.dockerignore

@@ -1,5 +0,0 @@
-*.log
-output.*.txt
-.vscode
-files
-files.*/

.github/workflows/golangci-lint.yml

@@ -1,28 +0,0 @@
-name: lint-build-test
-on:
-  push:
-    branches:
-      - master
-  pull_request:
-
-permissions:
-  contents: read
-
-jobs:
-  lint-build-test:
-    name: lint-build-test
-    runs-on: ubuntu-latest
-    steps:
-      - uses: actions/checkout@v4
-      - uses: actions/setup-go@v5
-        with:
-          go-version: "1.22"
-          cache: false
-      - name: golangci-lint
-        uses: golangci/golangci-lint-action@v4
-        with:
-          version: latest
-      - name: build
-        run: go build -v ./...
-      - name: Run tests
-        run: go test

.gitignore

@@ -1,5 +1,3 @@
 *.log
 output.*.txt
 .vscode
-files
-files.*/

Dockerfile

@@ -1,19 +1,11 @@
-ARG bin_name=docgrouper
-
 FROM golang:1.22 as builder
-ARG bin_name
+WORKDIR /go/src/docgrouper
-WORKDIR /go/src/$bin_name
+COPY testdata testdata/
-COPY . .
+COPY *.go go.mod go.sum ./
 RUN go mod download
-RUN go test -v ./... && CGO_ENABLED=0 GOOS=linux GOARCH=amd64 go build -o $bin_name
+RUN go test -v ./... && CGO_ENABLED=0 GOOS=linux GOARCH=amd64 go build -o docgroup
 
 FROM gcr.io/distroless/base-nossl-debian12
-ARG bin_name
+COPY --from=builder /go/src/docgrouper/docgrouper /bin/docgrouper
-COPY --from=builder /go/src/${bin_name}/${bin_name} /bin/${bin_name}
 VOLUME [ "/files" ]
-
+ENTRYPOINT [ "docgroup" ]
-# ARGs are stupid and cannot be used in ENTRYPOINT, so we still have to
-# hard-code the binary name here, but this is still better than having to
-# hard-code it in the stages above, since it doesn't really matter much what the
-# entrypoint is called.
-ENTRYPOINT [ "docgrouper" ]

README.md

@@ -26,8 +26,6 @@ arguments cannot be passed to a Makefile target.
 ## Options
 
 ```
-  -output string
-        output file (default is stdout)
   -path string
     	path to the file pool (default "files")
   -prefix
@@ -39,51 +37,3 @@ arguments cannot be passed to a Makefile target.
   -workers int
     	number of workers to use (default 2*<number-of-cores>)
 ```
-
-# Approach
-
-To satisfy the project requirements, the following approach was used:
-
-1. Order files by timestamp, to be able to step through the "evolution" of the
-   associated documents.
-2. Iterate through all the timestamps, and for all documents identified,
-   determine whether any of the files associated with the current timestamp can be
-   related to an existing document. For each file that remains unassociated with an
-   existing document at this point, create a new document.
-3. Sort the associated files for each document in order by their filename (which
-   is a number).
-
-## Practical considerations
-
-The corpus provided for this assignment is comprised of 20,000 files; a
-substantial enough amount to take time and memory complexity into account. To
-manage time complexity, a pool of workers compares documents against candidate
-files in a parallel manner, rather than serially stepping through all the files.
-On my MacBook Pro M1 Max, this reduces runtime from 27 minutes to roughly five
-minutes. Additionally, file contents are cached to prevent repeatedly reading
-the same files off disk.
-
-Cached files are purged as soon as their contents won't ever be needed again, to
-conserve a large amount of memory that would be used by caching the contents of
-20,000 files. We can be sure a file's contents aren't needed anymore when its
-associated timestamp has already been processed, and the file isn't the most
-recent file associated with a given document: we only need the latest version of
-the document to associate files from future timestamps.
-
-There is some status text written to the console by default, but it is written
-to stderr, so if only the pure list of files associated with one another is
-desired, redirecting stdout will yield a clean list without any status text. The
-same can be accomplished by using the `-output` flag, as well.
-
-# High level design
-
-The main representational types in the program are the `DocumentManager` and the
-`Document` types. `DocumentManager` handles starting workers and comparing
-documents against candidate files. The `Document` type keeps track of which
-files are associated with it, and the timestamp of the latest file. Work is
-performed by sending "work items" to the workers on a channel, who pull a work
-item off and perform it, altering documents if they need to be updated with a
-new associated file. When all files have been checked, the final set of
-documents is presented to the user.
-
-![High level design](design.png)

