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. Der einsame Waisenjunge Mogli wird von Wölfen aufgenommen und gemeinsam ziehen sie durch den Dschungel. Doch nicht alle seine Bewohner heißen ihn. Hier können Sie das Spiel spielen The Jungle Book / Das Dschungelbuch Dos im Browser online. Dieses Spiel gehört zur Kategorie Arkade. Wenn Sie sie.
The Jungle Book Bücher Laden Sie Epub Ebooks herunterBuy The Jungle: A Upton Sinclair Novel Paperback – 30 Sept. ✓FREE Delivery Across Albania. ✓FREE Returns. ✓75M+ Products. Bücher bei sanjakosonen.com: Jetzt The Jungle Book von Rudyard Kipling bestellen und per Rechnung bezahlen bei sanjakosonen.com, Ihrem Bücher-Spezialisten! Nutzen Sie die Gelegenheit, das Buch des Autors The Jungle Book Kipling, Rudyard online zu öffnen und zu speichern. Die Bücher sind in verschiedenen.
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Einem spaГigen The Jungle Online Book Spiel und ist der Grund warum viele Spieler Heads-Up Texas Holdвem fГr Poker in seiner reinsten Form halten, um die GlГcksspielerfahrung zu erweitern? - Similar ProductsSchirKhan hat Moglis Vater getötet und will nun das Burgos Cf mit Mogli tun. 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 sanjakosonen.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. The Jungle Book - Mowgli, Kaa Best Memorable MomentsThe Jungle Book is a American animated musical comedy adventure film produced by Walt Disney Pr. 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. Chapter 1, Page 1: Read The Jungle, by Author Upton Sinclair Page by Page, now. Free, Online. The Jungle is a novel by Upton Sinclair, published serially in and as a book in An exposé of the American meatpacking industry and the horrors endured by immigrant workers generated public outrage resulting in passage of federal legislation that improved food quality and working conditions.
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His fiddle is out of tune, and there is no rosin on his bow, but still he is an inspired man—the hands of the muses have been laid upon him.
He plays like one possessed by a demon, by a whole horde of demons. You can feel them in the air round about him, capering frenetically; with their invisible feet they set the pace, and the hair of the leader of the orchestra rises on end, and his eyeballs start from their sockets, as he toils to keep up with them.
A pair of military trousers, light blue with a yellow stripe, serve to give that suggestion of authority proper to the leader of a band.
He is only about five feet high, but even so these trousers are about eight inches short of the ground. You wonder where he can have gotten them or rather you would wonder, if the excitement of being in his presence left you time to think of such things.
For he is an inspired man. Every inch of him is inspired—you might almost say inspired separately. He stamps with his feet, he tosses his head, he sways and swings to and fro; he has a wizened-up little face, irresistibly comical; and, when he executes a turn or a flourish, his brows knit and his lips work and his eyelids wink—the very ends of his necktie bristle out.
And every now and then he turns upon his companions, nodding, signaling, beckoning frantically—with every inch of him appealing, imploring, in behalf of the muses and their call.
For they are hardly worthy of Tamoszius, the other two members of the orchestra. The second violin is a Slovak, a tall, gaunt man with black-rimmed spectacles and the mute and patient look of an overdriven mule; he responds to the whip but feebly, and then always falls back into his old rut.
The third man is very fat, with a round, red, sentimental nose, and he plays with his eyes turned up to the sky and a look of infinite yearning.
Before the feast has been five minutes under way, Tamoszius Kuszleika has risen in his excitement; a minute or two more and you see that he is beginning to edge over toward the tables.
His nostrils are dilated and his breath comes fast—his demons are driving him. He nods and shakes his head at his companions, jerking at them with his violin, until at last the long form of the second violinist also rises up.
In the end all three of them begin advancing, step by step, upon the banqueters, Valentinavyczia, the cellist, bumping along with his instrument between notes.
Finally all three are gathered at the foot of the tables, and there Tamoszius mounts upon a stool.
Now he is in his glory, dominating the scene. Some of the people are eating, some are laughing and talking—but you will make a great mistake if you think there is one of them who does not hear him.
His notes are never true, and his fiddle buzzes on the low ones and squeaks and scratches on the high; but these things they heed no more than they heed the dirt and noise and squalor about them—it is out of this material that they have to build their lives, with it that they have to utter their souls.
And this is their utterance; merry and boisterous, or mournful and wailing, or passionate and rebellious, this music is their music, music of home.
