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i t V A Forgotten Singer iO«H":"X«:"t"X~X"X">'X">*X"J"> [shock of this killed him. My mo- ther died when I wau a child, su that I stood quite alone. 1 wa.s left very budly provided for, and I had _oiily such relativea as did not beliovo ' in the practice of holding out a helping hand trf those in poor circumstances. . "By-and-by things became a little easier. I found employment. Soon . after this I was one night walking •;":"X":"X";":-X":"X"X"X":"X"> I through one of Hio fashionable .squares in tho West-end of London. It was late, but I hral a headache, and thought that the cool suninior ^n Twilight had gathered in Miss Tre- vor's little sitting-room, but the lire burned cheerfully, and tho dancing flames lit up Miss Trevor's face as she sat back in her chair. lier atti- tude was one of repose. Some need- lework lay idle in her lap: she hud dropped it uuheedingly. were absorbed, her culm white fore- head drawn together in a puzzled Irown. Lucy Trevor always dressed In gxvy. Sonwhow the neutral color suited her. She was not at all an old woman â€" barely past her thirtieth birthday, in fact; yet all the joy that should be youth's dearest gift had died for her before slie was twenty. Beneath her work a little black Volume lay in her lap, and could one have peeped inside it one would have seen that its leaves were covered with a beautiful, neat handwriting, in ink that was just beginning to fade. Miss Trevor's dreams wore of the person who had written in that boolc, but she was suddenly brought back to real life by an insistent knocking upon the outside door; and rising to open it she welcomed the visitor, a bright-faced girl with sunshine in her eyes and a pleasant, merry ring in her young voice. These two were rare friends. The newcomer, Susie Merling, lived with her mother in a flat in the same building as Miss Trevor, only on a lower floor, which made all the dif- ference in the rental. The small amount that Miss Tre- vor paid for her tiny suite was as much as her slender means could af- ford. .She earned a fairly steady in- come from pen-and-ink sketches, and of late she had increasi'd her connec- tion amongst editors of po|)ular jour- nals, and this year promised to be the best she had as yet known. "I declare I must linve been away in dreamland," she said. "Not a favorite occupation yours either, is it. Miss Trevor? believe I have disturbed you I go away?" "Dear child, no," replied the other, brightly. "I was thinking some few minutes back how much I wished you were here to share my lonely cup of tea. Sit down, my dear; it shall be marie in two minutes." So they sat down now before tho fire and drank their tea, and talked as women who have much in common will talk, enjoying each other's so- ciety. When she had started up to let Susie in Miss Trevor had reverently placed that small, black-bound book on a tiny gimcrack tuble, and now a hasty movement on her part over- balanced this fragile i)iece of furni- ture, and the book fell almost at Susie's feet. Miss Trevor pounced upon it with a bright flush on her face, and tho girl looked at her with questioning eyes. "Mi,ss Trevor," shi' said, solemnly, "you've been in a sentimental mood this afternoon." "What should make you think that?" asked Lucy, with a question- ing smile. "Bcciiuso I sec you with that book. There is some mystery about it. I suppose you think mb very incjuisi- tive, but I would give worlds to know what is in that book. In a way 1 am jealous of it; you think a great deal more of it than you do of me." "Nonsense, dear," said the other, but her pale, sweet face went crim- son once more. "It was a present, given lue years ago by someone I caied for." "I am sorry," said the girl quick- ly; the had detected tlio note of pain in the elder womnn'.s voice. "It is all right," sinilwl Mi.ss Tre- vor; "it â€" it happuMii'd long ago. lie has forgotten me by this, but once We were very dear to each other; at least, he was to mc." "And is still," .said the girl to herself. "He was a poet," went on Miss Trevor, and her voice was a little tremulous. "We met in London when he was unknown, lie u.sed to tell