main.go

@@ -13,7 +13,6 @@ import (
 	"flag"
 	"fmt"
 	"log/slog"
-	"math"
 	"os"
 	"path"
 	"runtime"
@@ -22,7 +21,6 @@ import (
 	"strings"
 	"sync"
 	"sync/atomic"
-	"time"
 )
 
 const (
@@ -40,72 +38,37 @@ const (
 var (
 	dataFilePath        string
 	similarityThreshold float64
-	outputFile          string
 	useDocPrefix        bool
 	verbose             bool
 	numWorkers          int
 )
 
 func main() {
-	var (
+	documents, err := run(os.Args)
-		start   = time.Now()
-		padding = "\n"
-	)
-	documents, output, err := run(os.Args)
 	if err != nil {
 		fmt.Fprintf(os.Stderr, "error: %v\n", err)
 		os.Exit(-1)
 	}
-	if output != os.Stdout {
-		defer output.Close()
-		padding = ""
-	}
-	duration := time.Since(start)
-
-	v := make(Visualizer)
 	for _, doc := range documents {
-		fmt.Fprintln(output, doc)
+		fmt.Println(doc)
-		v.Add(*doc)
 	}
-	fmt.Fprintf(
-		os.Stderr,
-		"%s%d documents identified in %s\n\n%s\n",
-		padding,
-		len(documents),
-		duration.Truncate(time.Millisecond),
-		v.Render("Distribution for Number of Associated Files per Document", 60),
-	)
 }
 
 // run is the main entry point for the program.
-func run(args []string) ([]*Document, *os.File, error) {
+func run(args []string) ([]*Document, error) {
 	flags := flag.NewFlagSet(args[0], flag.ExitOnError)
 	flags.StringVar(&dataFilePath, "path", defaultDataFilePath, "path to the file pool")
 	flags.Float64Var(&similarityThreshold, "threshold", defaultSimilarityThreshold, "similarity threshold")
-	flags.StringVar(&outputFile, "output", "", "output file (default is stdout)")
 	flags.IntVar(&numWorkers, "workers", runtime.NumCPU()*2, "number of workers to use")
 	flags.BoolVar(&useDocPrefix, "prefix", false, "use '[doc ###]' prefix for output")
 	flags.BoolVar(&verbose, "verbose", false, "enable verbose logging")
 	_ = flags.Parse(args[1:])
 
-	output := os.Stdout
-	if outputFile != "" {
-		var err error
-		output, err = os.Create(outputFile)
-		if err != nil {
-			return nil, nil, fmt.Errorf("creating output file: %w", err)
-		}
-	}
-	shouldReportStatus := !verbose && output != os.Stdout
-	if shouldReportStatus {
-		defer fmt.Fprintln(os.Stderr)
-	}
-
 	// The files need to be processed in order of time, so determine the
 	// timestamp of each file and sort them by time.
 	fileTimes, times, err := orderFiles(dataFilePath)
 	if err != nil {
-		return nil, nil, err
+		return nil, err
 	}
 
 	dm := NewDocumentManager(dataFilePath, similarityThreshold, numWorkers)
@@ -116,7 +79,7 @@ func run(args []string) ([]*Document, *os.File, error) {
 			// documents, so we can identify unassociated files later and then
 			// create new documents for them. This needs to be distinct for each
 			// timestamp, so it's created inside the timestamp loop's scope.
-			claimedFiles sync.Map
+			associatedFiles sync.Map
 
 			// We might need to create new documents for files that weren't
 			// associated with any document at this timestamp, so we need to make
@@ -127,16 +90,13 @@ func run(args []string) ([]*Document, *os.File, error) {
 		)
 
 		log("processing timestamp", "timestamp", timestamp, "timestampIndex", i, "totalTimestamps", len(times))
-		if shouldReportStatus {
-			fmt.Fprintf(os.Stderr, "\rProcessing timestamp %d of %d...", i+1, len(times))
-		}
 		for i, doc := range dm.Documents {
 			wg.Add(1)
 			dm.WorkCh <- WorkItem{
 				doc:             doc,
 				fileNumbers:     fileTimes[timestamp],
 				timestamp:       timestamp,
-				claimedFiles: &claimedFiles,
+				associatedFiles: &associatedFiles,
 				wg:              &wg,
 			}
 			log(
@@ -155,7 +115,7 @@ func run(args []string) ([]*Document, *os.File, error) {
 		// documents for them.
 		var docsAdded int
 		for _, fileNumber := range fileTimes[timestamp] {
-			if _, ok := claimedFiles.Load(fileNumber); !ok {
+			if _, ok := associatedFiles.Load(fileNumber); !ok {
 				dm.AddNewDocument(fileNumber, timestamp)
 				docsAdded++
 			}
@@ -169,7 +129,7 @@ func run(args []string) ([]*Document, *os.File, error) {
 	}
 
