-
Notifications
You must be signed in to change notification settings - Fork 5
Commit
This commit does not belong to any branch on this repository, and may belong to a fork outside of the repository.
Pass modal and basement components as props
- Loading branch information
Showing
8 changed files
with
328 additions
and
79 deletions.
There are no files selected for viewing
This file contains bidirectional Unicode text that may be interpreted or compiled differently than what appears below. To review, open the file in an editor that reveals hidden Unicode characters.
Learn more about bidirectional Unicode characters
This file contains bidirectional Unicode text that may be interpreted or compiled differently than what appears below. To review, open the file in an editor that reveals hidden Unicode characters.
Learn more about bidirectional Unicode characters
This file contains bidirectional Unicode text that may be interpreted or compiled differently than what appears below. To review, open the file in an editor that reveals hidden Unicode characters.
Learn more about bidirectional Unicode characters
Original file line number | Diff line number | Diff line change |
---|---|---|
@@ -0,0 +1,77 @@ | ||
<div> | ||
<h1>Basement</h1> | ||
<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> | ||
</div> |
Oops, something went wrong.