A singular instance of what was considered to qualify a man for being a court fool, presents itself in the case of Conrad Pocher, jester to Philip the Upright, Elector Palatine. Pocher was a cowherd, and was once sent a-field, with a boy to attend him. The boy was sick and feeble, and Pocher, out of compassion, hung him to the branch of a tree. He was tried for the murder, but he defended himself with such humour, on the ground that he had greatly benefited the helpless little cow-boy, that the court was in ecstasy, and the Elector, recognizing Pocher’s merits, immediately appointed him to the post of official jester. Little is said of his wit. His jokes were of a very lumbering nature. He would crop the tails of the Elector’s cows, that they might look like the Elector’s horses; and once, when his master laid siege to a small town, which he wanted to reduce by famine, and accordingly occupied the passes leading to it, Pocher lay for three days across a ditch which ran in the direction of the town, in order to hasten, as he said, the surrender of the place! Another Palatine Prince, Duke Wolfgang of Neuberg, had a far wittier fool in “Squire Peter,” as he was jokingly called. It was once remarked to the Squire, that the Duke did not so much care for him as the Elector of Cologne did for _his_ fool. “I know that very well,” said Peter; “the reason is, that my master looks after his country and subjects, and therefore has not the leisure to play with fools, as _your_ master has.” Of his dignity, Peter had a very exalted idea, and when a young Count once wished to bandy jokes with him, the Squire haughtily observed, “I am his Serene Highness’s jester, and not the tool of every sorry Count that comes to visit him!” He spared the clergy as little as the nobility; and to a priest who once asked him if he had prepared for the coming fast, Peter replied, “Better than you, Father, for you have bought fish and eggs enough to last a family fond of good living, for a month. Now _I_ have bought nothing at all; and _so_ am better prepared for fasting.” At the close of the fast, the same priest inquired how he had kept it. “I did away with a couple of hams,” said Peter;--at which the reverend gentleman looked shocked. “Don’t look so disgusted,” rejoined the Squire. “I did away with them in this sense,--I gave them, instead of money, to a neighbour who was a creditor of mine.” “You are a merry fellow,” said the priest; “let me now hear you say the Lord’s Prayer.” “I don’t know it,” answered the Squire. “It is wicked, it is shameful--” the priest began to remark, when Peter interrupted him by observing, “Exactly; that’s just the reason why I did not learn it.”