 	dm.Shutdown()
-	return dm.SortedDocuments(), output, nil
+	return dm.SortedDocuments(), nil
 }
 
 // WorkItem is what will be sent to the the workers in the worker pool.
@@ -177,7 +137,7 @@ type WorkItem struct {
 	doc             *Document
 	fileNumbers     []int
 	timestamp       int
-	claimedFiles *sync.Map
+	associatedFiles *sync.Map
 	wg              *sync.WaitGroup
 }
 
@@ -269,52 +229,55 @@ func (dm *DocumentManager) SortedDocuments() []*Document {
 // document against each file and if a match is found, associate the file with the
 // document sent in the work item, and record the file as having been matched.
 func (dm *DocumentManager) ComparisonWorker(workerID int) {
-	defer dm.wg.Done()
 	for workItem := range dm.WorkCh {
-		dm.maybeAssociateFileWithDocument(workItem, workerID)
+		for _, fileNumber := range workItem.fileNumbers {
-	}
+			if _, ok := workItem.associatedFiles.Load(fileNumber); ok {
-}
+				// This file has already been matched; skip it.
-
-func (dm *DocumentManager) maybeAssociateFileWithDocument(workItem WorkItem, workerID int) {
-	defer workItem.wg.Done()
-	for _, candidateFileNumber := range workItem.fileNumbers {
-		if _, ok := workItem.claimedFiles.Load(candidateFileNumber); ok {
-			// This file has already been matched with another document, so skip it.
 				continue
 			}
 			latestFileNumber := workItem.doc.LatestAssociatedFile()
-		similarity, err := dm.compareFiles(latestFileNumber, candidateFileNumber)
+			similarity, err := dm.compareFiles(latestFileNumber, fileNumber)
 			if err != nil {
 				// Simplistic error handling: log the error and continue.
 				slog.Error(
 					"error comparing files",
-				"latestAssociatedFile", latestFileNumber,
+					"file1", latestFileNumber,
-				"candidateFile", candidateFileNumber,
+					"file2", fileNumber,
 					"document", workItem.doc.ID,
 					"worker", workerID,
 				)
 			}
 
-		// If current file matches current document, record it and exit.
+			// If current file doesn't match current document, skip to the next file.
-		if similarity >= dm.similarityThreshold {
+			if similarity < dm.similarityThreshold {
-			workItem.doc.AssociateFile(candidateFileNumber, workItem.timestamp)
+				continue
-			workItem.claimedFiles.Store(candidateFileNumber, struct{}{})
+			}
+
+			// Current file matches current document, so record this.
+			workItem.doc.AssociateFile(fileNumber, workItem.timestamp)
+			workItem.associatedFiles.Store(fileNumber, struct{}{})
 			log(
 				"match found",
 				"document", workItem.doc.ID,
-				"file", candidateFileNumber,
+				"file", fileNumber,
 				"time", workItem.timestamp,
 				"worker", workerID,
 			)
-			return
+
-		}
+			// We don't need to consider this document anymore since we've found
+			// a match. End processing and wait for more work.
+			break
 		}
+		workItem.wg.Done()
 	}
 
-// compareFiles computes how much two files overlap on a scale of 0 to 1 by
+	// Report that this worker is shutting down.
-// iterating through the files and calculating a similarity score that's based
+	dm.wg.Done()
-// on the number of line-centric differences between the contents of the two
+}
-// files.
+
+// compareFiles computes how much two files overlap, on a scale
+// of 0 to 1 by iterating through the files and identifying lines
+// that are duplicated.
 func (dm *DocumentManager) compareFiles(f1Number, f2Number int) (float64, error) {
 	f1, err := dm.fcc.GetFileContents(f1Number)
 	if err != nil {
@@ -326,20 +289,23 @@ func (dm *DocumentManager) compareFiles(f1Number, f2Number int) (float64, error)
 	}
 
 	histogram := make(map[string]int)
-	for _, line := range f1 {
+	for _, lines := range [][]string{f1, f2} {
+		for _, line := range lines {
+			// Skip blank lines, which can throw off the count.
+			if line == "" {
+				continue
+			}
 			histogram[line]++
 		}
-	for _, line := range f2 {
-		histogram[line]--
 	}
 