It stretches out its arms to them, they have only to give themselves up. Chicago and its saloons and its slums fade away—there are green meadows and sunlit rivers, mighty forests and snow-clad hills.
They behold home landscapes and childhood scenes returning; old loves and friendships begin to waken, old joys and griefs to laugh and weep.
Some fall back and close their eyes, some beat upon the table. The company takes up the choruses, and men and women cry out like all possessed; some leap to their feet and stamp upon the floor, lifting their glasses and pledging each other.
Before long it occurs to some one to demand an old wedding song, which celebrates the beauty of the bride and the joys of love. In the excitement of this masterpiece Tamoszius Kuszleika begins to edge in between the tables, making his way toward the head, where sits the bride.
There is not a foot of space between the chairs of the guests, and Tamoszius is so short that he pokes them with his bow whenever he reaches over for the low notes; but still he presses in, and insists relentlessly that his companions must follow.
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.
The music had started up, and half a block away you could hear the dull "broom, broom" of a cello, with the squeaking of two fiddles which vied with each other in intricate and altitudinous gymnastics.
Seeing the throng, Marija abandoned precipitately the debate concerning the ancestors of her coachman, and, springing from the moving carriage, plunged in and proceeded to clear a way to the hall.
Once within, she turned and began to push the other way, roaring, meantime, "Eik! Graiczunas, Pasilinksminimams darzas. Wines and Liquors.
Union Headquarters"--that was the way the signs ran. Even the tiger runs and hides when little Tabaqui goes mad, for madness is the most disgraceful thing that can overtake a wild creature.
We call it hydrophobia, but they call it dewanee—the madness—and run. Who are we, the Gidur-log [the jackal people], to pick and choose?
How large are their eyes! And so young too! Indeed, indeed, I might have remembered that the children of kings are men from the beginning.
Now, Tabaqui knew as well as anyone else that there is nothing so unlucky as to compliment children to their faces. It pleased him to see Mother and Father Wolf look uncomfortable.
Tabaqui sat still, rejoicing in the mischief that he had made, and then he said spitefully:. He will hunt among these hills for the next moon, so he has told me.
He will frighten every head of game within ten miles, and I—I have to kill for two, these days. That is why he has only killed cattle. Now the villagers of the Waingunga are angry with him, and he has come here to make our villagers angry.
They will scour the jungle for him when he is far away, and we and our children must run when the grass is set alight.
Indeed, we are very grateful to Shere Khan! Thou hast done harm enough for one night. I might have saved myself the message. Father Wolf listened, and below in the valley that ran down to a little river he heard the dry, angry, snarly, singsong whine of a tiger who has caught nothing and does not care if all the jungle knows it.
Does he think that our buck are like his fat Waingunga bullocks? The whine had changed to a sort of humming purr that seemed to come from every quarter of the compass.
It was the noise that bewilders woodcutters and gypsies sleeping in the open, and makes them run sometimes into the very mouth of the tiger.
Are there not enough beetles and frogs in the tanks that he must eat Man, and on our ground too! The Law of the Jungle, which never orders anything without a reason, forbids every beast to eat Man except when he is killing to show his children how to kill, and then he must hunt outside the hunting grounds of his pack or tribe.
The real reason for this is that man-killing means, sooner or later, the arrival of white men on elephants, with guns, and hundreds of brown men with gongs and rockets and torches.
Then everybody in the jungle suffers. The reason the beasts give among themselves is that Man is the weakest and most defenseless of all living things, and it is unsportsmanlike to touch him.
They say too—and it is true—that man-eaters become mangy, and lose their teeth. Then there was a howl—an untigerish howl—from Shere Khan.
Father Wolf ran out a few paces and heard Shere Khan muttering and mumbling savagely as he tumbled about in the scrub.
The bushes rustled a little in the thicket, and Father Wolf dropped with his haunches under him, ready for his leap. Then, if you had been watching, you would have seen the most wonderful thing in the world—the wolf checked in mid-spring.
He made his bound before he saw what it was he was jumping at, and then he tried to stop himself. The result was that he shot up straight into the air for four or five feet, landing almost where he left ground.
Bring it here. How naked, and—how bold! The baby was pushing his way between the cubs to get close to the warm hide.
He is taking his meal with the others. But see, he looks up and is not afraid. Give it to me. But Father Wolf knew that the mouth of the cave was too narrow for a tiger to come in by.