me of his dreams of faJiie, used to read me liis poems, before he found any other public to take in- terest in them. He called me his little .sweetheart. I was onl.v a Ifirl then, little more than u childâ€" and I took his Words more serioi'S- ly, perhaps, than tliey were intended. He had a very hard struggK; â€" but lie would say that the thought of nie comforted him, that so long aa he air would refresh me. Outside one of tho big houK<>s I paused. The light was streaming through tlic open entrance-door, and I had a fairy Her e\ea B'^nipso of a llower-lilled nail, and stately rooms be.vond. There were voices in the hall, tlien the door closed, and a man's figure came so swiftly down the stops that 1 had not time to move away, and he al- most ran into me. A cry of recog- nition came from both of us. It was my old friend. "I could not escape, as I would rather have done, and he held my hand and looked into my face, the sparkle of triumph in his oyes, the flush of .success on his face. Oh, it made mo glad to see him like that. I knew that, ho had spent a delight- ful evening amongst his ai'istocratic friends. His voice rang out jubilant in the night air. " 'Dear little woman,' ho said (I can remember every word), 'I am so pleased to see you. It was all I wanti^d to complete my happiness this evening. It is tlie night of my life, Lucy. There was such a crowd of people, and all invited to hear mo read to them a play of mine.' "He went on talking to mo very kindlyâ€" almost as he used to doâ€" I think he fancied that he had slighted nie and that T might feel a little hurt. But I did not really. I quite understood how his engagements de- manded his time and his thoughts. "J<ist as I was loav:ug him he thrust this littli! book into my hand. It is a play â€" my first; perhaps tho best thing I have ever written or shall ever write. Take it. I give it to you. Lucy, forâ€" for tho sake of old times. It shall never be pub- lished; it is yours. Will you accept it? Andâ€" and forgive me, dear.' Ilo said that; and before I could stammer out thanks he left me there. "It was almost with reverence that I touched the volume. I knew the sacrifice it must have cost him to give me this â€" the child of his brain which no other eyes than mine would ever look upon. I have not seen him since." "Then he really desorted you? It was despicable, Aliss Trevor," said the girl, in low, indignant tones. "Ah, dear, don't speak harshly of him. You cannot understand. His success exceeded anything ho had dreamed of. He was the comet of a season." "And nowâ€" what is he now?" Miss Trevor looked down. "I don't heal- of him very often now, ' she faltered. "ITo wrote something that the critics did not care aboutâ€" they were dreadfully severe â€" and somehow his name seems almost for- gotten. They said that his work had lost all the dainty charm that had once distinguished it, that his later poetry has never equalled earlier work." "That is ea.sy to undersiarKl." the girl, with (juiet scorn, world had not spoiled him then far 01 I Shall his said "Tho He was less selfish, his ideals loss ma- terial." "You would not liave .said that he was sellLsh had you known him," re- plied Mi.';s Trevor, eiirnesHy. "He was merely weak and mrriod away by success until ho v.a.s faliso to what was best in liiui. '.Dnit was all." Susie had other matters to attend to besides takinjj.- tea with her dear friend Mi.ss Trevor, so presently she said good-bye and went on her way. Mi.ss Trevor. left alone, clearod away the tea-things, took them out into her little kitchen, washed tlicm up and put them away in th.o cup- board, and then, returning to the sitting-room, took up tho uiorning paper, which she had not vet looked at. Smldeiily she gu\ i; a little cry. and leaning her head forward r«au with .slrniiied eyes tin* few lines thuL had caught her attention: â€" "Wo learn with regret that Mr. Wilfrid Miiivhmont, whose poetic gifts at traded considerable attention sciuio .years back, i.s l.ving seiiously ill at his apartments, 5, Wcstover Street, lluinpstead. Mr. Marchinont has not been before the public very mucii of Into j,e;ii«. and we fear that he has fallen into jioverty. Thai