-	var differences float64
+	var overlap int
 	for _, v := range histogram {
-		differences += math.Abs(float64(v))
+		if v == 2 {
+			overlap++
 		}
-
+	}
-	similarity := 1 - (differences / float64(len(f1)+len(f2)))
+	return float64(overlap) / float64(len(histogram)), nil
-	return similarity, nil
 }
 
 // Document stores a document ID and a list of associated files.
@@ -519,58 +485,6 @@ func orderFiles(dir string) (map[int][]int, []int, error) {
 	return timeMap, timeSlice, nil
 }
 
-// Visualizer is a utility to provide insight into the shape of the data
-// processed.
-type Visualizer map[int]int
-
-func (v Visualizer) Add(d Document) {
-	numAssocFiles := len(d.AssociatedFiles)
-	v[numAssocFiles]++
-}
-
-func (v Visualizer) Render(title string, width int) string {
-	if len(v) == 0 {
-		return ""
-	}
-
-	type pair struct {
-		numAssocFiles           int
-		numDocsWithThisNumFiles int
-	}
-
-	var (
-		slicedMap    []pair
-		totalNumDocs int
-	)
-	for naf, nd := range v {
-		slicedMap = append(slicedMap, pair{numAssocFiles: naf, numDocsWithThisNumFiles: nd})
-		totalNumDocs += nd
-	}
-	slices.SortFunc(slicedMap, func(a, b pair) int {
-		return a.numDocsWithThisNumFiles - b.numDocsWithThisNumFiles
-	})
-	slices.Reverse(slicedMap)
-
-	var sb strings.Builder
-	sb.WriteString(title)
-	sb.WriteRune('\n')
-	sb.WriteString(strings.Repeat("=", width))
-	sb.WriteRune('\n')
-
-	scaleFactor := float64(totalNumDocs) / float64(slicedMap[0].numDocsWithThisNumFiles)
-	for _, p := range slicedMap {
-		ratio := float64(p.numDocsWithThisNumFiles) / float64(totalNumDocs)
-		numChars := int(math.Ceil(ratio * float64(width-14) * scaleFactor))
-		sb.WriteString(fmt.Sprintf(
-			"%3d | %s (%.1f%%)\n",
-			p.numAssocFiles,
-			strings.Repeat("*", numChars),
-			float64(p.numDocsWithThisNumFiles)*100/float64(totalNumDocs),
-		))
-	}
-	return sb.String()[0 : sb.Len()-1]
-}
-
 func makeFileName(number int) string {
 	return fmt.Sprintf("%d.txt", number)
 }

main_test.go

@@ -102,41 +102,22 @@ func TestFileContentsCache(t *testing.T) {
 }
 
 func TestEndToEnd(t *testing.T) {
-	docs, _, err := run([]string{"argv0", "-path", "testdata/e2e"})
+	docs, err := run([]string{"argv0", "-path", "testdata/e2e"})
-	want := []Document{
+	want := []int{1, 6, 9, 12, 14, 18}
-		{
-			ID:              1,
-			AssociatedFiles: []int{1, 6, 9, 12, 14, 18},
-			LatestTimestamp: 5,
-		},
-		{
-			ID:              2,
-			AssociatedFiles: []int{2, 7, 13, 15, 22, 25},
-			LatestTimestamp: 5,
-		},
-		{
-			ID:              3,
-			AssociatedFiles: []int{11, 19},
-			LatestTimestamp: 7,
-		},
-		{
-			ID:              4,
-			AssociatedFiles: []int{21},
-			LatestTimestamp: 3,
-		},
-	}
 	if err != nil {
 		t.Fatal("error running program: ", err)
 	}
-	for i, doc := range docs {
+	if len(docs) != 1 {
-		if got, want := doc.ID, want[i].ID; got != want {
+		t.Fatalf("expected %d documents, got %d", 1, len(docs))
-			t.Errorf("expected ID %d, got %d", want, got)
 	}
-		if want, got := doc.LatestTimestamp, want[i].LatestTimestamp; got != want {
+	doc := docs[0]
-			t.Errorf("expected latest timestamp %d, got %d", want, got)
+	if doc.ID != 1 {
-		}
+		t.Errorf("expected ID %d, got %d", 0, doc.ID)
-		if want, got := doc.AssociatedFiles, want[i].AssociatedFiles; !reflect.DeepEqual(got, want) {
-			t.Errorf("expected associated files %v, got %v", want, got)
 	}
+	if doc.LatestTimestamp != 5 {
+		t.Errorf("expected latest timestamp %d, got %d", 3, doc.LatestTimestamp)
+	}
+	if !reflect.DeepEqual(doc.AssociatedFiles, want) {
+		t.Errorf("expected associated files %v, got %v", want, doc.AssociatedFiles)
 	}
 }