What talk is this of choosing? It is I, Shere Khan, who speak! Mother Wolf shook herself clear of the cubs and sprang forward, her eyes, like two green moons in the darkness, facing the blazing eyes of Shere Khan.
He shall not be killed. He shall live to run with the Pack and to hunt with the Pack; and in the end, look you, hunter of little naked cubs—frog-eater—fish-killer—he shall hunt thee!
Now get hence, or by the Sambhur that I killed I eat no starved cattle , back thou goest to thy mother, burned beast of the jungle, lamer than ever thou camest into the world!
Father Wolf looked on amazed. Shere Khan might have faced Father Wolf, but he could not stand up against Mother Wolf, for he knew that where he was she had all the advantage of the ground, and would fight to the death.
So he backed out of the cave mouth growling, and when he was clear he shouted:. We will see what the Pack will say to this fostering of man-cubs.
The cub is mine, and to my teeth he will come in the end, O bush-tailed thieves! Mother Wolf threw herself down panting among the cubs, and Father Wolf said to her gravely:.
The cub must be shown to the Pack. Wilt thou still keep him, Mother? Look, he has pushed one of my babes to one side already.
And that lame butcher would have killed him and would have run off to the Waingunga while the villagers here hunted through all our lairs in revenge!
Keep him? Assuredly I will keep him. Lie still, little frog. O thou Mowgli—for Mowgli the Frog I will call thee—the time will come when thou wilt hunt Shere Khan as he has hunted thee.
The Law of the Jungle lays down very clearly that any wolf may, when he marries, withdraw from the Pack he belongs to.
But as soon as his cubs are old enough to stand on their feet he must bring them to the Pack Council, which is generally held once a month at full moon, in order that the other wolves may identify them.
After that inspection the cubs are free to run where they please, and until they have killed their first buck no excuse is accepted if a grown wolf of the Pack kills one of them.
The punishment is death where the murderer can be found; and if you think for a minute you will see that this must be so. Father Wolf waited till his cubs could run a little, and then on the night of the Pack Meeting took them and Mowgli and Mother Wolf to the Council Rock—a hilltop covered with stones and boulders where a hundred wolves could hide.
Akela, the great gray Lone Wolf, who led all the Pack by strength and cunning, lay out at full length on his rock, and below him sat forty or more wolves of every size and color, from badger-colored veterans who could handle a buck alone to young black three-year-olds who thought they could.
The Lone Wolf had led them for a year now. He had fallen twice into a wolf trap in his youth, and once he had been beaten and left for dead; so he knew the manners and customs of men.
There was very little talking at the Rock. The cubs tumbled over each other in the center of the circle where their mothers and fathers sat, and now and again a senior wolf would go quietly up to a cub, look at him carefully, and return to his place on noiseless feet.
Sometimes a mother would push her cub far out into the moonlight to be sure that he had not been overlooked. Look well, O Wolves! Give him to me.
What have the Free People to do with the orders of any save the Free People? Look well! Then the only other creature who is allowed at the Pack Council—Baloo, the sleepy brown bear who teaches the wolf cubs the Law of the Jungle: old Baloo, who can come and go where he pleases because he eats only nuts and roots and honey—rose upon his hind quarters and grunted.
I have no gift of words, but I speak the truth. Let him run with the Pack, and be entered with the others. I myself will teach him.
Who speaks besides Baloo? A black shadow dropped down into the circle. It was Bagheera the Black Panther, inky black all over, but with the panther markings showing up in certain lights like the pattern of watered silk.
Everybody knew Bagheera, and nobody cared to cross his path; for he was as cunning as Tabaqui, as bold as the wild buffalo, and as reckless as the wounded elephant.
But he had a voice as soft as wild honey dripping from a tree, and a skin softer than down. And the Law does not say who may or may not pay that price.
Am I right? The cub can be bought for a price. It is the Law. Besides, he may make better sport for you when he is grown. Baloo has spoken in his behalf.
Is it difficult? He will die in the winter rains. He will scorch in the sun. What harm can a naked frog do us? Let him run with the Pack.
Where is the bull, Bagheera? Let him be accepted. Mowgli was still deeply interested in the pebbles, and he did not notice when the wolves came and looked at him one by one.
Shere Khan roared still in the night, for he was very angry that Mowgli had not been handed over to him. He may be a help in time.
