THE GERMAN CROWN PRINC AND THE
THEATRICAL MANAGER. At the time when Robert Buchholz was manager of the National Theatre !at Berlin, the Crown Prince was most regular in his attendance at the play. For the convenience of his Highness, Buchholz had fitted up a small room at the back of the Imperial box, where the Crown Prince could sit during the intervals between the acts. One evening the manager stepped into this apartment to pay his respects to the Prince, as was his wont. On entering he observed that his Highness, with a rapid movement, concealed something behind his back, but at once brought it forward again, laughing aa he did so; it was a lighted cigarette. "Now, you* are not going to betray me, Buchholz ? Smoking is strictly prohibited in the theatre, you know ! " " Why, this is your Highness's private apartment!" "No matter; I don't claim any privilege, and you have a perfect right to report me. There is only one way out of it, you must become my fellow-culprit and smoke a cigarette with me. Here, take one." So saying, the Crown Prince handed him his cigarette-case. Buchholz bowed his acknowledgements and put the cigarette into his pocket, saying, " Will your Imperial Highness allow me to keep it as a souvenir?" "Oh! certainly, but I .am not going to let you off iv that way ; yon mean to betray me. See, here is another for you to smoke," and with a laugh the Prince handed the manager another cigarette, giving him a light at the same time. "There, now you are an aider and abettor," and the Crown Prince cheerfully went on smoking. A FAMILY MURDERED. A Swede coming in from a remote Swedish settlement to the south-east of Mille Lacs Lake, United States, states that a farmer named Henry Olstrom butchered his whole family, consisting of wife and seven children. Tho deed was done, the informant says, because the father found all were going to perish in the extremely cold weather. No steps had been taken to arrest the slayer, and so severe was the cold that the bodies had not yet been interred. The informant himself froze both hands, his ears, and his nose in coming in,
travelling all night with the mercui at forty to fifty below zero. TEMPERANCE COLUMN. » TED'S TATTERED JACKET. " Well," said the woman, " you would like to hear the story < 'Ted's tattered jacket' whilst yo are waiting, I will tell it to yoi ma'am." "Pray do," said I, much interei ted. "It was this way," went on ou hostess, stitching rapidly away i a child's print frock. " One soakin wet night in a stormy November more than ten years ago, now, m son Ted (he was just turned thirtee then, and now he's doing well out i Australia, and sending me many pound, bless him) —my Ted ha been out after a situation. He was bu young and very delicate to be work ing, but we were just starving, an Smith the grocer wanted an erran boy, so Ted went after the place and I did hope he would get it ; bu when he came in wet to the skin, a you may judge from his only havinj that old rag on his shoulders, I couli see from his face he had had n< success ; he only sat down an< 3obbed. " Whatever is it, Ted ?" I aske< sf my boy, not stopping from nr (Fork, for lost stitches meant los bread. "Wasn't my husband at work Oh! yes, in good work. Edwan was always handy at the building he could get his two pounds anc over every week, but it didn't com< my way often. Maybe he'd bring home a bit of meat for Sunday dinnei now and again, or a packet of tet or sugar once in a while, or give m< five ehillings^on a Saturday, and c* pect me to find bread and meat anc coal and rent out of it ; but all the res 1 my husband earned went to the ! Harmonious Dolphin, where they'd s concert room open at night, ¦ anc Edward was chairman, and Laml the landlord called him his ' righi hand,' so he might have been. "I'd have got the place, mother,' 1 sobs Ted, " only for my jacket." "I looked up. I' 4 brushed my boy's hair till it shone like gold, and he'd polished his boots till they wer£ as bright as bright could be ; a nice clean collar he had too ; but with the jacketj acket I could do nothing. 'Twae just as you see it now ; I had put patch on patch, darn on darn, till the stuff wouldn't hold the thread, 'twas so rotten. A poor flimsy, secondhand thing it had been at beßt ; for you see, ma'am, drunkards' wives can't buy new strong things ; they must go with their few pence to second-hand shops, and buy things that somebody has had all the good wear out of first. The jacket was just about fit to be thrown on a dust heap. " ' Mr. Smith said, mother,' Ted went on, 'I looked more fit for a scarecow to* frighten the crows off the corn, than for an errand boy to a respectable shop, and he laughed ; and Mrs. Lamb she was in there buying Bweets and biscuits for her boy and girl, and she laughed too ; and then she said : ' That lad's father earns good money, I can tell you, and it's too bad to let the child grow up like that.' I could have said Bhe and the likes of her got all father's money, "but the boy began to snigger and say "Oh my-! what a guy !" and I couldn't stop crying, so I came out.' " I couldn't cry ; I'd got too hardened with trouble for the tears to come easy. Kind words might have brought them, but such words were seldom heard by me. Edward was late that night, and really he'd got to-be so savage with the children, I dreaded to see him come in. "Ted was getting his supper; he had been delicate a long time and his cough was very bad of nights. When his father came in he began at the boy directly, slamming the doors wide open, and bringing a gust of wind laden with rain that set the fire smoking, and Ted coughing ominousl3'. " ' What's this I'm told ?" he said to Ted, ' Been after a place, I hear, and couldn't get it. For why ? your jacket wasn't good enough, forsooth ! Now look j'ou here ; I know a man as will take you,- ay, and make you too, jacket or no