testdata/e2e/11.txt

@@ -1,133 +0,0 @@
-7
-CHAPTER 2. The Carpet-Bag.
-
-I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my
-arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good city
-of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a Saturday night
-in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning that the little
-packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no way of reaching
-that place would offer, till the following Monday.
-
-As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at
-this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well
-be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind was
-made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a
-fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous
-old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New Bedford has
-of late been gradually monopolising the business of whaling, and though
-in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much behind her, yet Nantucket
-was her great original—the Tyre of this Carthage;—the place where the
-first dead American whale was stranded. Where else but from Nantucket
-did those aboriginal whalemen, the Red-Men, first sally out in canoes
-to give chase to the Leviathan? And where but from Nantucket, too, did
-that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with
-imported cobblestones—so goes the story—to throw at the whales, in
-order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the
-bowsprit?
-
-Now having a night, a day, and still another night following before me
-in New Bedford, ere I could embark for my destined port, it became a
-matter of concernment where I was to eat and sleep meanwhile. It was a
-very dubious-looking, nay, a very dark and dismal night, bitingly cold
-and cheerless. I knew no one in the place. With anxious grapnels I had
-sounded my pocket, and only brought up a few pieces of silver,—So,
-wherever you go, Ishmael, said I to myself, as I stood in the middle of
-a dreary street shouldering my bag, and comparing the gloom towards the
-north with the darkness towards the south—wherever in your wisdom you
-may conclude to lodge for the night, my dear Ishmael, be sure to
-inquire the price, and don’t be too particular.
-
-With halting steps I paced the streets, and passed the sign of “The
-Crossed Harpoons”—but it looked too expensive and jolly there. Further
-on, from the bright red windows of the “Sword-Fish Inn,” there came
-such fervent rays, that it seemed to have melted the packed snow and
-ice from before the house, for everywhere else the congealed frost lay
-ten inches thick in a hard, asphaltic pavement,—rather weary for me,
-when I struck my foot against the flinty projections, because from
-hard, remorseless service the soles of my boots were in a most
-miserable plight. Too expensive and jolly, again thought I, pausing one
-moment to watch the broad glare in the street, and hear the sounds of
-the tinkling glasses within. But go on, Ishmael, said I at last; don’t
-you hear? get away from before the door; your patched boots are
-stopping the way. So on I went. I now by instinct followed the streets
-that took me waterward, for there, doubtless, were the cheapest, if not
-the cheeriest inns.
-
-Such dreary streets! blocks of blackness, not houses, on either hand,
-and here and there a candle, like a candle moving about in a tomb. At
-this hour of the night, of the last day of the week, that quarter of
-the town proved all but deserted. But presently I came to a smoky light
-proceeding from a low, wide building, the door of which stood
-invitingly open. It had a careless look, as if it were meant for the
-uses of the public; so, entering, the first thing I did was to stumble
-over an ash-box in the porch. Ha! thought I, ha, as the flying
-particles almost choked me, are these ashes from that destroyed city,
-Gomorrah? But “The Crossed Harpoons,” and “The Sword-Fish?”—this, then
-must needs be the sign of “The Trap.” However, I picked myself up and
