Chapter 5

"I conceived it possible, in either instance, that they might be thus whirled up again to the level of the ocean without undergoing the fate of those which had been drawn in more early or absorbed more rapidly. I made also three important observations. The first was, that as a general rule, the larger the bodies were, the more rapid their descent; the second, that between the two masses of equal extent, the one spherical and the other of any other shape, the superiority in speed of descent was with the sphere; the third, that between two masses of equal size, the one cylindrical, and the other of any other shape, the cylinder was absorbed the more slowly.

"Since my escape I have had several conversations on this subject with an old schoolmaster of the district; and it was from him that I learned the use of the words 'cylinder' and 'sphere.' He explained to me--although I have forgotten the explanation--how what I had observed was in fact the natural consequence of the forms of the floating fragments; and showed me how it happened that a cylinder, swimming in a vortex, offered more resistance to its suction, and was drawn in with greater difficulty, than an equally bulky body of any form whatever.

"There was one startling circumstance which went a great way in enforcing these observations, and rendering me anxious to turn them to account, and this was that at every revolution we passed something like a barrel, or else the yard or the mast of the vessel; while many of those things which had been on our level when I first opened my eyes upon the wonders of the whirlpool, were now high up above us, and seemed to have moved but little from their original station.

"I no longer hesitated what to do. I resolved to lash myself securely to the water cask upon which I now held, to cut it loose from the counter, and to throw myself with it into the water. I attracted my brother's attention by signs, pointed to the floating barrels that came near us, and did everything in my power to make him understand what I was about to do.

"I thought at length that he comprehended my design, but, whether this was the case or not, he shook his head despairingly, and refused to move from his station by the ring-bolt. It was impossible to reach him; the emergency admitted of no delay; and so with a bitter struggle I resigned him to his fate, fastened myself to the cask by means of the lashings which secured it to the counter, and precipitated myself with it into the sea, without another moment's hesitation.

"The result was precisely what I had hoped it might be. As it is myself who now tell you this tale--as you see that I did escape, and as you are already in possession of the mode in which this escape was effected, and must therefore anticipate all that I have further to say, I will bring my story quickly to conclusion.

"It might have been an hour or thereabout after my quitting the smack, when, having descended to a vast distance beneath me, it made three or four wild gyrations in rapid succession, and bearing my loved brother with it, plunged headlong, at once and forever, into the chaos of foam below. The barrel to which I was attached sunk very little farther than half the distance between the bottom of the gulf and the spot at which I leaped overboard, before a great change took place in the character of the whirlpool.

"The slope of the sides of the vast funnel became momently less and less steep. The gyrations of the whirl grew gradually less and less violent. By degrees the froth and the rainbow disappeared, and the bottom of the gulf seemed slowly to uprise. The sky was clear, the winds had gone down, and the full moon was setting radiantly in the west, when I found myself on the surface of the ocean, in full view of the shores of Lofoden, and above the spot where the pool of the Moskoe-ström had been.

"It was the hour of the slack, but the sea still heaved in mountainous waves from the effects of the hurricane. I was borne violently into the channel of the Ström, and in a few minutes was hurried down the coast into the 'grounds' of the fishermen. A boat picked me up--exhausted from fatigue, and (now that the danger was removed) speechless from the memory of its horror.

"Those who drew me on board were my old mates and daily companions, but they knew me no more than they would have known a traveler from the spirit-land. My hair, which had been raven-black the day before, was as white as you see it now. They say too that the whole expression of my countenance had changed. I told them my story; they did not believe it. I now tell it to you; and I can scarcely expect you to put more faith in it than did the merry fishermen of Lofoden."

FAVORITE POEMS

OF

ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND THEODORE ROOSEVELT.

However practical a man may be--however deeply he may be engrossed in pursuits that would seem to be almost as barren of poetry as a city pavement is of verdure--there is some chord in his heart that the right poet may strike and fill his soul with melody. There is scarcely a man in any walk of life who has not at some time in his life come upon a poem which seemed to voice his own ideals.

In the private office of President Roosevelt, in the White House, hangs, in the handwriting of its author, a poem by the late Senator John J. Ingalls, of Kansas. The title of the poem is "Opportunity." This framed manuscript and a portrait of President Lincoln are the only objects on the walls of the apartment.

In singular contrast with the favorite poem of Theodore Roosevelt is that of Abraham Lincoln--"Oh, Why Should the Spirit of Mortal Be Proud?" by William Knox. Lincoln cut the poem from a newspaper and committed it to memory. Several years later he said to a friend: "I would give a great deal to know who wrote it, but I have never been able to ascertain." Subsequently he learned that the author was Knox, a Scottish poet, who died in 1825.

