boys harden physically they harden mentally. Always, 'way off there
is the war, and that seems closely related to the near duty
here--what it takes to make a man. These fellows will measure men
differently after this experience with sacrifice, obedience, labor,
and pain. In that they will become great. But I do not think these
things stimulate a man's mind. Changes are going on in me, some of
which I am unable to define. For instance, physically I am much
bigger and stronger than I was. I weigh one hundred and eighty
pounds! As for my mind, something is always tugging at it. I feel
that it grows tired. It wants to forget. In spite of my will, all of
these keen desires of mine to know everything lag and fail often,
and I catch myself drifting. I see and feel and hear without
thinking. I am only an animal then. At these times sight of blood,
or a fight, or a plunging horse, or a broken leg--and these sights
are common--affects me little until I am quickened and think about
the meaning of it all. At such moments I have a revulsion of
feeling. With memory comes a revolt, and so on, until I am the
distressed, inquisitive, and morbid person I am now. I shudder at
what war will make me. Actual contact with earth, exploding guns,
fighting comrades, striking foes, will make brutes of us all. It is
wrong to shed another man's blood. If life was meant for that why do
we have progress? I cannot reconcile a God with all this horror. I
have misgivings about my mind. If I feel so acutely here in safety
and comfort, what shall I feel over there in peril and agony? I fear
I shall laugh at death. Oh, Lenore, consider that! To laugh in the
ghastly face of death! If I yield utterly to a fiendish joy of
bloody combat, then my mind will fail, and that in itself would be
evidence of God.

I do not read over my letters to you, I just write. Forgive me if
they are not happier. Every hour I think of you. At night I see your
face in the shadow of the tent wall. And I love you unutterably.

Faithfully,

Kurt Dorn.

Camp ----, _November_ --,

Dear Sister,--It's bad news I've got for you this time. Something
bids me tell you, though up to now I've kept unpleasant facts to
myself.

The weather has knocked me out. My cold came back, got worse and
worse. Three days ago I had a chill that