-hearing a loud voice within, pushed on and opened a second, interior
-door.
-
-It seemed the great Black Parliament sitting in Tophet. A hundred black
-faces turned round in their rows to peer; and beyond, a black Angel of
-Doom was beating a book in a pulpit. It was a negro church; and the
-preacher’s text was about the blackness of darkness, and the weeping
-and wailing and teeth-gnashing there. Ha, Ishmael, muttered I, backing
-out, Wretched entertainment at the sign of ‘The Trap!’
-
-Moving on, I at last came to a dim sort of light not far from the
-docks, and heard a forlorn creaking in the air; and looking up, saw a
-swinging sign over the door with a white painting upon it, faintly
-representing a tall straight jet of misty spray, and these words
-underneath—“The Spouter Inn:—Peter Coffin.”
-
-Coffin?—Spouter?—Rather ominous in that particular connexion, thought
-I. But it is a common name in Nantucket, they say, and I suppose this
-Peter here is an emigrant from there. As the light looked so dim, and
-the place, for the time, looked quiet enough, and the dilapidated
-little wooden house itself looked as if it might have been carted here
-from the ruins of some burnt district, and as the swinging sign had a
-poverty-stricken sort of creak to it, I thought that here was the very
-spot for cheap lodgings, and the best of pea coffee.
-
-It was a queer sort of place—a gable-ended old house, one side palsied
-as it were, and leaning over sadly. It stood on a sharp bleak corner,
-where that tempestuous wind Euroclydon kept up a worse howling than
-ever it did about poor Paul’s tossed craft. Euroclydon, nevertheless,
-is a mighty pleasant zephyr to any one in-doors, with his feet on the
-hob quietly toasting for bed. “In judging of that tempestuous wind
-called Euroclydon,” says an old writer—of whose works I possess the
-only copy extant—“it maketh a marvellous difference, whether thou
-lookest out at it from a glass window where the frost is all on the
-outside, or whether thou observest it from that sashless window, where
-the frost is on both sides, and of which the wight Death is the only
-glazier.” True enough, thought I, as this passage occurred to my
-mind—old black-letter, thou reasonest well. Yes, these eyes are
-windows, and this body of mine is the house. What a pity they didn’t
-stop up the chinks and the crannies though, and thrust in a little lint
-here and there. But it’s too late to make any improvements now. The
-universe is finished; the copestone is on, and the chips were carted
-off a million years ago. Poor Lazarus there, chattering his teeth
-against the curbstone for his pillow, and shaking off his tatters with
-his shiverings, he might plug up both ears with rags, and put a
-corn-cob into his mouth, and yet that would not keep out the
-tempestuous Euroclydon. Euroclydon! says old Dives, in his red silken
-wrapper—(he had a redder one afterwards) pooh, pooh! What a fine frosty
-night; how Orion glitters; what northern lights! Let them talk of their
-oriental summer climes of everlasting conservatories; give me the
-privilege of making my own summer with my own coals.
-
-But what thinks Lazarus? Can he warm his blue hands by holding them up
-to the grand northern lights? Would not Lazarus rather be in Sumatra
-than here? Would he not far rather lay him down lengthwise along the
-line of the equator; yea, ye gods! go down to the fiery pit itself, in
-order to keep out this frost?
-
-Now, that Lazarus should lie stranded there on the curbstone before the
-door of Dives, this is more wonderful than that an iceberg should be
-moored to one of the Moluccas. Yet Dives himself, he too lives like a
-Czar in an ice palace made of frozen sighs, and being a president of a
-temperance society, he only drinks the tepid tears of orphans.
-
-But no more of this blubbering now, we are going a-whaling, and there
-is plenty of that yet to come. Let us scrape the ice from our frosted
-feet, and see what sort of a place this “Spouter” may be.

