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diff --git a/toolkit/components/narrate/test/moby_dick.html b/toolkit/components/narrate/test/moby_dick.html deleted file mode 100644 index 0beaa20fd..000000000 --- a/toolkit/components/narrate/test/moby_dick.html +++ /dev/null @@ -1,218 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html> -<head> -<title>Moby Dick - Chapter 1. Loomings</title> -</head> -<body> - <h1>Moby Dick</h1> - <h2>Chapter 1. Loomings</h2> - <p> - Call me Ishmael. <span>Some <span>years</span></span> ago—never mind how - long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular - to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the - watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and - regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the - mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find - myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the - rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an - upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me - from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking - people's hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I - can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical - flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. - There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in - their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings - towards the ocean with me. - </p> - <p> - There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by wharves - as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her surf. - Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme downtown is - the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and cooled by - breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of land. Look at the - crowds of water-gazers there. - </p> - <p> - Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears - Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What do - you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand - thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some - leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some looking - over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the rigging, as - if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these are all - landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to counters, - nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are the green - fields gone? What do they here? - </p> - <p> - But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and - seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the - extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder - warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water as - they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand—miles of - them—leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, - streets and avenues—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all - unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses - of all those ships attract them thither? - </p> - <p> - Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take - almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, - and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it. Let - the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest reveries—stand - that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will infallibly lead - you to water, if water there be in all that region. Should you ever be - athirst in the great American desert, try this experiment, if your caravan - happen to be supplied with a metaphysical professor. Yes, as every one - knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever. - </p> - <p> - But here is an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest, - quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley of - the Saco. What is the chief element he employs? There stand his trees, - each with a hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were within; and - here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle; and up from yonder - cottage goes a sleepy smoke. Deep into distant woodlands winds a mazy way, - reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in their hill-side blue. - But though the picture lies thus tranced, and though this pine-tree shakes - down its sighs like leaves upon this shepherd's head, yet all were vain, - unless the shepherd's eye were fixed upon the magic stream before him. Go - visit the Prairies in June, when for scores on scores of miles you wade - knee-deep among Tiger-lilies—what is the one charm wanting?—Water—there - is not a drop of water there! Were Niagara but a cataract of sand, would - you travel your thousand miles to see it? Why did the poor poet of - Tennessee, upon suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate - whether to buy him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest his money in a - pedestrian trip to Rockaway Beach? Why is almost every robust healthy boy - with a robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to - sea? Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such - a mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out - of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did the - Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely all this - is not without meaning. And still deeper the meaning of that story of - Narcissus, who because he could not grasp the tormenting, mild image he - saw in the fountain, plunged into it and was drowned. But that same image, - we ourselves see in all rivers and oceans. It is the image of the - ungraspable phantom of life; and this is the key to it all. - </p> - <p> - Now, when I say that I am in the habit of going to sea whenever I begin to - grow hazy about the eyes, and begin to be over conscious of my lungs, I do - not mean to have it inferred that I ever go to sea as a passenger. For to - go as a passenger you must needs have a purse, and a purse is but a rag - unless you have something in it. Besides, passengers get sea-sick—grow - quarrelsome—don't sleep of nights—do not enjoy themselves - much, as a general thing;—no, I never go as a passenger; nor, though - I am something of a salt, do I ever go to sea as a Commodore, or a - Captain, or a Cook. I abandon the glory and distinction of such offices to - those who like them. For my part, I abominate all honourable respectable - toils, trials, and tribulations of every kind whatsoever. It is quite as - much as I can do to take care of myself, without taking care of ships, - barques, brigs, schooners, and what not. And as for going as cook,—though - I confess there is considerable glory in that, a cook being a sort of - officer on ship-board—yet, somehow, I never fancied broiling fowls;—though - once broiled, judiciously buttered, and judgmatically salted and peppered, - there is no one who will speak more respectfully, not to say - reverentially, of a broiled fowl than I will. It is out of the idolatrous - dotings of the old Egyptians upon broiled ibis and roasted river horse, - that you see the mummies of those creatures in their huge bake-houses the - pyramids. - </p> - <p> - No, when I go to sea, I go as a simple sailor, right before the mast, - plumb down into the forecastle, aloft there to the royal mast-head. True, - they rather order me about some, and make me jump from spar to spar, like - a grasshopper in a May meadow. And at first, this sort of thing is - unpleasant enough. It touches one's sense of honour, particularly if you - come of an old established family in the land, the Van Rensselaers, or - Randolphs, or Hardicanutes. And more than all, if just previous to putting - your hand into the tar-pot, you have been lording it as a country - schoolmaster, making the tallest boys stand in awe of you. The transition - is a keen one, I assure you, from a schoolmaster to a sailor, and requires - a strong decoction of Seneca and the Stoics to enable you to grin and bear - it. But even this wears off in time. - </p> - <p> - What of it, if some old hunks of a sea-captain orders me to get a broom - and sweep down the decks? What does that indignity amount to, weighed, I - mean, in the scales of the New Testament? Do you think the archangel - Gabriel thinks anything the less of me, because I promptly and - respectfully obey that old hunks in that particular instance? Who ain't a - slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may order me - about—however they may thump and punch me about, I have the - satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is one - way or other served in much the same way—either in a physical or - metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is passed - round, and all hands should rub each other's shoulder-blades, and be - content. - </p> - <p> - Again, I always go to sea as a sailor, because they make a point of paying - me for my trouble, whereas they never pay passengers a single penny that I - ever heard of. On the contrary, passengers themselves must pay. And there - is all the difference in the world between paying and being paid. The act - of paying is perhaps the most uncomfortable infliction that the two - orchard thieves entailed upon us. But <i>being paid</i>,—what will compare - with it? The urbane activity with which a man receives money is really - marvellous, considering that we so earnestly believe money to be the root - of all earthly ills, and that on no account can a monied man enter heaven. - Ah! how cheerfully we consign ourselves to perdition! - </p> - <p> - Finally, I always go to sea as a sailor, because of the wholesome exercise - and pure air of the fore-castle deck. For as in this world, head winds are - far more prevalent than winds from astern (that is, if you never violate - the Pythagorean maxim), so for the most part the Commodore on the - quarter-deck gets his atmosphere at second hand from the sailors on the - forecastle. He thinks he breathes it first; but not so. In much the same - way do the commonalty lead their leaders in many other things, at the same - time that the leaders little suspect it. But wherefore it was that after - having repeatedly smelt the sea as a merchant sailor, I should now take it - into my head to go on a whaling voyage; this the invisible police officer - of the Fates, who has the constant surveillance of me, and secretly dogs - me, and influences me in some unaccountable way—he can better answer - than any one else. And, doubtless, my going on this whaling voyage, formed - part of the grand programme of Providence that was drawn up a long time - ago. It came in as a sort of brief interlude and solo between more - extensive performances. I take it that this part of the bill must have run - something like this: - </p> - <p> - "<i>Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States.</i> - "WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL. "BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN." - </p> - <p> - Though I cannot tell why it was exactly that those stage managers, the - Fates, put me down for this shabby part of a whaling voyage, when others - were set down for magnificent parts in high tragedies, and short and easy - parts in genteel comedies, and jolly parts in farces—though I cannot - tell why this was exactly; yet, now that I recall all the circumstances, I - think I can see a little into the springs and motives which being - cunningly presented to me under various disguises, induced me to set about - performing the part I did, besides cajoling me into the delusion that it - was a choice resulting from my own unbiased freewill and discriminating - judgment. - </p> - <p> - Chief among these motives was the overwhelming idea of the great whale - himself. Such a portentous and mysterious monster roused all my curiosity. - Then the wild and distant seas where he rolled his island bulk; the - undeliverable, nameless perils of the whale; these, with all the attending - marvels of a thousand Patagonian sights and sounds, helped to sway me to - my wish. With other men, perhaps, such things would not have been - inducements; but as for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for - things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous - coasts. Not ignoring what is good, I am quick to perceive a horror, and - could still be social with it—would they let me—since it is - but well to be on friendly terms with all the inmates of the place one - lodges in. - </p> - <p> - By reason of these things, then, the whaling voyage was welcome; the great - flood-gates of the wonder-world swung open, and in the wild conceits that - swayed me to my purpose, two and two there floated into my inmost soul, - endless processions of the whale, and, mid most of them all, one grand - hooded phantom, like a snow hill in the air. - </p> -</body> -</html> |