his popularity 1ms declined is, we \on- lure to think, due in no small mca- .siir(! to hiiusolf. Hi.'i later poetry biKS decidedly lost those ijuidities which first won hiui fame. But his linblic .'ilill exists â€" ns a public must had my synioathy. my lovc>â€" and I]alwa,vs e.NisI, for thosi> who have favc him both â€" the world's roldress wotild not trouble liini. "But one day forttino smiled on him. A volume of verse attracted n. jreat deal of attention, was praised 111 all the iiniiortant reviews, and, like Byron, he awolce to find him- self fe'rious.'' "And then?" "Well, we seemed to drift apart, somehow. He was made a lot of in society, invited to (he best houses as good work to olVerâ€" and if Mr Marehmoiit has in bis |)orttolio any- thing p(pnil to his first publish<Kl hook of verse there is little doubt that both pecuniary and artistic .success will Ijo his once more." Tho paper dropped from Miss .Tre- vor's shaking hand.s and a mist caino over hor eyes. Ho was ill and in want, neodirig a woman's help, a wo- innn's i)ity. Oh, why had he not sent for her? He might have known aloud; and yet she realized that it was too lute for anything to be done that night. Taking up his book, she fingered it with loving hands that wore <iven more tender than usual in their touch. She glanced at the picturoB(pie writing. Here, "In this little hook, was the best work ho had ever done. If only the world pos.sessed that! It would express its admiration, its de- light; would perhaps give back to the forgotten singer the fame and riches that it had onro showered up- ' on him; all that lio had lost would bo within his grasp again. Then a thought occurred to her. She could sell this book to a publish- er. It was a brilliant idea, but her heart grew cold at tho thought of it, and her. lips trembled. The book which had been for her eyes alone had become so sacred to the lonely, deserted woman. She had felt that with this gift, precious beyond all telling, there was a subtle link be- tween hor and the man she had lov- edâ€"loved still. Could she part with itâ€" could she give it up into alien hands? "It is for his sake," she whisper- ed, "and I will do it." • ••»•» The no.xt morning saw her early astir. She had some experience amongst the world of writers and publisher.s, and had decided the night before at whicli houses she would stand most chance of disposing of this book. But the first hou.so she called upon would have nothing to do with it. "Mr, Marchmonts day is over," prjonounced the head of the firm. "Quito an ephemeral reputation. Scarcely remembered by half a hun- dred of tho reading public. To pro- dtico it- would mean a dead failure." Tho next house .she visited was more sympathetic. One of the part- ners saw her, glanced over one or twq, pages of the precious maimscript and was visibly .struck with the poem. But after some hesitation ne told hor that he was afraid to make an olTer for it â€" the jiublishing risk was too great, despite what the newspaper had said. Still persevering, Jlliys Trevor wont 1 to tho last name upon her list â€" a i comparatively ncv.- (irni, noted for â-  their enterprise. Here she obtaincjd j better success. The junior partner saw her. He took the book from her, j retired with it to his private room, and kept her waiting an hour. At the expiration of that time ho sent for her to come to his sanctum, and I informed her that he would accept the poetic play for publication. I "It is a line thing," he said: "it should go well. We shall build uii I Mr. Marchraont's reputation once more. I suppose he hos commission- ed you to dispose of it for him?" Miss Trevor hesitated and succeed- ed in evading tho question. She went away jubilant. Tho pub- lisher had promised to have the work produced without delay. He was not ; a man to lo.se time. I Having concluded this business Miss . Tre\ or visited sundry shoiJS, where [She bouglit a variety of delicacies I such as would be likely to tempt an j invalid appetite, and then with a I queer little thrill in her heart she told the cabman to drive to West- over Street, Hninpstcad. I At last the cab drew up before a ' shabby houseâ€" a t.vpical lodging- houseâ€" and