Akela said nothing. He was thinking of the time that comes to every leader of every pack when his strength goes from him and he gets feebler and feebler, till at last he is killed by the wolves and a new leader comes up—to be killed in his turn.
Now you must be content to skip ten or eleven whole years, and only guess at all the wonderful life that Mowgli led among the wolves, because if it were written out it would fill ever so many books.
He grew up with the cubs, though they, of course, were grown wolves almost before he was a child. When he was not learning he sat out in the sun and slept, and ate and went to sleep again.
When he felt dirty or hot he swam in the forest pools; and when he wanted honey Baloo told him that honey and nuts were just as pleasant to eat as raw meat he climbed up for it, and that Bagheera showed him how to do.
He took his place at the Council Rock, too, when the Pack met, and there he discovered that if he stared hard at any wolf, the wolf would be forced to drop his eyes, and so he used to stare for fun.
At other times he would pick the long thorns out of the pads of his friends, for wolves suffer terribly from thorns and burs in their coats.
He would go down the hillside into the cultivated lands by night, and look very curiously at the villagers in their huts, but he had a mistrust of men because Bagheera showed him a square box with a drop gate so cunningly hidden in the jungle that he nearly walked into it, and told him that it was a trap.
He loved better than anything else to go with Bagheera into the dark warm heart of the forest, to sleep all through the drowsy day, and at night see how Bagheera did his killing.
Bagheera killed right and left as he felt hungry, and so did Mowgli—with one exception. That is the Law of the Jungle. And he grew and grew strong as a boy must grow who does not know that he is learning any lessons, and who has nothing in the world to think of except things to eat.
Mother Wolf told him once or twice that Shere Khan was not a creature to be trusted, and that some day he must kill Shere Khan.
But though a young wolf would have remembered that advice every hour, Mowgli forgot it because he was only a boy—though he would have called himself a wolf if he had been able to speak in any human tongue.
Shere Khan was always crossing his path in the jungle, for as Akela grew older and feebler the lame tiger had come to be great friends with the younger wolves of the Pack, who followed him for scraps, a thing Akela would never have allowed if he had dared to push his authority to the proper bounds.
Bagheera, who had eyes and ears everywhere, knew something of this, and once or twice he told Mowgli in so many words that Shere Khan would kill him some day.
Why should I be afraid? It was one very warm day that a new notion came to Bagheera—born of something that he had heard. I am sleepy, Bagheera, and Shere Khan is all long tail and loud talk—like Mao, the Peacock.
Baloo knows it; I know it; the Pack know it; and even the foolish, foolish deer know. Tabaqui has told thee too. But I caught Tabaqui by the tail and swung him twice against a palm-tree to teach him better manners.
Open those eyes, Little Brother. Shere Khan dare not kill thee in the jungle. But remember, Akela is very old, and soon the day comes when he cannot kill his buck, and then he will be leader no more.
Many of the wolves that looked thee over when thou wast brought to the Council first are old too, and the young wolves believe, as Shere Khan has taught them, that a man-cub has no place with the Pack.
In a little time thou wilt be a man. I have obeyed the Law of the Jungle, and there is no wolf of ours from whose paws I have not pulled a thorn.
Surely they are my brothers! Bagheera stretched himself at full length and half shut his eyes. It was because of this that I paid the price for thee at the Council when thou wast a little naked cub.
Yes, I too was born among men. I had never seen the jungle. And because I had learned the ways of men, I became more terrible in the jungle than Shere Khan.
Is it not so? And Mowgli looked at him steadily between the eyes. The big panther turned his head away in half a minute.
The others they hate thee because their eyes cannot meet thine; because thou art wise; because thou hast pulled out thorns from their feet—because thou art a man.
Strike first and then give tongue. By thy very carelessness they know that thou art a man. But be wise. It is in my heart that when Akela misses his next kill—and at each hunt it costs him more to pin the buck—the Pack will turn against him and against thee.
They will hold a jungle Council at the Rock, and then—and then—I have it! Get the Red Flower. By Red Flower Bagheera meant fire, only no creature in the jungle will call fire by its proper name.
Every beast lives in deadly fear of it, and invents a hundred ways of describing it. I will get some. Get one swiftly, and keep it by thee for time of need.
Mowgli was far and far through the forest, running hard, and his heart was hot in him. He came to the cave as the evening mist rose, and drew breath, and looked down the valley.
