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THE SUNDAY HERALD. SUNDAY. FEBRUARY 15. 1891.
I1 ! i
SOME TYPES OP GIK&S
THE UPRIGHT ami,.
Dear Bollo was honest ns tho day,
No contribution sho'd mislay;
Nor would this maiden ever miss
Keturnint a rejected kiss 1
THE TOnOQQANINa QllUi.
The maiden with tho rounded form
And chocks with health aglow
llcjoiccs srcatly when she sees
The first good fall of snow.
Sho knows tho season is at hand
When Bho and he will slide.
With both his arms around her waist-,
THE BICYCLE (HIIL.
'Twas called a "safety," and when Bollo
Rode forth to conquer hearts upon it
He was enchanted by her spell.
Sho looked a poet's dream a sonnet.
Sho proudly showed him how to turn
A figure eight, and wrote her name;
Ho walked beside, but naught could learn
Her sparkling eyes deserved tho blame.
Quite overcome, ho had to tell
A talo he scarco found words to say;
And poor distracted, blushing Bcllo
Twisted tho handle tho wrong way.
They gathered up each gory part
Of him who'd vowed his heart was cracked;
ifut tho doctors said that selfsame heart
Was his only fragment left intact 1
THE WOLF'S FAHfiS.
A AVild Russian Talc.
St. James's Gazette.
Paul and I were twin brothers, gentlemen by
birth, since our father was a Polish count, who
had been deprived of his estates in connection
with events of 1863, and Englishmen by breed
ing; after tho death of our father, when we
were quite children, we two had been brought
up out of charity by a countryman, who taught
dancing and lived In a shabby London street.
As time went on I earned my four guineas a
week as a violinist; but my brother, Paul
Bolskoi, became the darling of society first,
perhaps, because he had the most beautiful
voice in all the world; nest, because he was the
very handsomest man I ever saw.
"I've 6een her at last, Louis," said my brother
one night to me; "the woman I've been longing
for and dreaming of all my life; and I'm about
to become a teacher of singing," ho added, with
a laugh. "You wouldn't wonder, Louis, if you
saw my pupil," and he took from his pocket
book a photograph. It was the portrait of a
beautiful woman a fair woman, with a hard
mouth and cruel eyes. "She thanked me for
singing for her, and then she said: 'Monsieur
I want you to do me a favor. I want you to
give me a few lessons in 6inging.' I stared at
her in astonishment. 'Ah,' she said, 'Monsieur
Bolskoi, the singing-lessons are only a pretext.
I know your story; I know that you are of noble
blood; I know that your father's property and
estates were confiscated long ago, and I would
help you to regain them. Perhaps I'm not alto
gether disinterested,' she said, and she gave me
onelook from those soft, languid eyes of hers
a look, Louis, which sent the blood coursing
through my veins. For I love her, Louis !" he
The love of the princess for my brother Paul
had become a matter of common talk among
our friends by the time that Prince Vlastoff had
obtained leave to visit his estate In Southern
Russia. My brother Paul was to travel in his
suite, and it was arranged that in the winter,
when he proceeded to the capital, the prince
should present him to the Czar and use his influ
ence in his favor. They had been gone a month
before I heard from my brother Paul. At
length he wrote as follows:
I have returned to tho barbaric life, and I en
joy it. Tho prince keeps almost regal state in his
great Castle of Samarof. I enjoy the free, wild
life, the riding, driving, and the hunting here,
and 1 am happy, for I am with the woman I love.
The prince is already moving in our matter, and
has no doubt, so be tells me, of his ultimate suc
cess. Here the letter was continued in a shaky, hur
ried writing totally unlike the commencement,
which was written in my brother's beautifully
Louis, a terrible misfortune has happened.
The princess and I were wandering in tho park a
week ago, the very day when I commenced this
letter to you, when wo heard loud shouts and
cries. Suddenly from a tangled thicket close to
us appeared a wolf. There is nothing very terri
ble here in a solitary wolf in summer time; but
this was no ordinary wolf. Tho brute was mad;
it had been hunted and badly wounded by tho
huntsmen and torn by doge; its tongue hung
from its mouth, and as it cumo toward us it ut
tered little yelping barks. "Save me !" cried tho
princess; "save me. Paul!" Bho shrieked as she
clutched my arm. Her voice attracted tho atten
tion of the infuriated beast, and it made for us at
once. Nadla fell fainting to the ground. As tho
brute mado its spring I clutched it by the throat
and we fell to tho ground together. I got my
kneo upon its chest, and I tried to choke tho lite
out of it. I felt its hot breath on my face, and I
stared with terror at Its red eyes, and I wondered
whether my Btrength would hold out. "Fly 1" I
shrieked to tho woman I loved; "ily, Nadla, for
the love of Heaven J" But sho never moved, for
she lay upon the turf in a dead faint. The strug
gles of the wretcued animal grow weaker and
weaker, but I never relaxed my grip upon its
throat, and slowly ah, how slowly ! I strangled
the beast, choking it to death.