in answer to her ring a slatternly niaid-of-aU-work came to the door and looked with astonish- ment at the quiet, lad.y-like womiui, dressed in peail-grey, who stood be- fore her and asked to see Mr. March- mont. "Ain't ere. Was took to the 'orspitul this morning, *" said the dam.sel. "Which hospital?" asked Miss Tre- vor, faltpringly. "The Metropolitan," answered the girl; and, thanking hor. Miss Trevor, turned awa.v and rt>-entered tho cab, telling the man to drive her to that home of sufiering. When she reached tliere she asked to see tho house-surgeon, who, alter listening courteously to her re(|uest, referred her to the nur.se who luxd charge of the case. Upon interview- ing that person, a bright, capable woman, with a strong face and quiet, steadfast eyes, j\Iiss Tre\or was giv- en permission to see Wilfrid March- mont. "He is very ill," tho nurse warned her; "enteric fever, but we hope to pull him through." Ijucy Trevor had iirepaj-ed hor.SQlf for a shock, but when she reached the bedside .she could hardly recog- nize in this still figure, with tho emaciated features, the man she had loveil and las* seen with the triumph of youth up>»o his face. She ga\e a tiny cry, and ttio nurse ut- tered a Warning hush. iJut ihe pa- tient had heard, and he opened his eyes. There was no recognition in Ihoir <lepths, though his blackensd lips mumbled strange and incohoront words. She .sat then- a few minutes, strok- ed the thin, white hands, and then she felt her self-control was equal to no more, so she left the hospital, saying she would come.,_ again the next day. the chief guest. He-he became aithaf. though all hi.«i butterfly ac- littlc careless of old friemis as h's iiunintances had loft him to diu success incrcn.sed. I did not S09 much of him, and when he visited us there Was no more talk of love or of niaiiMago â€" as there had once been. "My father lost all his money," •be went on, after a pause, "and the alone, aho would br true. "What can t do?" she n.skod hcr- .self, dcsperalel.v. .She got up from her chair with a quick, impatient uiovenienl. "I cannot stay here," .she said Thoi-e was a shai-p tusalu boiwcen life and death, but Wilfrid Mareh- moiit pulled through, and Miss Tre- vor could never forgot the day wlion his bruin cleai-cd and ho recognized her. "Luc.y!" he murmurci. tm slie took, hor place by the bedside and the' niir.'H' discreetly vanished. He looked up into the calm, sweet face. «ilo- quent with all love, all sympath.v, and Ills heart throbbed with re- morse and pain, and dropping her hand he turned his head away "Are you not glad to sec me?" she asked. "lilad?" he echoed, looking at her once more. "What can I say to ox- proas my gladness? All my friends have failed me e.xcept you â€" you whom 1 treated with such carelessness and indifference." 'We can forget that now," she said, gently. "You had other inter- ests in life â€" oilier friends.' "I was a fool, who mistook tho falsi! for the real, tinsel for gold. I was a fool, Lucyâ€" such as all men aro when they allow themselves to becomo intoxicated by tho foolish flatteries that people utter â€" flatteries that sound so much and mean so little. It was you 1 should have turned to in the hour of my .success; you I should have asked to shai"e good fortune with ine. But I wor- shipped at other shrines, and I have been punished. My power of writing languished and died in that artlflcial atmosphere. It was not suited to me, Lucy. I should have kept up my former standai'd away from society, cheered by your companionship; for, now that I have had time to think ovor things, I realize that it was your gentle sj'mpatliy and cncourago- ment which taught mo to write. Without them I should never have succeeded. And how ungrateful I was! If my position were otherwise than it is, if I had anything to oiler you that was worthy of your accept- ance, how gladly would I lay it at your feet â€" how gladly! But 1 have nothing â€" neither fame nor f(n-tune â€" nothing but the love of a man who has recognized his mistakes." She turned away to hide the glad tears that came into hor eyes. Poor, fa'»hful heart, it seemed too beauti- ful to be true. That he should