The jester had occasionally to endure a very superabundant measure of hardship, as for example, when policy or revenge brought about the murder of Duke Ludwig of Bavaria, on the bridge over the Danube at Kehlheim, in 1231. The great but hidden perpetrators of the deed thought it convenient to lay the crime upon the Duke’s fool, Stich. He was told that his ducal master having exasperated him by sundry bad jokes, Stich had suddenly stabbed the Duke with his bread-knife. “Ah!” said the poor fellow, as he stood at the gallows, “that some one ought to be hanged for murdering the Duke, I can very well comprehend; but that that some one should be _me_, I do not comprehend at all.” To another of Louis of Bavaria’s fools, the King of Bohemia once gave a goblet of such strong wine that the tipsy jester declared he could be content to be a fool through eternity, if he might only always be permitted to drink such wine. But this is far inferior to the quiet observation of the Connaught man, after a long pull at a whisky flask; that, had his mother first brought him up on such beverage, he would never have been weaned. And the Bavarian is not less inferior in his wit to another Hibernian, who, on hearing a senseless drunken man pronounced dead, coolly remarked, “Dead is he? I wish I had half his disease.” It must be confessed, however, that it is difficult to place fairly the German fools or joy-makers before a foreign public. Many of their brightest sayings turn on the point of some sparkling pun which, when rendered into English, is, as the Germans themselves would say, for a translation, completely “overset.” On the other hand, the feats of some of these joy-makers are incredible, although related in solemn Latin by grave bishops, like Dubravius, the diocesan of Olmütz. This prelate speaks at great length, in his ‘History of Bohemia,’ of a certain Zytho, who was brought to the Bohemian court by the Emperor Wenceslaus, in 1389. In that century, and in that which preceded as well as that which followed it, the court at Prague took most delight, not in witty jesters, but in astounding conjurors, jugglers, magicians, and sorcerers. Individuals of this quality were retained in the sovereign’s household, and their achievements were of a nature to do credit to the professions which they exercised. It was when a body of these were exhibiting in presence of Wenceslaus, then on a visit at Prague, that the Emperor produced his own wonderful man, Zytho, ordering him to excel, if he could, those rivals in his vocation. Zytho (so we are seriously told by the episcopal historian) went quietly up to the most accomplished of the wonder-workers, and--swallowed him! The Duke of Bavaria was angry at thus being deprived of his principal performer; and Zytho, at the command of Wenceslaus, reproduced him after a fashion that stirred to thundering laughter that unrefined assembly. The Bishop further tells us that Zytho could change his shape at will; produce any