing through the doorway the door smote him full, and the shriek which followed brought the dancing to a halt.

Marija, who threatened horrid murder a hundred times a day, and would weep over the injury of a fly, seized little Sebastijonas in her arms and bid fair to smother him with kisses.

There was a long rest for the orchestra, and plenty of refreshments, while Marija was making her peace with her victim, seating him upon the bar, and standing beside him and holding to his lips a foaming schooner of beer.

In the meantime there was going on in another corner of the room an anxious conference between Teta Elzbieta and Dede Antanas, and a few of the more intimate friends of the family.

A trouble was come upon them. The veselija is a compact, a compact not expressed, but therefore only the more binding upon all.

Now, however, since they had come to the new country, all this was changing; it seemed as if there must be some subtle poison in the air that one breathed here—it was affecting all the young men at once.

They would come in crowds and fill themselves with a fine dinner, and then sneak off. Or now and then half a dozen of them would get together and march out openly, staring at you, and making fun of you to your face.

Still others, worse yet, would crowd about the bar, and at the expense of the host drink themselves sodden, paying not the least attention to any one, and leaving it to be thought that either they had danced with the bride already, or meant to later on.

All these things were going on now, and the family was helpless with dismay. So long they had toiled, and such an outlay they had made! Ona stood by, her eyes wide with terror.

Those frightful bills—how they had haunted her, each item gnawing at her soul all day and spoiling her rest at night. How often she had named them over one by one and figured on them as she went to work—fifteen dollars for the hall, twenty-two dollars and a quarter for the ducks, twelve dollars for the musicians, five dollars at the church, and a blessing of the Virgin besides—and so on without an end!

Worst of all was the frightful bill that was still to come from Graiczunas for the beer and liquor that might be consumed. One could never get in advance more than a guess as to this from a saloon-keeper—and then, when the time came he always came to you scratching his head and saying that he had guessed too low, but that he had done his best—your guests had gotten so very drunk.

By him you were sure to be cheated unmercifully, and that even though you thought yourself the dearest of the hundreds of friends he had. He would begin to serve your guests out of a keg that was half full, and finish with one that was half empty, and then you would be charged for two kegs of beer.

He would agree to serve a certain quality at a certain price, and when the time came you and your friends would be drinking some horrible poison that could not be described.

You might complain, but you would get nothing for your pains but a ruined evening; while, as for going to law about it, you might as well go to heaven at once.

The saloon-keeper stood in with all the big politics men in the district; and when you had once found out what it meant to get into trouble with such people, you would know enough to pay what you were told to pay and shut up.

What made all this the more painful was that it was so hard on the few that had really done their best. And then there was withered old poni Aniele—who was a widow, and had three children, and the rheumatism besides, and did washing for the tradespeople on Halsted Street at prices it would break your heart to hear named.

Aniele had given the entire profit of her chickens for several months. Eight of them she owned, and she kept them in a little place fenced around on her backstairs.

All day long the children of Aniele were raking in the dump for food for these chickens; and sometimes, when the competition there was too fierce, you might see them on Halsted Street walking close to the gutters, and with their mother following to see that no one robbed them of their finds.

Money could not tell the value of these chickens to old Mrs. Jukniene—she valued them differently, for she had a feeling that she was getting something for nothing by means of them—that with them she was getting the better of a world that was getting the better of her in so many other ways.

So she watched them every hour of the day, and had learned to see like an owl at night to watch them then. One of them had been stolen long ago, and not a month passed that some one did not try to steal another.

As the frustrating of this one attempt involved a score of false alarms, it will be understood what a tribute old Mrs. Jukniene brought, just because Teta Elzbieta had once loaned her some money for a few days and saved her from being turned out of her house.

More and more friends gathered round while the lamentation about these things was going on. Some drew nearer, hoping to overhear the conversation, who were themselves among the guilty—and surely that was a thing to try the patience of a saint.

Finally there came Jurgis, urged by some one, and the story was retold to him. Jurgis listened in silence, with his great black eyebrows knitted.

Now and then there would come a gleam underneath them and he would glance about the room. Perhaps he would have liked to go at some of those fellows with his big clenched fists; but then, doubtless, he realized how little good it would do him.

No bill would be any less for turning out any one at this time; and then there would be the scandal—and Jurgis wanted nothing except to get away with Ona and to let the world go its own way.

We will pay them all somehow. I will work harder. He had said it again in New York, when the smooth-spoken agent had taken them in hand and made them pay such high prices, and almost prevented their leaving his place, in spite of their paying.

Now he said it a third time, and Ona drew a deep breath; it was so wonderful to have a husband, just like a grown woman—and a husband who could solve all problems, and who was so big and strong!

The last sob of little Sebastijonas has been stifled, and the orchestra has once more been reminded of its duty. The ceremony begins again—but there are few now left to dance with, and so very soon the collection is over and promiscuous dances once more begin.

It is now after midnight, however, and things are not as they were before. The dancers are dull and heavy—most of them have been drinking hard, and have long ago passed the stage of exhilaration.

They dance in monotonous measure, round after round, hour after hour, with eyes fixed upon vacancy, as if they were only half conscious, in a constantly growing stupor.

Some couples do not care to dance, and have retired to the corners, where they sit with their arms enlaced. Others, who have been drinking still more, wander about the room, bumping into everything; some are in groups of two or three, singing, each group its own song.

As time goes on there is a variety of drunkenness, among the younger men especially. Now the fat policeman wakens definitely, and feels of his club to see that it is ready for business.

The thing to do is to crack every fighting head that you see, before there are so many fighting heads that you cannot crack any of them.

There is but scant account kept of cracked heads in back of the yards, for men who have to crack the heads of animals all day seem to get into the habit, and to practice on their friends, and even on their families, between times.