OPPORTUNITY.

By the late Senator John J. Ingalls.

Master of human destinies am I! Fame, love and fortune on my footsteps wait, Cities and fields I walk: I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and passing by Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late I knock unbidden, once, at every gate! If feasting, rise; if sleeping, wake before I turn away. It is the hour of fate, And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save death. But those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury and woe, Seek me in vain and ceaselessly implore; I answer not, and I return--no more.

Oh, Why Should the Spirit of Mortal Be Proud?

BY WILLIAM KNOX.

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, Man passes from life to his rest in the grave.

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around and together be laid; And the young and the old, and the low and the high, Shall molder to dust and together shall lie.

The infant a mother attended and loved, The mother that infant's affection who proved, The husband that mother and infant who blessed, Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest.

The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, Shone beauty and pleasure--her triumphs are by; And the memory of those who loved her and praised, Are alike from the minds of the living erased.

The hand of the king that the scepter hath borne, The brow of the priest that the miter hath worn, The eye of the sage, and the heart of the brave, Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave.

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, The herdsman who climbed with his goats up the steep, The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, Have faded away like the grass that we tread.

The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven, The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven, The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.

So the multitude goes, like the flower and the weed, That wither away to let others succeed; So the multitude comes, even those we behold, To repeat every tale that has often been told.

For we are the same that our fathers have been; We see the same sights that our fathers have seen, We drink the same stream, and view the same sun, And run the same course that our fathers have run.

They loved, but their story we cannot unfold; They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come; They joyed, but the voice of their gladness is dumb.

They died--aye, they died; and we things that are now, Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, Who make in their dwelling a transient abode, Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road.

Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, Are mingled together in sunshine and rain; And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge, Still follow each other, like surge upon surge.

'Tis the twink of an eye, 'tis the draft of a breath, From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud-- Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

Superstitions of the Theater.

Nearly Everything That Occurs in the Actor's World Has Some Promise of Good or Threat of Evil for "the Show" or the Individual.

_Compiled and edited for_ THE SCRAP BOOK.

Besides believing in many of the prevailing superstitions the people of the theater have a number which are distinctly their own. In fact, there is hardly anything that occurs in the actor's world that has not some superstitious meaning attached to it, and accidents of the most trivial character are construed by him into good or evil omens.

To the actor, such simple things as the lodging of a drop-curtain or the upsetting of his make-up box, are sure forerunners of bad luck, as likewise is the breaking of a stick of black grease-paint in the performer's hand. If he stubs his toe on making a stage entry, he considers himself irretrievably "hoodooed" for the rest of the evening.

Yellow is an Unlucky Color.

There are certain shades of yellow that are supposed to exert an evil influence when worn in a play. This superstition does not apply to the general dressing of the chorus or stage, but only to an individual costume or part of a garment, such as a tie, vest, or hat.

There is hardly an orchestra leader who would allow a musician to play a yellow clarinet under his direction, believing that if such a thing were to happen the entire orchestra would go wrong.

Nor are yellow costumes the only kind that are supposed to cast an evil spell over their wearer. If, for example, an accident happens to an actor while wearing a certain costume, or if he forget his lines three or four times while he has it on, the misfortune is invariably blamed on the costume.

Certain wigs are considered harbingers of good luck, and actors will often wear one when the part doesn't really require it. Moss hair, which is used by the actors to make beards, mustaches, etc., plays its part in superstition. A certain amount must be used at each performance if the actor would keep in the good graces of the fates.

To use another's liquid glue (a glue used to stick moss hair to the face) is a very good way to invite misfortune. If an actor's shoes squeak while he is making his first entrance, it is a sure sign that he will be well received by the audience.

To kick off his shoes and have them alight on their soles and remain standing upright means good luck to him, but if they fall over, bad luck is to be expected. They will also bring him all kinds of misfortune if placed on a chair in the dressing-room.

If, when an acrobat throws his cuffs on the stage, preparatory to doing his turn, they remain fastened together, all will go well, but if on the other hand they separate, he must look out for squalls.

Cats have always been considered the very best fortune-producing acquisitions a theater can possess, and are welcomed and protected by actor and stage-hand alike. But if a cat runs across the stage during the action of the play, misfortune is sure to follow. Bad luck will also come to those who kick a cat.

Mirrors and Peep-Holes.

The actor goes the layman one better in mirror superstitions. He believes it will bring him bad luck to have another person look into the mirror over his shoulder while he is making up before it.

As much care must be taken by the actor on making his entrances as in the repeating of the lines. Not for their importance as an effect on the audience, but to avoid the "hoodoo" attached to certain entries. For example: To stumble over anything on making an entrance, the actor firmly believes, will cause him to miss a cue or forget his lines.

