crab-sauce, address himself to joyous drinking, and return to court when it suited his caprice; for Chicot seems to have been exempt from the rule by which the French official fool was bound to remain within the precincts of the palace. At times, the King would appeal to Chicot, not as his jester, but as a man of sense, and his friend. Chicot, on the other hand, would make suggestions worth adopting, and quote from books in support of his advice or opinions. The familiarity of the two was so great, that they often slept in the same room; and by day travelled in the same litter, drawn by half-a-dozen mules, or where the roads were difficult, by as many oxen. The state in which King and fool journeyed is thus admirably sketched by Dumas, in the work mentioned above. “The litter contained Henri, his physician, his chaplain, the jester, four of the King’s ‘minions,’ a couple of huge hounds, and a basketful of puppies, which rested on the King’s knees, but which was upheld from his neck by a gold chain. From the roof hung a gilded cage, in which were white turtle-doves, the plumage of their necks marked by a sable circlet of feathers. Occasionally, two or three apes were to be seen in this ‘Noah’s Ark,’ as it was called,” some of the inmates of which used to amuse themselves by plaiting ribbons, while Chicot made anagrams on the names of the courtiers. Able as Chicot was in this respect, and expert in quoting Marco Polo, Galen, and sentences from the Breviary, it may, of course, be questioned whether he was so skilful in his dramatic plottings and counter-plottings against the traitorous Guises as M. Dumas has represented him to be. He probably did not meddle in such serious affairs; and I think the ability of the jester is set too high when he is exhibited in positions that would puzzle a Machiavelli, in disguises that have a very melodramatic tone and aspect, and in situations of peril from which he releases himself as dexterously as the virtuous hero of a transpontine semi-tragedy. Chicot, indeed, was well qualified to effect his release from any peril where odds were not very strongly against him, for the jester was in the habit of daily fencing with the King, and bore the reputation of being one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom. He could apply his cunning of fence to excellent purpose; and if, half in sport, he would engage with noble courtiers in a fight with whips, there was no man, at once insulted, vindictive, and self-possessed, who could more politely and fatally pass his sword through the body of the individual from whom he had suffered wrong. The tongue of Chicot could be as sharp as his sword, and it inflicted, perhaps, more exquisite torture on the nobles whom he hated or the courtiers whom he despised, than if he had passed his blade between the ribs, which he would “poke” with as much audacity as he used when, seating himself on the same royal chair with the King, he would call