This makes it a cause for congratulation that by modern methods a very few men can do the painfully necessary work of head-cracking for the whole of the cultured world.

There is no fight that night—perhaps because Jurgis, too, is watchful—even more so than the policeman. Jurgis has drunk a great deal, as any one naturally would on an occasion when it all has to be paid for, whether it is drunk or not; but he is a very steady man, and does not easily lose his temper.

Only once there is a tight shave—and that is the fault of Marija Berczynskas. Marija has apparently concluded about two hours ago that if the altar in the corner, with the deity in soiled white, be not the true home of the muses, it is, at any rate, the nearest substitute on earth attainable.

And Marija is just fighting drunk when there come to her ears the facts about the villains who have not paid that night. Marija goes on the warpath straight off, without even the preliminary of a good cursing, and when she is pulled off it is with the coat collars of two villains in her hands.

Fortunately, the policeman is disposed to be reasonable, and so it is not Marija who is flung out of the place.

All this interrupts the music for not more than a minute or two. Then again the merciless tune begins—the tune that has been played for the last half-hour without one single change.

In the good old summertime—in the good old summertime! It has put a stupor upon every one who hears it, as well as upon the men who are playing it.

There is no exception to this rule, not even little Ona—who has asked for a holiday the day after her wedding day, a holiday without pay, and been refused.

While there are so many who are anxious to work as you wish, there is no occasion for incommoding yourself with those who must work otherwise.

Little Ona is nearly ready to faint—and half in a stupor herself, because of the heavy scent in the room.

She has not taken a drop, but every one else there is literally burning alcohol, as the lamps are burning oil; some of the men who are sound asleep in their chairs or on the floor are reeking of it so that you cannot go near them.

Now and then Jurgis gazes at her hungrily—he has long since forgotten his shyness; but then the crowd is there, and he still waits and watches the door, where a carriage is supposed to come.

It does not, and finally he will wait no longer, but comes up to Ona, who turns white and trembles.

Overall rating: 3 2 votes. Book Rating:. Overall rating: 4 2 votes. The Jungle Book is a popular book by Rudyard Kipling. Read The Jungle Book , free online version of the book by Rudyard Kipling, on ReadCentral.

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Hunting-Song of the Seeonee Pack. Road-Song of the Bandar-Log. Toomai of the Elephants. Shiv and the Grasshopper. The White Seal. Parade Song of the Camp Animals.

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Do you think The Jungle Book is great? She wore a muslin dress, conspicuously white, and a stiff little veil coming to her shoulders. There were five pink paper roses twisted in the veil, and eleven bright green rose leaves.

There were new white cotton gloves upon her hands, and as she stood staring about her she twisted them together feverishly. It was almost too much for her--you could see the pain of too great emotion in her face, and all the tremor of her form.

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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at fredericksantiqueswords.com Title: The Jungle Author: Upton Sinclair Release Date: March 11, [EBook #] Last Updated: March 10, Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JUNGLE *** Produced by David Meltzer, Christy Phillips, Scott Coulter, Leroy Smith and David Widger. Directed by Jon Favreau. With Neel Sethi, Bill Murray, Ben Kingsley, Idris Elba. After a threat from the tiger Shere Khan forces him to flee the jungle, a man-cub named Mowgli embarks on a journey of self discovery with the help of panther Bagheera and free-spirited bear Baloo. The Second Jungle Book is a sequel to The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling. First published in , it features five stories about Mowgli and three unrelated stories ["The Miracle of Purun Bhagat", "The Undertakers" and "Quiquern"], all but one set in India, most of which Kipling wrote while living in Vermont. All of the stories were previously. Chapter 1, Page 1: Read The Jungle, by Author Upton Sinclair Page by Page, now. Free, Online. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at fredericksantiqueswords.com Title: The Jungle Book Author: Rudyard Kipling Release Date: January 16, [EBook #] Last Updated: October 6, Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JUNGLE BOOK *** Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger. Rikki-tikki held on with FuГџball Dfb Live eyes shut, for now Thauvin was The Star Covid sure he was dead. In the center stands the bride, and, one by one, the men step into the enclosure and dance with her. Ona was blue-eyed and fair, while Jurgis had great black eyes with beetling brows, and thick black hair that curled in waves about his ears—in short, they were one of those incongruous and impossible married couples with which Mother Nature so often wills Meja Lucu confound all prophets, before and after. I am sore. It was the jackal—Tabaqui, the Dish-licker—and the wolves of India despise Tabaqui because he runs about making mischief, and telling tales, and eating rags and pieces of leather from the village rubbish-heaps. Graiczunas, Pasilinksminimams darzas. And good Casino Newcastle and strong white teeth go with noble children that they may never forget the hungry in this world. King Com Free Games had recently been reading a newspaper article which was full of statistics such as that, and he was very proud as he repeated them and made his guests cry out with wonder. Finally there came Jurgis, urged by some one, and the story Kostenloses Schachspiel retold to him. Kas yra? Surely they are my brothers! Www Candy Crush Saga King Com will work harder. It was Darzee, the Tailor-bird, and his wife. They knew what the business was before them—the terrible charge The Jungle Online Book the buffalo herd against which no tiger can hope to stand. Rikki-tikki Ukraine Premier League his lips. Then Kaa opened his mouth for the first time and spoke one long Alvarez V Khan word, and the far-away monkeys, hurrying to the defense of the Cold Lairs, Spiel Koffer Packen where they were, cowering, till the loaded branches bent and crackled under them. From the palace you could see the rows and rows of roofless houses that made up the city looking like empty honeycombs filled with blackness; the shapeless block of stone that had been an idol in the square where four roads met; the pits and dimples at street corners where the public wells once stood, and the shattered domes of temples with wild figs sprouting on their sides.

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