If his costume catches on a piece of scenery as he goes on, he must immediately retrace his steps and make a new entrance, or else suffer misfortunes of all sorts during the rest of the performance.

Even the drop-curtain contributes its share of stage superstitions, as nearly every actor and manager believes it is bad luck to look out at the audience from the wrong side of it when it is down. Some say it is the prompt side that casts the evil spell, while others contend that it is the opposite side. The management, not being sure of which side the bad luck is likely to accrue, places a peep-hole directly in the center.

There is another superstition which passed away with the advent of the frame curtain. In those days the curtain was rolled up like a window-shade instead of running up and down in a groove as the modern ones do. In those days for one to sit on the curtain-roller was a sure method of bringing the boss carpenter or property man with a stage brace for the prompt removal of the sitter. To them it was an infallible sign that salaries were not going to be paid.

Vaudeville performers believe it is bad luck to change the costumes in which they first achieved success, and many of them cling to these costumes until they literally fall apart.

The Witches' Song is Side-Stepped.

The older members of the profession have always considered the witches' song in Macbeth to possess the uncanny power of casting evil spells, and the majority of them have strong dislikes to play in the piece. If you but hum this tune in the hearing of an old actor, the chances are that you will lose his friendship.

An actor who has been on the stage long enough to acquaint himself with its superstitions, will not repeat the last lines of a play at rehearsals, nor will he go on the stage where there is a picture of an ostrich displayed if he can help it.

Some actors believe that if they accidentally try the wrong door of an agent's or manager's office when looking for an engagement, their mission will be a failure. It is also considered bad luck to change the position of any piece of furniture or "props" of any description whatever, after the stage has once been set, and before the rise of the curtain.

Whistling is Tabooed.

It is considered by all theatrical people to be the worst luck in the world for any one to whistle in the theater, and there is no offense for which the manager will scold an employee more quickly.

The players are not the only ones in the theater having superstitions. The "front of the house" have their pet ones as well.

In the box-office, if the first purchaser of seats for a new production is an old man or woman, it means to the ticket-seller that the play will have a long run. A young person means the reverse. A torn bank-note means a change of position for the man in the box-office, while a gold certificate, strange to say, is a sign of bad luck.

The usher seating the first patron of the evening fondly imagines that he will be lucky until the end of the performance, but if the first coupon he handles calls for one of the many thirteen seats, he is quite sure that it will bring him bad luck for the rest of the night.

To the usher, a tip from a woman for a program also spells misfortune, and few of the old-timers will accept it. A woman fainting in the theater is sure to bring bad luck to the usher in whose section she is seated. Not to hear the first lines of the play is to invite misfortune, so he believes.

An usher feels sure that if he makes a mistake in seating the first person in his section, it is sure to be quickly followed by two more. The first tip of the season is always briskly rubbed on the trousers-leg and kept in the pocket of the recipient for the rest of the season as a "coaxer." To receive a smile over the footlights from one of the company also brings luck.

GRAVE, GAY, AND EPIGRAMMATIC.

PAYING THE PIPER.

By Virginia Woodward Cloud.

The Piper sat by the river, his tireless pipe in his hand, But ere the sun set and the white stars met He scratched with a stick on the sand. "My bills are due," quoth the Piper, "and now they pay," quoth he, "Who danced and played from the sun into shade Now render account to me.

"Here is one for a year," quoth the Piper; "a year of love's delight; A heart that is dead and a soul unwed Shall cancel a debt so trite! I need not dun," quoth the Piper--and laughed, but nobody heard, A chill in the air, and a shudder somewhere-- "They will render without one word.

"And this for my maddest playing"--oh, he wrote as he chuckled and laughed-- "I will make my dole an immortal soul; They shall drain where they only quaffed!" So, he did his sum in addition, till the rose and the star had met, But although he tried to thrust it aside One name lay unchallenged yet.

Complacently, knave and sinner, apportioned he each his due, But when it was o'er there remained one more, And its pattern the Piper knew. "Rascal or thief," mused the Piper, "I play for their dancing and smile, They have their way for a little day, I have mine after a while.

"I can score each knave," quoth the Piper, "in Life's ill-sorted school, For they take and they take their greed to slake, But I am no match for the Fool! For he pays as he goes," frowned the Piper, "pain, laughter, passion of tears! He claims no pelf from Life for himself, But gives his all without tears.

