the artist Frith.  The ensuing fifteen years saw him often on English soil with his father and mother, staying usually at Osborne Castle, in the Isle of Wight.  Here, it may be assumed, he first came in close contact with the ocean, watched the English warships passing up and down, and imbibed some of that delight in the sea which is not the least part of the heritage of Englishmen.  The visits had a decided effect on him, for at ten we find him with a row-boat on the Havel and learning to swim, and on one occasion rowing a distance of twenty-five miles between 6 a.m. and 3 p.m.  About this time he used to take part with his parents in excursions on the Royal Louise, a miniature frigate presented by George IV to Frederick William III.

Still another story concerns the boy and his father.  The former came one day in much excitement to his tutor and said his father had just blamed him unjustly.  He told the tutor what had really happened and asked him, if, under the circumstances, he was to blame.  The tutor was in perplexity, for if he said the father had acted unjustly, as in fact he thought he had, he might lessen the son’s filial respect.  However, he gave his candid opinion.  “My Prince,” he said, “the greatest men of all times have occasionally made mistakes, for to err is human.  I must admit I think your father was in the wrong.”  “Really!” cried the lad, who looked pained.  “I thought you would tell me I was in the wrong, and as I know how right you always are I was ready to go to papa and beg his pardon.  What shall I do now?” “Leave it to me,” the tutor said, and afterwards told the Crown Prince what had passed.  The Crown Prince sent for his son, who came and stood with downcast eyes some paces off.  The Crown Prince only uttered the two words, “My son,” but in a tone of great affection.  As he folded the Prince in his arms he reached his hand to the tutor, saying, “I thank you.  Be always as true to me and to my son as you have been in this case.”

The last anecdote belongs also to the young Prince’s private tutor days.  At one time a certain Dr. D. was teaching him.  Every morning at eleven work was dropped for a quarter of an hour to enable the pair, teacher and pupil, to take what is called in German “second breakfast.”  The Prince always had a piece of white bread and butter, with an apple, a pear, or other fruit, while the teacher was as regularly provided with something warm—­chop, a cutlet, a slice of fish, salmon, perch, trout, or whatever was in season, accompanied by salad and potatoes.  The smell of the meat never failed to appeal to the olfactory nerves of the Prince, and he often looked, longingly enough, at the luxuries served to his tutor.  The latter noticed it and felt sorry for him; but there was nothing to be done:  the royal orders were strict and could not be disobeyed.  One day, however, the lesson, one of repetition, had gone so well that in a moment of gratitude the tutor decided to reward his pupil at all hazards.  The lunch