I turned to Nadia, and I raised her from tho
ground, and, pressing impassioned kisses on her
lips, I cried in her ear, ''There is no cauBO for
fear, my darling J" She seemed to wake as from
a dream: the great blue eyes opened and looked
at mo with unutterable love, and my kisses were
returned, "You do love me. Nadia ?"1 cried, and
her bead still lay on my chest.
"Love you, Paul 1" sho answered; "of course 1
lovo you. Need I tell you so in words, Paul?"
sho Bald, and she looked around her wildly. "Lot
us muko the most of our time. Paul," and again
sho kissed me, "for the man I am betrothed to
will come to claim my hand in ono short month."
"Nadla 1" I oried, "and you talk of loving mo?"
"My marriage with tho Prince Bakouline," sho
said, "is one of policy; but I shall always lovo
you." sho added, and then Bho looked at mo in
sudden fear. "Paul, Paul Bolskoi," Bho said,
"why do you look like that?"
"Princess Nadia," I answered, "I never loved
you; I loved tho woman 1 thought you were."
"Paul Bolskoi," Bhe said, calmly, "you must
be mad- the Pnnee Bakouline owes you a deep
debt of gratitude," and then sho roso and turned
her back on me. "But let me thank you. M.
Bolskoi" sho Bald, formally "let me thank you
in his name for saving my life," and then she
turned as palo as death and seized my band.
! 'Paul I" she shrieked, as she fell upon her knees
at my feet, "Paul, my love, my life, you are
wounded, and for my worthless sake 1"
And then I saw three little bleeding points
upon the back of my hand, "Madam," 1 said,
coldly, "sympathy for ono belcy you In degree
The correct Bhlrt for full dress requires a
bosom 0 Inches wide. We make six of them for
9. Miller's, shirt makers and ladles' and gen
tlemen's outfitters, Eighteenth street and Penn
is euroly misplaced." I turned away, Louis, and
I walked alone to tho castle.
Tho Frouoh doctor from Warsaw gives mo
every hope; but, Louis, something tells mo that
I shall die, and I shall havo died in saving tho
Hfo of a woman who 1b worthless.
Louis, thero is great news for you, my brother;
tho Czar is willing to lot by-gones bo by-gones;
our rank and our property aro to bo restored.
Prlnco Vlastoff only to-day handed mo tho re
script from his imperial raastor. "Count Bol
skoi," ho said, ns ho pressed my hand, "don't
speak to mo of gratitude; I shall cvor bo your
Tho French doctor has come again. My
brother, there Is no hopo, and I mutt ilfc. It
may bo n quostion of days or hours only. A i
ready I swallow with tho greatest difficulty.
Pray, Louis, pray for tho soul of one who
longs for death.
Your unhappy brother, Pauij.
There were two other letters ono fromPrinco
Vlastoff, another from tho French doctor; they
gave mo tho dreadful details of my brother's
death. He died, as ho had predicted, after fear
ful suffering from tho mania of hydrophobia.
I havo visited my brother's grave. I havo
6Cbn tho placo where my brother's life Yas sac
rificed for tho Princess Bakouline for sho be
came tho Princess Bakouline, of course and
then I went to St. Petersburg to thank mv im
perial master for his clemency, and stayed with
Princo Vlastoff. Ono night, as 1 was talking
with my host, ho said to me: "You'vo never
been iu this room before, I think: tho very rug
your feet aro resting on is tho skin of the wolf
that killed your brother. Tho head is wonder
fully life-like," he said.
Yes, thero was tho head, with glaring oyes of
glass, tho mouth wido open, the lips retracted,
showing a doublo range of fierce and cruel
"It makes mo shudder when I look upon it,"
6ald Prince Vlastoff; "but It's a work of art all
tho same," he added, with a little laugh.
Presently ho left me, and I sat by tho fire in a
half doze, and thought of my brother and his
miserablo death. It was close on midnight.