care for her, have found her necessary to his happiness, his work! And when next she came she read to him from a numtier of papers she had brought with her reviews upon his new book â€" published a week bo- fore. There was no dissentient voice. The critics had nothing hut praise for it. The poet was r.aisod onco more upon tho pedestal of fame which he had earned years before, and then lost. The book promised to be a financial as well as an ar- tistic success. An impetus was giv- en to the sale of his jjublished works. Fortune smiled on him onco more. "When I get better, if it is God's will that I do," he said to himself, in all humbleness of spirit, "I will ask this faithful woman to share tho rest, of my life, and try to atone for my past folly and neglect." He did get bettor, and found that happiness which might have been his years ago had ho only, by being true to Lucy lYovor, been true to him- self as well. â€" London Tit-Bits. AMAZONS FIBHT TURKS B-ULGARLAN WOMEN JOIN SURGEUrX AEMY. IKi FOR S'ORGICAL WORK. New the Surgeons Are Interested in Cinematograph. Tho Paris correspondent of London Daily Mail says: Dr. Uoyeii, the eminent French sur- geon, has invented an apparatus which is likely to excite considerable interest in tho scientific world. The novelty consists of an ingenious ap- pliance by means of which cinoiiiato- graphic projections are thrown upon the screen with the relief which ac- companies the object in nature. Dr. Doyen was good enough to re- ceive mo in his splendidl.v-equipped institute in the Hue Piccini. In a room off the operating theatre was fixed an ordinery ciiUMiiatograph, and when the instrument was set in mo- tion I saw Dr. Doyen and two as- sistants engaged in an operation for the removal of lui abdominal cyst. At first I remarked nothing tui- usual, but when Dr. Doyen said, "Now look through tiiat." I took hold of something which appeared to bo a padlock, but which, on examination, I found to consist of two small semi- circular aluminum plates, with some mechiinism between, and a coujilo of apertures for the e.yes. .'Vs soon as 1 looked through this the .scene was chnnged. Instvad of the usual riiu'mafograiih picture, with everylhing on the same piano T saw Dr. Doyen, in his o|H'rating blouse. Standing in the foreground, his skilful hands manupulating sharf), wicked-looking inst nmients, his a.s- sistant. helping him on the other side of the "subject," and another doctor adniiiiisteiing the chloroform which kept tho patient unconscious of tho great crisis through which ho was passing. The illusion was perf>>rt, and while tho cinematograph band was running o(V the picture it all seemed so lifo- liko that the si)ectator felt as if he wore uclually present at the o|x>ra- tion. The utility of the invention con- .â- iists in the possibility of displaying before tho eyes of almost any num- ber of students typical surgical oper- ations in their minutest details and in the most lifelike asi)ect. "I'a," said Hltlc .Tinmiy, "I was \eiy near getting to the head of the clats to-dny." "How was that, Jimmy?" "Why, a big word cnme nil the wtiy down to me, and if T couhl only have spelt it I should have gone cicur up." Don't take chances of jiroposing to n girl en Friday; l-he might not le- fiise yoti. Tlio Somauce of Kristina Fetkova â€"Some of the Women Are Oflicers. Tn the desultory warfare which Is being tarried on agai.,(.t if o Turk in ti;e Balkans women have come to tho front again as sol^iois. Amonj^ tho Bi.lg(u-ian insurgonis wl.o iiivad* Matodania and rai.l xillages are a nujiiber of ama;'.o s wiio a:e sure of foot in the loiountain climbing and .suio i;f aim in tho fighii g which Is carniod on in village and on tba mountain side. Tiler* women, ullli^o others who have enlisted in tie aimies, do not attempt to conceal the fact that tl;oy are women. Some of thtja wear their hair hanging free to dis- play tho fact that they aio amozune. For a ci.ilized, or .suppot«rily civ- ilized, couniiy, ti o woman soldier ig an almott unknown quantity, and for that reason the fai soluiers ol B'.lgaiia who aie iis..ing the pcrili) of an unieiogni/ed wa f.i. e against) tl:e Turk are attracting attention. A