jacket. You don't get over me with that nonsense, young lazybones ! Come on now at once. D'ye hear ?' "'Oh! father, to-night?" says Ted. " ' This very minute,' said Edward. " ' Don't take the boy out such a night as this, with his thin jacket and that'eough,' I urged. "'Yah!' growled Edward, 'he's coddled a sight too much.' " He pushed Ted before him, and off they went in the pouring wet and piercing wind, and I stood at the door with .despair in my heart. Eleven struck, then twelve, then one o'clock ; and still they did not return. By and by Ted came in alone, white and weary. " ' Father's been into every public house he passed, and then he got fighting, and then he lay down in the road, and Jim Alcock and another man are getting him along ! There was no one to see about any work.' " I'd thought as much before ; Edward often imagined such things when the drink was in him. I got Ted to bed. and I began to think it would be almost as well if I took the children right away, and battled on for them alone. At least we should be at peace. " ' Mother, mother,' piped my little birds at dawn of day, • Ted's so bad. Come to Ted ; he thinks he is picking daisies, and is talking to himself.' "I ran upstairs and found the boy in a high fever and quite delirious ; exposure to the cold had brought on inflammation of the lungs, and a sharp battle did my Ted have for his -life • ' Mrs. Dwyer,' says Dr. Danner to me one night, ' unless this lad gets nourishing food, you'll lose him.' Edward heard the words too, and a deal he seemed to ponder over them as he watched me stitch, stitch away, that I might get the work home and take the money, so that Ted should get a drop of mutton broth. I went out, came in again, stewed my pound of scrag of mutton, and took a drop up to the boy. Ted was fast asleep, but his father was sitting by him and I could see young
Mr. Wiles his Sunday-schoolteacher, had been with him too, by the little saucer of jelly on the table, and the pretty new book on the bed. " ' Susan,' said my Edward all of a sudden, ' what is it that has brought this boy to death's door, and what is it that keeps us from getting things about us like other folks ? What is it that makes all I earn of no use ?—? — and I earn a goodish bit. What is it that makes you slave for a bit of bread ?' "I looked sharp at him before I answered, and I saw that he was quite sober, for a man sober is a different perßon altogether from a man who is not. There is a devil in them then and words are useless. ' What is it ?' I said. ' It's the drink ; that's what it is. I " ' Right Susan, and it's about time to leave it off. I've been talking, and,' he said iv a low voice, ' I've been praying to be kept from the drink, and I think I shall, aomehow.' "Well, I couldn't make it out, but next time Mr. Wiles came in he said, 'Mrs. Dwyer, your husband has been talking to me, and we have been praying earnestly that he may have strength to keep hia good resolution.' "Next day Edward went to work and came home Bober, bringing some fresh eggs for Ted. Dr. Danner said he scarcely thought the boy would live through that night ; aud Edward sat by him all the time, making me go and lie down, just sitting looking at the thin tattered jacket which Ted had been wearing. " In the night, at the silent hour before dawn, our son changed for the better. That was TJmrsday night; Friday he was better still. Saturday Edward brings me home a whole pound ! You may be sure Ted wanted for nothing. Next week he brings me thirty shillings, but next week again but a pound ; the same the week after. My spirits went down, for I knew Edward had been making overtime and earning a deal. The Sunday after, gr. Danner said Ted might go downstairs to dinner. I did feel grieved ; I had only the old tattered jacket for him, for it was the middle of January and biting cold. I was taking up my old shawl to wrap round him, when the young ones cried 'Mother, come quick!' I ran up and there was my Ted in as nice 3trong, warm a suit as could be. " ' Father bought it,' says he proudly. " I had a good cry, and Edward 3aid, ' There, there, old woman, no more rags now.' " By and by, he takes Ted to the seaside, and leaves him there three weeks. "Time went on, and one day, aigh eight years after, Edward brought us here, and proud I was svhen he said ' It's our own, Susan.' We've gone on prospering ever since, md 'tis a pretty place now, but Edward will have the jacket hanging there." " I've wearied you, ma'am, I fear," said Mrs. Dwyer, "but the shower ;s past now." Thanking our kind hostess, and promising to. visit her again, we :ook our leave, musing as we went m the wonderous change wrought n this woman's life by the breaking :rom strong drink, and the lasting nonument of those dark days to be leen'in "Ted's tattered jacket."
currants, red or black ; and used as an admixture with the fruit of the apple, in the proportion of two-thirds of the former to one of the latter, the result is a preserve which will compare favourably with any of our English fruits, and, above all, can be produced at a lower cost. The excellence of blackberry wine has long been acknowledged in I America, and there is reason to suppose that very considerable quantities of the same are consumed annually in this country under a very different title. It cannot be urged that the experiment would involve a very costly outlay in the same way as the recently attempted effort at tobacco cultivation, and any odd plot of land would serve for a beginning. Judging from the success which has attended the venture in America, the idea would, at any rate, appear worthy of consideration ; and it is this conviction that makes us propound the not altogether alarming query "Why not blackberries ?" — English Paper. [The suggestions in this article appear to be quite as applicable to New Zealand as to England. — Ed. E.P.]