152 WHIP AND SPUR. 



Sometimes there were touching tales of 

 trouble. Once he had been detailed to the 

 "police" squad, and had to clean spittoons and 

 do other menial work. This was a touch of 

 reality that fairly opened his eyes to his abase- 

 ment, and he wrote much more sadly than ever 

 before, making me sad, too, to think how pow- 

 erless I was to help him in any way. A few 

 days later he sent a wail of real agony. While 

 he had been out on drill, some scoundrel had 

 broken into his satchel and had stolen all his 

 papers, — his letters from his mother, her pho- 

 tograph, and those of his sister and his sweet- 

 heart, and all the bundle of affectionate epistles 

 over which he had pored again and again in his 

 desolation. The loss was absolutely heart-break- 

 ing and irreparable, and he had passed hours 

 sitting on the rocks at the shore, pouring bitter 

 tears into the Thames. This was a blow to me 

 too. I knew that Dohna was of a simple mind, 

 and utterly without resources within himself; 

 but he was also of a simple heart, and one 

 could only grieve over this last blow as over 