ROMANCE. Kribtina Potkova is one of these soldieis. The uiif Jiin si u weiLrs is a (iiwtiiictly .'er\i c"ahle one â€" etriipped Icggins, cottise woolen trousers, and Ioojo fitting bloute, with tailridgo belt around tiiO waist and ai'ound the siiOul.;eis, musl-.ot t.t. appcd to the back, and tabor at t. e siue. Ti.eie is a romance con. ectod with her .'ervico in the U If^a ia ranks of the Macedo. ian acmy. Her fianco is a young otfuei in the some army. During one of t^.e mountain climbing raids which are unuertal.cn to diivo the Macouoiiiaii peasants into revolt agaiiL-t the Turks l;o led a detach- meni agai .st a villnge where the Turkish foues weie found in unex- |;o ted ncmbecs. A q. ic!^ rotieat was all that saved the Hulgn uan sol- die, s, but in this lligi t the young, oflicer was capt.ireu, bcicig in tho rear of the leti.iiig it Igai ia. s. His coiurade.y, ha\i g o<;aped to the mountaiiis, cariied to i.ewa o! his capture to Kristina. In lor des- liair, knowing t:.at there was little chance of anyti ing but death for him, .'-he: gatlioicd about her a num- ber (f iiihUi gents for an attempt at res.ue. T; cy retraced their wn.y down tho mountain to the village aud were I lauiiirg a night actack when tho young oflicer suikie ly appeared among them. Ho had succeeded in cluing the gunid [ilcued over l.im and had made his e.-ca; e. Tho young gi 1, Kowccor, h.ad cast her lot with liie Bulga. ian caute and to bo with her lover during tie cam- paigns she deciuod to oiilkst as a .',ob ier. He protet.tetl at lir.-.t, but finc.lly ic'lenteci, being willing to al- low iier to brave llii! daiigc> s since .she showed the .spi.it necessary for it. Ajuong the other women who ai'e .seeing service in tho Bulga ian army in Macedonia are .some wlio aro oflicers, ino.st of ti:iuu being noncom- missioned. Arnoudova is a ^'<^rgoant, 'but ui.llko Kristina, .she is desirous iof aiJpeciring as a man. In hi»r iini- iforni she appears to be a t^turdy, good loolciug youtli of 21. FIGHT FOll HOMISS. The character of I ho waifaie being; carried on in tho I3al .ai s is cf a kind which wool I al'tra't women to tl o service. At least, it is a repeti- tion of the kind which 1ms attracted tl em in times pastâ€" a rei>etttioii of Iho desultory but fierce struggles vvlni h have been waged with all tlio g oat-er feioiy because tl.ey havu lieen iinorgaii.od. j Keligion and race prejudices aro lamong the causes win h moke tho II l.ijarians and Macecio;icin troops tho nattiral enemies of the Turk.s. It is a struggle for homes and churcl!e», and such a struggle alwn.vs has claimed the most active intoioft on the pai t of women. When f ic'ign poiiiis cause a war it is seldom that women get cl.)toly in touch with ft, but as soon as homos aro threatened they will ho found identilicd with the men. Fron- tier life in .Vmoii a deitianciod that the women he as lead.v with a rifle as the men, and the condition in tho Baikal s now pro'iiits a •• iuiilnr pro- blem to tlio Buljuaihin women. ~ -> TH'KV BOTH HAB DOUHTS. A certain professor, who .shall bo name. ess, lolls tie following good story against Hni!\'lf, relating to an expeiiienco ho had when crossing the .\llnntic from the Lnited States ro- (e.lly. He had been unable to get a ! talo-ioom for him.'clf, bu!,, on as- surances by the inuser that lie would have for a Miom-mate some compan- ioimblu geiitlei::u'i, In; accepted what ho cot Ul gel. "Now, nfier .-.hort while." says the iianalor, "I bt^gun to find my- self thinking of tome valunbtes (hat 1 had about me, and wont with tl em finally to the pursur, to ontruf;l1hem to hi.s keeping. " '1 woikl explain to you,' I said to the purfor, 'that I am verj- much lileaied v\itli my room-mate. That is, 1 find him a geiitleman in cvoiy rospcct, and 1 woiildiit linve ,vou think thatâ€" that isâ€" I wouldn't have jou think my coming to you with tho.TO valuables isâ€" orâ€" a^any ref!i>(> tion upon him, von know. Hia ap- lowanie is in every wa.v "And here," the narrator says, "the jiiirst '• inttfirupted mc, with a iomowhat broad sinila. " 'Ye-, tir, It's a'l right; lo has cottio to mo ^vit^ some valuables al- 5.0, and he snys tho vo:y romo Ihing about yoti,' "