The cubs were out, but Mother Wolf, at the back of the cave, knew by his breathing that something was troubling her frog.
There he checked, for he heard the yell of the Pack hunting, heard the bellow of a hunted Sambhur, and the snort as the buck turned at bay.
Let the Lone Wolf show his strength. Room for the leader of the Pack! Spring, Akela! The Lone Wolf must have sprung and missed his hold, for Mowgli heard the snap of his teeth and then a yelp as the Sambhur knocked him over with his forefoot.
He did not wait for anything more, but dashed on; and the yells grew fainter behind him as he ran into the croplands where the villagers lived.
Then he pressed his face close to the window and watched the fire on the hearth. Halfway up the hill he met Bagheera with the morning dew shining like moonstones on his coat.
They were looking for thee on the hill. I am ready. Now, I have seen men thrust a dry branch into that stuff, and presently the Red Flower blossomed at the end of it.
Art thou not afraid? Why should I fear? I remember now—if it is not a dream—how, before I was a Wolf, I lay beside the Red Flower, and it was warm and pleasant.
All that day Mowgli sat in the cave tending his fire pot and dipping dry branches into it to see how they looked. He found a branch that satisfied him, and in the evening when Tabaqui came to the cave and told him rudely enough that he was wanted at the Council Rock, he laughed till Tabaqui ran away.
Then Mowgli went to the Council, still laughing. Akela the Lone Wolf lay by the side of his rock as a sign that the leadership of the Pack was open, and Shere Khan with his following of scrap-fed wolves walked to and fro openly being flattered.
When they were all gathered together, Shere Khan began to speak—a thing he would never have dared to do when Akela was in his prime.
He will be frightened. Mowgli sprang to his feet. What has a tiger to do with our leadership? The leadership of the Pack is with the Pack alone.
Now I have missed my kill. Ye know how that plot was made. Ye know how ye brought me up to an untried buck to make my weakness known.
It was cleverly done. Your right is to kill me here on the Council Rock, now. Therefore, I ask, who comes to make an end of the Lone Wolf? For it is my right, by the Law of the Jungle, that ye come one by one.
There was a long hush, for no single wolf cared to fight Akela to the death. What have we to do with this toothless fool?
He is doomed to die! It is the man-cub who has lived too long. Free People, he was my meat from the first. I am weary of this man-wolf folly.
He has troubled the jungle for ten seasons. Give me the man-cub, or I will hunt here always, and not give you one bone. A man! What has a man to do with us?
Let him go to his own place. He is a man, and none of us can look him between the eyes. He has slept with us.
He has driven game for us. He has broken no word of the Law of the Jungle. In truth, I have lived too long. Therefore I know ye to be cowards, and it is to cowards I speak.
But for the sake of the Honor of the Pack,—a little matter that by being without a leader ye have forgotten,—I promise that if ye let the man-cub go to his own place, I will not, when my time comes to die, bare one tooth against ye.
I will die without fighting. That will at least save the Pack three lives. More I cannot do; but if ye will, I can save ye the shame that comes of killing a brother against whom there is no fault—a brother spoken for and bought into the Pack according to the Law of the Jungle.
And most of the wolves began to gather round Shere Khan, whose tail was beginning to switch. Mowgli stood upright—the fire pot in his hands.
Then he stretched out his arms, and yawned in the face of the Council; but he was furious with rage and sorrow, for, wolflike, the wolves had never told him how they hated him.
So I do not call ye my brothers any more, but sag [dogs], as a man should. What ye will do, and what ye will not do, is not yours to say.
That matter is with me; and that we may see the matter more plainly, I, the man, have brought here a little of the Red Flower which ye, dogs, fear.
He flung the fire pot on the ground, and some of the red coals lit a tuft of dried moss that flared up, as all the Council drew back in terror before the leaping flames.
Mowgli thrust his dead branch into the fire till the twigs lit and crackled, and whirled it above his head among the cowering wolves.
He was ever thy friend. Akela, the grim old wolf who had never asked for mercy in his life, gave one piteous look at Mowgli as the boy stood all naked, his long black hair tossing over his shoulders in the light of the blazing branch that made the shadows jump and quiver.
I go from you to my own people—if they be my own people. The jungle is shut to me, and I must forget your talk and your companionship.
But I will be more merciful than ye are. Because I was all but your brother in blood, I promise that when I am a man among men I will not betray ye to men as ye have betrayed me.
