How lustily the shout rings out on the evening air, and then the merry company return with empty pitchers, only to be greeted by shouts of laughter from behind the fast-closed doors. Just a faint whiff of the goodly store within, and the tantalizing demand to guess what is on the spit. This, of course, is some bit or dainty not likely to be thought of, and when, after many random hits and freely interchanged jests, it is guessed at last, the doors are thrown open, and the lucky clodpole is rewarded with the much-prized tidbit, amid the congratulations of his less fortunate companions. So with mirth and wassail speeds the night away, for truly “care’s an enemy to life.” The simple-hearted rustic firmly believes that by these timely ceremonies and invocations he has helped to keep the blight from his rye, and to insure a goodly return from the well-laden orchard trees. But “Twelfth Night” festivities are by no means confined to the simple, free-hearted sports of field and farm. In palace and mansion the feast is observed with great splendor, with masque and pageant, with rollicking song and mirth. Thousands of pounds are spent in preparing for the revels of a night. The long table spread for the feast is a wonder of art fresh from the hands of the pastry cook and confectioner. There are pasteboard castles to be blown up in jest, the rarest of old claret flowing like blood from the side of a wounded stag, with all sorts of curious and dainty conceits set forth amid sparkling glass and silver, while the guests playfully pelt one another with eggshells filled with rose-water. The cake, huge and shining in its frosty whiteness, and wrought in elaborate design, seems to tower over the rest of the feast with a sort of proud and smiling benignity, for reposing in its capacious depth lies the fateful prize of the evening, the bean which proclaims the lucky finder king over the evening’s festivities. The guests cut for this amid good-natured laughter and merriment, and when someone more fortunate than the rest has discovered it, they declare him with one accord “king of the bean,” and cheer him right lustily. The newly crowned monarch is raised aloft to the ceiling to mark a white cross upon one of the great oaken beams, for thereby will evil spirits be warded off for the evening and through all the year to come. The others then draw lots and assume their parts of lords or ministers of state, and each sustains his character with mock dignity throughout the revels. This quaint old ceremony is observed in palace and mansion and humbler household as well, and a sort of good-natured fellowship reigns supreme. The story is told of how Mary, Queen of Scots, when her maid was chosen queen, lent her own royal robes, that the part might be sustained with proper dignity. “Mirth and revel, jest and play, Quickly wears the night away.”