inspector. This unusual severity was in consequence of a memorandum in
Prince Gortchakoff's own writing appended to the prisoner's papers:
"Piotrowski must be watched with especial care." The injunction was
unprecedented, and impressed the director with the prisoner's
importance. Before being taken to his work he was surrounded by his
fellow-countrymen, young men of talent and promise, who were there,
like himself, for political reasons. Their emotion was extreme: they
talked rapidly and eagerly, exhorting him to patience and silence, and
to do nothing to incur corporal punishment, which was the mode of
keeping the workmen in order, so that in time he might be promoted,
like themselves, from hard labor to office-work. At the guard-house he
found a crowd of soldiers, among whom were many Poles, incorporated
into the standing army of Siberia for having taken up arms for their
country. This is one of the mildest punishments for that offence. They
seized every pretext for speaking to him, to ask what was going on in
Poland, and whether there were any hopes for her. Overcome by fatigue
and misery, he sat down upon a bench, where he remained sunk in the
gloomiest thoughts until accosted by a man of repulsive aspect,
branded on the face--the Russian practice with criminals of the worst
sort--who said abruptly, "Get up and go to work." It was the overseer,
himself a former convict. "O my God!" exclaims Piotrowski, "Thou alone
didst hear the bitter cry of my soul when this outcast first spoke to
me as my master."

[Illustration: CHARITY TO THE EXILE.]

Before going to work his irons were struck off, thanks to the instant
entreaties of his compatriots: he was then given a broom and shovel
and set to clear rubbish and filth off the roof of a large unfinished
building. On one side was a convict of the lowest order, with whom he