Konrad of the Roses was as fearless in applying a joke, as he was neat in the construction of the joke itself. When Maximilian (then Archduke of Austria and Burgundy) had once defeated Louis XI., a portion of the cavalry of the former had not shared in the victory, having early in the day betaken themselves to flight, following their leader, Count Philip von Ravenstein. Kunz was on the field, and followed the Count’s example. On other occasions he did better and more soldierly service; but for what he rendered now, he was sarcastically bantered at a court festival at which he and the Count were present. “All very good,” said Konrad, “but remember, if I showed speed, Count Philip was even more nimble than I, and was a long league ahead of me when I turned my back on the fray. Ah, Count,” he added, turning to that “rapid rider,” “you had a valuable steed that day! he flew out of danger as a bird flies in the air; and when my horse was blown, and I was compelled to draw rein, yours was still charging away with his wrong end towards the enemy.” There was so much useful knowledge, common sense, and actual bravery about _him_ of the Roses, that some authors, like Manlius, refuse to rank him among official fools. “The Soldier and Wit of Maximilian,” is a term applied to him, and we have an instance of his good sense, when he counselled his Imperial master, at a certain disturbed period, in 1488, not to enter Bruges, as he would certainly be seized by the citizens, and be laid up hard and fast in the castle. Maximilian refused to follow the advice, and entered the city, only to meet the fate foretold him. The fool, wiser in his generation, rode boldly in at his master’s side, through one gate; and quietly out, quite alone, through another. He was a faithful fool, however, and returned secretly, after awhile, in order to rescue his “dear Max.” On one dark night, he swam the moat, hoping to be able to convey a rope to the illustrious captive; but he had no sooner glided into the water than he was attacked furiously by some old swans, who did not relish the intrusion. He with great difficulty escaped drowning, and got back to shore. He subsequently repeated the attempt to liberate his master, and the means he adopted will remind the reader of an incident in ‘Ivanhoe.’ No persuasion could induce Maximilian to avail himself of the opportunity offered him by Konrad. It was not that the Prince was at all influenced by a reluctance to leave the jester to be hanged,--for the latter, after gaining access to his master, in a priest’s dress, was to stay behind, and run the chance of being hanged, while Maximilian went off in the sacerdotal guise. But Maximilian suspected that the term of his imprisonment was nearly at an end, by more legitimate means. Konrad rated his patron with affectionate sharpness, but in vain; the jester was obliged to pass out through the groups of guards in waiting, looking as much like a priest, and feeling