testdata/e2e/13.txt

@@ -1,75 +0,0 @@
-1
-CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
-
-Call me Ishmael. Some years 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.
-
-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.
-
-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?
-
-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 honor,
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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 _being
-paid_,—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!

testdata/e2e/15.txt

@@ -1,158 +0,0 @@
-3
-CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
-
-Call me Ishmael. Some years 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.
-
-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.
-
-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?
-
-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.
-
-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 honor,
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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 _being
-paid_,—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!
-
-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:
-
-“_Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States._
-“WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL. “BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN.”
-
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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.
-

testdata/e2e/19.txt

@@ -1,90 +0,0 @@
-3
-CHAPTER 2. The Carpet-Bag.
-
-I stuffed a shirt or two into my old carpet-bag, tucked it under my
-arm, and started for Cape Horn and the Pacific. Quitting the good city
-of old Manhatto, I duly arrived in New Bedford. It was a Saturday night
-in December. Much was I disappointed upon learning that the little
-packet for Nantucket had already sailed, and that no way of reaching
-that place would offer, till the following Monday.
-
-As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at
-this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well
-be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind was
-made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a
-fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous
-old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New Bedford has
-of late been gradually monopolising the business of whaling, and though
-in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much behind her, yet Nantucket
-was her great original—the Tyre of this Carthage;—the place where the
-first dead American whale was stranded. Where else but from Nantucket
-did those aboriginal whalemen, the Red-Men, first sally out in canoes
-to give chase to the Leviathan? And where but from Nantucket, too, did
-that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with
-imported cobblestones—so goes the story—to throw at the whales, in
-order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the
-bowsprit?
-
-Now having a night, a day, and still another night following before me
-in New Bedford, ere I could embark for my destined port, it became a
-matter of concernment where I was to eat and sleep meanwhile. It was a
-very dubious-looking, nay, a very dark and dismal night, bitingly cold
-and cheerless. I knew no one in the place. With anxious grapnels I had
-sounded my pocket, and only brought up a few pieces of silver,—So,
-wherever you go, Ishmael, said I to myself, as I stood in the middle of
-a dreary street shouldering my bag, and comparing the gloom towards the
-north with the darkness towards the south—wherever in your wisdom you
-may conclude to lodge for the night, my dear Ishmael, be sure to
-inquire the price, and don’t be too particular.
-
-With halting steps I paced the streets, and passed the sign of “The
-Crossed Harpoons”—but it looked too expensive and jolly there. Further
-on, from the bright red windows of the “Sword-Fish Inn,” there came
-such fervent rays, that it seemed to have melted the packed snow and
-ice from before the house, for everywhere else the congealed frost lay
-ten inches thick in a hard, asphaltic pavement,—rather weary for me,
-when I struck my foot against the flinty projections, because from
-hard, remorseless service the soles of my boots were in a most
-miserable plight. Too expensive and jolly, again thought I, pausing one
-moment to watch the broad glare in the street, and hear the sounds of
-the tinkling glasses within. But go on, Ishmael, said I at last; don’t
-you hear? get away from before the door; your patched boots are
-stopping the way. So on I went. I now by instinct followed the streets
-that took me waterward, for there, doubtless, were the cheapest, if not
-the cheeriest inns.
-
-Such dreary streets! blocks of blackness, not houses, on either hand,
-and here and there a candle, like a candle moving about in a tomb. At
-this hour of the night, of the last day of the week, that quarter of
-the town proved all but deserted. But presently I came to a smoky light
-proceeding from a low, wide building, the door of which stood
-invitingly open. It had a careless look, as if it were meant for the
-uses of the public; so, entering, the first thing I did was to stumble
-over an ash-box in the porch. Ha! thought I, ha, as the flying
-particles almost choked me, are these ashes from that destroyed city,
-Gomorrah? But “The Crossed Harpoons,” and “The Sword-Fish?”—this, then
-must needs be the sign of “The Trap.” However, I picked myself up and
-hearing a loud voice within, pushed on and opened a second, interior
-door.
-
-It seemed the great Black Parliament sitting in Tophet. A hundred black
-faces turned round in their rows to peer; and beyond, a black Angel of
-Doom was beating a book in a pulpit. It was a negro church; and the
-preacher’s text was about the blackness of darkness, and the weeping
-and wailing and teeth-gnashing there. Ha, Ishmael, muttered I, backing
-out, Wretched entertainment at the sign of ‘The Trap!’
-
-Moving on, I at last came to a dim sort of light not far from the
-docks, and heard a forlorn creaking in the air; and looking up, saw a
-swinging sign over the door with a white painting upon it, faintly
-representing a tall straight jet of misty spray, and these words
-underneath—“The Spouter Inn:—Peter Coffin.”
-
-Coffin?—Spouter?—Rather ominous in that particular connexion, thought
-I. But it is a common name in Nantucket, they say, and I suppose this
-Peter here is an emigrant from there. As the light looked so dim, and
-the place, for the time, looked quiet enough, and the dilapidated
-little wooden house itself looked as if it might have been carted here
-from the ruins of some burnt district, and as the swinging sign had a
-poverty-stricken sort of creak to it, I thought that here was the very
-spot for cheap lodgings, and the best of pea coffee.

testdata/e2e/2.txt

@@ -1,200 +0,0 @@
-5
-CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
-
-Call me Ishmael. Some years 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.
-
-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.
-
-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?
-
-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?
-
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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
-honorable 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.
-
-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 honor,
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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 _being
-paid_,—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!
-
-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:
-
-“_Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States._
-“WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL. “BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN.”
-
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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.

