By the middle of October, things on Friedrich Wilhelm's side have got so far.
CROWN-PRINCE IN CUSTRIN.
Poor Friedrich meanwhile has had a grim time of it, these two months back; left alone, in coarse brown prison-dress, within his four bare walls at Custrin; in uninterrupted, unfathomable colloquy with the Destinies and the Necessities there.

The King's stern orders must be fulfilled to the letter; the Crown-Prince is immured in that manner.

At Berlin, there are the wildest rumors as to the state he has fallen into; "covered with rags and vermin, unshaven, no comb allowed him, lights his own fire," says one testimony, which Captain Dickens thinks worth reporting.

For the truth is, no unofficial eye can see the Crown-Prince, or know what state he is in.

And we find, in spite of the Edict, "tongues," not "cut out," kept wagging at a high rate.