The Birmingham age-herald. [volume] (Birmingham, Ala.) 1902-1950, 1906-06-17

1906
Upton Sinclair. the author of The Jun
gle," is a fortunate man, inasmuch as
the notice of his book by the President
and the consequent official investigation
of the packing houses, Will abundantly
secure to him the success of his work.
But 1t can never reach the pinnacle that
he deserves for his daring work, for in
many ways It Is the most remarkable
book published In many years. 1t does
not form pleasant reading for Idle amuse-
ment, but 1t deals with facts and condi-
lions that can be ,yrasped most effectively
when presented in this form. Upton Sin
clair is very young writer but very
forcible, earnest one, and no one who
reads THE Jungle" will doubt for d
moment that he knows every phase of the
subject treated in his story and the
| human interest In the work. although
fraught with so much that Is narrowing
and dismayng, never flags from first
| page to the last
| The disillusioning of human being Is
| always a sdrrowful thing. But the dis
| illusionlng of Jurgis. so young and brave
and strong and hopeful robbing him nrst
of his faith in humanity aud then of his
idealized America" is a cruel, bitter
experience and 1t is enough to produce
responsive protest in the heart of every
reader and righteous protest than sueh
conditions are allowed in America. Inc
description of the little company-all
Lithuanian, centered around the TWO |
lovers, Jurgis and Ona, leaving their nome
for America, their arrival and trip TO
Chicago and their installation there Is
beautiful and vivid picture and well nlgh
perfect from literary point of view.
While the subsequent events and de-
scriptions of the packing houses is just
as forceful and mastery. A more specific
method for the education of the profits
of the great packing house trust can |
scarcely be ina gined than Upton Sineare's
book, giving such minute descriptions of
conditions in Packngtown, Chicago. He
writes:
1.-The shrek was followed by another
louder and yet more agonizing-for once
started upon that journey, the hog never
came back. The uproar was appalling, |
perilous to the ear-drums; one feared
there was too much sound for the room
to hold--that the walls must give way
or the ceiling crack. There were nigh
squeals and low squeals, grunts and
walls of agony: there would come a mo- |
mentary lull, and then fresh outourst. |
louder than ever, surging up to deafen-
ing climax 1t was too much for some
of the vistors-the men would look at
each other. laughing nervously, and the
women would stand with hands clenched,
and the blood rushing to their faces, and
the tears starting to their eyes
Meantime needless of all these things,
the men upon the floor were going about
their work Neither squeals of hogs nor
tears of visitors made any difference to
them: one by one they hooked up the
hogs, and one by one with swift stroke
they slit their thoats. There was long
line of hogs with squeals and life-blood
ebbing away together; until at last each
started again and vanished with splash
into huge vat of boiling water. 1t
was all so businesslike that one watched
1t fascinated. 1t was pork-making by
applied mathematics. And yet, some
how. one could not help thinking of the
hogs; they were so innocent. they came
so very trustingly, and they were so very
human in their protests-and so perfectly |
within their rights, and as poor Jurg1s |
witnessed 1t for the first time he NUT |
tered: Diere-but I'm glad I'm not !
hog" Yet. in conclusion, the reader Is
forced to ask, was Jurgis treated in any |
way less cruelty?
The one "gleam of humor that you |
will find there" says the author, us the |
about the hog except the squeal, and |
old Jobubas philosophlcally remarks that |
visitors do not see any more than the |
packers wanted them to-
The little Lithuanian company buy |
home, and the agony of the buying and |
parting with all their boarded capital Is |
A pitiful thing, and Jurgis started to |
work This was the first time In his |
life that he had ever really worked; 1t |
seemed to Jurgis; 1t was the first time |
he had ever had anything to do which |
took all he had in him. Jurgis had stood |
with the rest up in the gallery, but he |
never thought of the flesh and blood side |
of it-that is, not until he actually |
got down into the pit and took Off his |
coat The pace they set here, 1t was one
that called for every faculty of man |
from the instant the first steer fell till |
the sounding of the noon whistle, and |
again from 12:30 till heaven only knew
what hour in the late afternoon or even |
ING there was never one instants rest |
for a man, for his-hand or his eye or
his brain. Jurgis saw how they man
aged II: there were portions of the work |
which determined the pace of the rest
and for these they had picked men whom
they changed frequently You might
easily pick out these pacemakers, for
they worked under the eye of the bosses,
and they worked IKE men PoSScS'Vu.
This was called speeding up the gang
and IL any man could not keep up with
the pace, there were hundreds outside
begging to try. Yet Jurgis did not mind
IT. he rather enjoyed il"
But Jurgis has just arrived, and hope
and faith are strong within him. and
love is his guiding star-it is all so differ
ent when his hope and faith in humanity |
and in America are gone, and disilluson-
ment also included the passing away of
his beloved Ona.
The book contains some four hundred
nages. and it Is well sustained and effec-
tive and irresistible up to the very last
page
Since Richard Harding Davis stories of
Now York, no volume about the metrop
oils has penetrated into SO many corners |
az q Henry's 1.-The Four Million" with
its TWENTY-FIVE stories, each one a phase
of the big city. AS one young woman
nuts If II has seemed TO her lately as |
though she could not get away from the
hook ION Friday night l heard an ami
mated discussion about 1t in Schoeffel
hall. On Saturday night at the Grifou,
neonle were talking about it. l made
a call on Sunday afternoon and ran into
it again; and on Monday overheard two
priests discussing it on an elevated
train
There is story to the effect that
Rudyard Kiplings growing children ike
best of all the stories he tells them,
IA