testdata/e2e/21.txt

@@ -1,58 +0,0 @@
-3
-CHAPTER 3. The Spouter-Inn.
-
-Entering that gable-ended Spouter-Inn, you found yourself in a wide,
-low, straggling entry with old-fashioned wainscots, reminding one of
-the bulwarks of some condemned old craft. On one side hung a very large
-oilpainting so thoroughly besmoked, and every way defaced, that in the
-unequal crosslights by which you viewed it, it was only by diligent
-study and a series of systematic visits to it, and careful inquiry of
-the neighbors, that you could any way arrive at an understanding of its
-purpose. Such unaccountable masses of shades and shadows, that at first
-you almost thought some ambitious young artist, in the time of the New
-England hags, had endeavored to delineate chaos bewitched. But by dint
-of much and earnest contemplation, and oft repeated ponderings, and
-especially by throwing open the little window towards the back of the
-entry, you at last come to the conclusion that such an idea, however
-wild, might not be altogether unwarranted.
-
-But what most puzzled and confounded you was a long, limber,
-portentous, black mass of something hovering in the centre of the
-picture over three blue, dim, perpendicular lines floating in a
-nameless yeast. A boggy, soggy, squitchy picture truly, enough to drive
-a nervous man distracted. Yet was there a sort of indefinite,
-half-attained, unimaginable sublimity about it that fairly froze you to
-it, till you involuntarily took an oath with yourself to find out what
-that marvellous painting meant. Ever and anon a bright, but, alas,
-deceptive idea would dart you through.—It’s the Black Sea in a midnight
-gale.—It’s the unnatural combat of the four primal elements.—It’s a
-blasted heath.—It’s a Hyperborean winter scene.—It’s the breaking-up of
-the icebound stream of Time. But at last all these fancies yielded to
-that one portentous something in the picture’s midst. _That_ once found
-out, and all the rest were plain. But stop; does it not bear a faint
-resemblance to a gigantic fish? even the great leviathan himself?
-
-In fact, the artist’s design seemed this: a final theory of my own,
-partly based upon the aggregated opinions of many aged persons with
-whom I conversed upon the subject. The picture represents a Cape-Horner
-in a great hurricane; the half-foundered ship weltering there with its
-three dismantled masts alone visible; and an exasperated whale,
-purposing to spring clean over the craft, is in the enormous act of
-impaling himself upon the three mast-heads.
-
-The opposite wall of this entry was hung all over with a heathenish
-array of monstrous clubs and spears. Some were thickly set with
-glittering teeth resembling ivory saws; others were tufted with knots
-of human hair; and one was sickle-shaped, with a vast handle sweeping
-round like the segment made in the new-mown grass by a long-armed
-mower. You shuddered as you gazed, and wondered what monstrous cannibal
-and savage could ever have gone a death-harvesting with such a hacking,
-horrifying implement. Mixed with these were rusty old whaling lances
-and harpoons all broken and deformed. Some were storied weapons. With
-this once long lance, now wildly elbowed, fifty years ago did Nathan
-Swain kill fifteen whales between a sunrise and a sunset. And that
-harpoon—so like a corkscrew now—was flung in Javan seas, and run away
-with by a whale, years afterwards slain off the Cape of Blanco. The
-original iron entered nigh the tail, and, like a restless needle
-sojourning in the body of a man, travelled full forty feet, and at last
-was found imbedded in the hump.

testdata/e2e/22.txt

@@ -1,179 +0,0 @@
-4
-CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
-
-Call me Ishmael. Some years 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.
-
-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.
-
-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?
-
-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?
-
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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 honor,
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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 _being
-paid_,—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!
-
-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:
-
-“_Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States._
-“WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL. “BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN.”
-
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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.
-

testdata/e2e/25.txt

@@ -1,128 +0,0 @@
-2
-CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
-
-Call me Ishmael. Some years 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.
-
-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.
-
-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?
-
-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 honor,
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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 _being
-paid_,—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!
-
-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:
-
-“_Grand Contested Election for the Presidency of the United States._
-“WHALING VOYAGE BY ONE ISHMAEL. “BLOODY BATTLE IN AFFGHANISTAN.”
-
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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.
-

testdata/e2e/7.txt

@@ -1,51 +0,0 @@
-0
-CHAPTER 1. Loomings.
-
-Call me Ishmael. Some years 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.
-
-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.
-
-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.
-
-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 _being
-paid_,—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!