"The rest of my dancers laugh not, and I hold each one as a tool, But he pays as he goes, be it rapture or woes, And I have no bill for the Fool! He loves and he lives," frowned the Piper, "and such poor returns suffice, For he cries '_Voilà le diable!_' and gives himself as the price!" Then, with chagrin and reluctance, as the star sank into the pool, The Piper made claim on each separate name, But receipted in full--for the Fool.

_The Bookman._

MARK TWAIN'S RESPONSE.

A friend wrote to Mark Twain, asking his opinion on a certain matter, and received no reply. He waited a few days, and wrote again.

His second letter was also ignored. Then he sent a third note, enclosing a sheet of paper and a two-cent stamp.

By return mail he received a postal card, on which was the following: "Paper and stamp received. Please send envelope."--_Boston Herald._

WHAT THE AILMENT WAS.

A New England statesman was referring to the dry humor of the late Senator Hoar, when he was reminded of the following:

One day Hoar learned that a friend in Worcester who had been thought to have appendicitis was in reality suffering from acute indigestion.

Whereupon the senator smiled genially. "Really," said he, "that's good news. I rejoice for my friend that the trouble lies in the table of contents rather than in the appendix."--_New York Tribune._

THE FARMER'S SYMPATHY.

A large touring automobile containing a man and his wife in a narrow road met a hay wagon fully loaded. The woman declared that the farmer must back out, but her husband contended that she was unreasonable.

"But you can't back the automobile so far," she said, "and I don't intend to move for anybody. He should have seen us."

The husband pointed out that this was impossible, owing to an abrupt turn in the road.

"I don't care," she insisted, "I won't move if we have to stay here all night!"

The man in the automobile was starting to argue the matter when the farmer, who had been sitting quietly on the hay, interrupted.

"Never mind, sir," he exclaimed, "I'll try to back out. I've got one just like her at home!"--_Philadelphia Ledger._

PROVED.

"Your son is a philosophical student, I hear?"

"Yes, I believe he is. I can't understand what he's talking about."--_Detroit Free Press._

EQUALITY.

By Matthias Barr.

Come, give me your hand, sir, my friend and my brother. If honest, why, sure, that's enough! One hand, if it's true, is as good as another, No matter how brawny or rough.

Though it toil for a living at hedges or ditches, Or make for its owner a name, Or fold in its grasp all the dainties of riches-- If honest, I love it the same.

Not less in the sight of his Heavenly Maker Is he who must toil for his bread; Not more in the sight of the mute undertaker Is majesty shrouded and dead.

Let none of us jeeringly scoff at his neighbor Or mock at his lowly birth. We are all of us God's. Let us earnestly labor To better this suffering earth.

A FISH STORY.

Brown had returned from a fishing expedition, and, after partaking of a most welcome dinner, was relating some of his fishing experiences.

"Last year," said he, "while fishing for pike, I dropped half a sovereign. I went to the same place this year, and after my line had been cast a few minutes I felt a terrific pull. Eventually I landed a line pike, which had swallowed the hook, and, on cutting it open to release the hook, to my amazement----"

"Ah," said his friends, "you found your half-sovereign?"

"Oh, no," replied Brown, "I found nine shillings and sixpence in silver and threepence in copper."

"Well, what became of the other threepence?" queried his friends.

"I suppose the pike paid to go through the lock with it," answered Brown.--_Pearson's Weekly._

BYRON ON WOMAN.

Oh! too convincing--dangerously dear-- In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! That weapon of her weakness she can wield, To save, subdue--at once her spear and shield.

_Corsair, Canto 2._

WOMAN'S RETORT.

The mild business man was calmly reading his paper in the crowded trolley-car. In front of him stood a little woman hanging by a strap. Her arm was being slowly torn out of her body, her eyes were flashing at him, but she constrained herself to silence.

Finally, after he had endured it for twenty minutes, he touched her arm, and said:

"Madam, you are standing on my foot."

"Oh, am I?" she savagely retorted. "I thought it was a valise."--_Kansas City Independent._

SHAKESPEARE ON WOMAN.

She is mine own; And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.

_Two Gentlemen of Verona._

A MAIDEN SPEECH.

Very few persons acquit themselves nobly in their maiden speech. At a wedding feast recently the bridegroom was called upon, as usual, to respond to the given toast.

Blushing to the roots of his hair, he rose to his feet. He intended to imply that he was unprepared for speechmaking, but, unfortunately, placed his hand upon the bride's shoulder, and looked down at her as he stammered out his opening (and concluding) words: "This--er--thing has been thrust upon me."--_Tit-Bits._

TWO VIEWS OF OLD AGE.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

At Twenty He Smiled at the Picture Presented by a Patriarch--At Three Score and Ten He Told of an Old Man's Dreams.

THE LAST LEAF.