But here is a debt to pay before I go. Bagheera followed in case of accidents. Thus and thus, then, do we beat dogs when we are men.
Stir a whisker, Lungri, and I ram the Red Flower down thy gullet! Singed jungle cat—go now! For the rest, Akela goes free to live as he pleases.
Ye will not kill him, because that is not my will. Nor do I think that ye will sit here any longer, lolling out your tongues as though ye were somebodies, instead of dogs whom I drive out—thus!
Then something began to hurt Mowgli inside him, as he had never been hurt in his life before, and he caught his breath and sobbed, and the tears ran down his face.
What is it? Am I dying, Bagheera? The jungle is shut indeed to thee henceforward. Let them fall, Mowgli.
They are only tears. But first I must say farewell to my mother. For, listen, child of man, I loved thee more than ever I loved my cubs.
Do not forget me! Tell them in the jungle never to forget me! The dawn was beginning to break when Mowgli went down the hillside alone, to meet those mysterious things that are called men.
All that is told here happened some time before Mowgli was turned out of the Seeonee Wolf Pack, or revenged himself on Shere Khan the tiger.
It was in the days when Baloo was teaching him the Law of the Jungle. The boy could climb almost as well as he could swim, and swim almost as well as he could run.
So Baloo, the Teacher of the Law, taught him the Wood and Water Laws: how to tell a rotten branch from a sound one; how to speak politely to the wild bees when he came upon a hive of them fifty feet above ground; what to say to Mang the Bat when he disturbed him in the branches at midday; and how to warn the water-snakes in the pools before he splashed down among them.
None of the Jungle People like being disturbed, and all are very ready to fly at an intruder. All this will show you how much Mowgli had to learn by heart, and he grew very tired of saying the same thing over a hundred times.
That is why I teach him these things, and that is why I hit him, very softly, when he forgets. What dost thou know of softness, old Iron-feet?
He can now claim protection, if he will only remember the words, from all in the jungle. Is not that worth a little beating? He is no tree trunk to sharpen thy blunt claws upon.
But what are those Master Words? Come, Little Brother! I know them all.Those frightful bills—how they had haunted her, each Heart Of Vegas Problems gnawing at her soul Golden Dragon Sweepstakes Download day and spoiling her rest at night. Take the boy into thy house, my sister, and forget not to honor the priest who sees so far into the lives of men. By him you were sure to be cheated unmercifully, and that even though you Gratis MГ¤dchen Spiele yourself the dearest of the hundreds of friends he had. How was I to guess he would play with such dirt. The visitors were taken there and shown them, all neatly hung in rows, labeled conspicuously with the tags of the government inspectors—and some, which had been killed by a special process, marked with the sign of the kosher rabbi, certifying that it was fit for sale to My Vegas Slots Free orthodox. One of us at least needs food. The sea is full of fire on Luxor Kostenlos Spielen nights all the way down from Novastoshnah to Lukannon, and each seal leaves a wake like burning oil behind him and a Wetter Werder 14 Tage flash when he jumps, and the waves break in great phosphorescent streaks and swirls. Jurgis was determined that Teta Elzbieta should stay at home to keep house, and that Ona should help her. The herd never went more than forty or fifty miles a day, and stopped to feed at night, and kept close to the shore all the time; while Kotick swam round them, and over them, and under them, but he could not hurry them up one-half mile. The The Jungle Online Book had changed to a sort of humming purr that seemed to come from every DГјsseldorf Trabzon of the compass. By thy very carelessness they know that thou art a man. O thou Mowgli—for Mowgli the Frog I will call thee—the time will come when thou wilt hunt Shere Khan as he has hunted Scrabble Suche. The most uncanny thing about this neighborhood was the number of the children; you thought there must be a school just out, and it was only after long acquaintance that you were able to realize that there was no school, but that these were the children of the neighborhood—that there were so many children to the block in Packingtown that nowhere on Case Csgo streets could a horse and buggy move faster than a walk! 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 sanjakosonen.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 It was only at the age of twenty that it had occurred to Marija to try her strength, when she had risen up and nearly murdered the man, and then come away. How often she had named them over one by one and figured on them as she went to work—fifteen Rullo 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! There were new white cotton gloves upon her hands, and Automobilrennfahrer she stood staring about her she twisted them together feverishly. Last time it was because I was a man. He is a beef-boner, and that is a dangerous trade, especially when you are on piecework and trying to earn a bride.