Iho door was suddenly thrown open, and a
tall woman in evening dress, muffled in an opera
cloak, rushed into tho room, locked the door
behind her, and flung tho cloak from her shoul
ders. On her pale cheek thero was a great red
mark. When sho saw mo sho fell upon her
"Paul 1" sho cried in horrified accents
"Paul Bolskoi, have you come back from the
grave to haunt mo?"
As I stared at her in astonishment I recog
nized my brother's evil genius in tho beautiful
creature who knelt before me, looking into my
face with frightened oyes.
"Madam,'' I said, coldly, "I am Louis Bol
skoi." And then she rose. "You aro very like him,"
she said, mechanically; and she sat down in the
chair opposite me, and stared at the ghastly
grinning mask of the dead wolf, and as she
looked sho shuddered.
"Your brother saved my life, Count Bolskoi."
she said, with a groan.
I bowed, but I did not auswer her.
"Your brother's was a dreadful death," sho
went on, "and I sat by his bedside and listened
to his last ravings. He prayed", in his wild de
lirium, that I might never know happiness in
this world. I sacrificed your brother's lovo to
vain ambition, and sold myself to Princo Bakou
line. To-night he struck me you seo the mark
upon my face and I leave him forever. Just
before your brother's death, when his failing
voice 6unk to a whisper, he opened his eyes and
seemed to recognize me. 'Nadia,' ho said, 'you
will repent, and when you have repented you
will see mo once again, and I shall 6ummonyou
to meet your God.' He never spoke again,
Count Bolskoi. I have repented, God knows
ho ,f bitterly; and when I 6aw you sitting thero
I thoueht that Paul had come from the land be
yond the grave to drag me to the judgment-seat
of heaven. Count Bolskoi," she said, bitterly,
"I lone for death."
Sho never looked at me, but stared at the
wolf's face upon the floor, and mechanically sho
placed her tiny foot between the double row of
white and glistening teeth.
There was a furious knock at the door. The
Princess Nadia started to her feet, and as sho
did bo 6he gave a little scream of pain, and I
saw a small spot of blood on her satin foot-covering.
The door was shaken furiously, tho lock
gave way, and a man broke in and hurled furi
ous words at the beautiful woman, who 6tood
confronting him, pale and silent. He spoke in
Russian, and then he turned to me.
"You aro Count Bolskoi, sir," ho said; "why
do I find you here closeted with my wife?" he
cried, and he glared at me with furious eyes in
flamed with drink and jealousy. "I am tho
Prince Bakouline, 6ir," he said, more calmly,
"the husband of this this woman."
"And I am her father's guest," I said; "and
I do not bandy words with drunken men at
midnight. But, Princo Bakouline, you are a
coward. Have the goodness to leave this
And then he turned and left the room without
a word. Next day we met, some dozen versts
from Petersburg. Prince Vlastoff was my sec
ond, and I shot the Princess Nadia's husband
dead, and crossed the frontier within a dozen
hours. And within the month, tho woman, who
had wronged my brother Paul, died, as my poor
brother had dle'd, a raving maniac. Tho wolf
skin rug was the instrument of heaven's ven
geance; the fangs of tho dead beast had still re
tained their venom.
A Remarkable Literary Coincidence.
January Book Buyer.
Those who delight in puzzling over curious
coincidences will find an interesting subject In
three of tho December magazines. For the
Christmas number of Scribner, Harper, and
the Century contain each a story In which a
person with the unusual name of Spurlock
figures. In George A. Hibbard's story, "As tho
Sparks Fly Upward," in Scribner, this person
is a man, while in James A. Allen's "Flute and
Violin," in Harper, and In "A Conscript's Christ
mas," by Joel Chandler Harris, in the Century,
tho name is given to a woman. Tho little pen-and-ink
portrait sketches of the Widow Spur
lock and of Mrs. Spurlock in the two latter
magazines the faces boar no resemblance to each
other, but this fact does not make It any tho
less odd that three authors In widely separated
parts of the country should havo applied this
unfamiliar name to characters in their stories.
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"Tho scrawny necks of American women,"
said a man dressmaker of Now York, "are duo
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have been wearing during tho past six years as
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the Princess of Wales, who has a scar on her
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gowns and jackets were fitted with tight velvet,
cloth, or braided collars, and these pressed tho
neck so closely that when women took them
off after having been In a hot room they not
infrequently found them saturated with per
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women wore had precisely this effect. Now
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I look for an Improvement in tho necks of
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