The pleasant little town of W--, in whose schools the writer has been repeatedly "corrected," upon whose ponds he has often skated, upon whose richest orchards he has, with other juvenile bandits, many times dashed in the silent midnight; the town of W--, where it was popularly believed these bandits would "come to a bad end," resolved to celebrate the surrender. Rival towns had celebrated, and W-- determined to eclipse them in the most signal manner. It is my privilege to tell how W-- succeeded in this determination. The great day came. It was ushered in by the roar of musketry, the ringing of the village church bell, the squeaking of fifes, and the rattling of drums. People poured into the village from all over the county. Never had W-- experienced such a jam. Never had there been such an onslaught upon gingerbread carts. Never had New England rum (for this was before Neal Dow's day) flowed so freely. And W--'s fair daughters, who mounted the house-tops to see the surrender, had never looked fairer. The old folks came, too, and among them were several war-scarred heroes, who had fought gallantly at Monmouth and Yorktown. These brave sons of '76 took no part in the demonstration, but an honored bench was set apart for their exclusive use on the piazza of Sile Smith's store. When they were dry all they had to do was to sing out to Sile's boy, Jerry, "a leetle New Englan' this way, if YOU please." It was brought forthwith. At precisely 9 o'clock, by the schoolmaster's new "Lepeen" watch, the American and British forces marched on to the village green and placed themselves in battle array, reminding the spectator of the time when "Brave Wolfe drew up his men In a style most pretty, On the Plains of Abraham Before the city." The character of Washington had been assigned to 'Squire Wood, a well-to-do and influential farmer, while that of Cornwallis had been given to the village lawyer, a kind-hearted but rather pompous person, whose name was Caleb Jones. 'Squire Wood, the Washington of the occasion, had met with many unexpected difficulties in preparing his forces, and in his perplexity he had emptied not only his own canteen but those of most of his aids. The consequence was--mortifying as it must be to all true Americans--blushing as I do to tell it, Washington at the commencement of the mimic struggle was most unqualifiedly drunk. The sham fight commenced. Bang! bang! bang! from the Americans--bang! bang! bang! from the British. The bangs were kept hotly up until the powder gave out, and then came the order to charge. Hundreds of wooden bayonets flashed fiercely in the sunlight, each soldier taking very good care not to hit anybody. "Thaz (hic) right," shouted Washington, who during the shooting had been racing his horse wildly up and down the line, "thaz right! GIN it to 'em! Cut their tarnal heads off!"