delights to do, more particularly in a crowded thoroughfare, as though determined that his noise should triumph over every other and show how jolly he is, and how independent of the ties to good behavior. If the street is a quiet one, and he has a stick in his hand (perhaps a hoop-stick), he accompanies the howl with a run upon the gamut of the iron rails. He is the nightingale of mud and cold. If he gets on in life, he will be a pot-boy. At present, as we said before, we hardly know what he is; but his mother thinks herself lucky if he is not transported." Of Twelfth-night, at home, when "the whole island keeps court,--nay all Christendom,"--when "all the world are kings and queens, and everybody is somebody else," a huge cake, the idol of young hearts, is the presiding genius of the evening. The account given by Nutt, the editor of the "Cook and Confectioner's Dictionary," of the twelfth-cakes and dishes in vogue a hundred years ago, proves the nursery rhymes of-- "Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pye," who "When the pye was opened all began to sing," to be no such nonsense as was generally supposed. He tells us of two great pies, made of coarse paste and bran, into one of which, after it was baked, live frogs were introduced, and into the other, live birds; which, upon some curious persons lifting up the covers, would jump and fly about the room, causing "a surprising and diverting hurly-burly among the guests." What feeble imitations are the castles, ships, and animals that now adorn our Twelfth-night cakes, to the performances of Nutt! How much, every way, inferior are the specimens of art produced, even by the renowned author of the "Italian Confectioner," the illustrious Jarrin! On the battlements of the castles of former days were planted "kexes," or pop-guns, charged with gunpowder, to be fired upon a pastry ship, with "masts," ropes, we doubt not of spun sugar, "sails, flags, and streamers." Nor was the naval power of England lost sight of; for the "kexes" of this delicious ship were, also, charged with gunpowder, and, when she was fired upon from the castle, her guns were able to return the salute. Then, to take off the smell of the powder, there were eggshells, filled with rose-water, for the spectators to break, "and throw at one another." Nor must a stag of pastry filled with claret be forgotten; which, when wounded, poured forth its blood, free and sparkling as a ruby, for those whose nerves were delicate and needed the refreshment of a glass of wine. Such were the "subtilties," as these jugglings in confectionery are called, which we now behold represented by the painted figures, "so bad to eat, but so fine to look at," that adorn our twelfth-cakes. [Illustration: TWELFTH NIGHT.--_Page 347._]