There was a game of teetotum played between a sergeant of dragoons, who had retired upon his well-earned pension, and a baker, who happened likewise to be the renter of a small patch of land adjoining the village. The veteran, with that indistinctness of character before mentioned, shouldered the peel, * and took it to the field, and used it for loading and spreading manure, so that it was never afterwards fit for any but dirty work. Then, just to show that he was not afraid of any body, he cut a gap in the hedge of a small field of wheat which had just been reaped, and was standing in sheaves, and thereby gave admittance to a neighbouring bull, who amused himself greatly by tossing the said sheaves; but more particularly those which were set apart as tythes, against which he appeared to have a particular spite, throwing them high into the air, and then bellowing and treading them under foot. But--we must come to a close. Suffice it to say, that the village of Stockwell was long in a state of confusion in consequence of these games; for the mischief which was done during the period of delusion, ended not, like the delusion itself, with the rising or setting of the sun. * “Peel--A broad, thin board, with a longhandle, used by bakers to put their bread in and out of the oven.”--Johnson. Having now related as many particulars of these strange occurrences as our limits will permit, we have merely to state the effects which they produced upon ourselves. Whenever we have since beheld servants aping the conduct of their masters or mistresses, tradesmen wasting their time and money at taverns, clergymen forgetful of the dignity and sacred character of their profession, publicans imagining themselves fit for preachers, children calling their parents to account for their conduct, matrons acting the hoyden, and other incongruities--whenever we witness these and the like occurrences, we conclude that the actors therein have been playing a game with the Old Gentleman’s Teetotum. [ABRIDGED FROM BLACKWOOD.] [Illustration: 168] A WATER PARTY. Oh, Laura! such a charming party! You’ve missed our pic-nic, foolish girl; I do assure you from my heart, I Hate you, now you’re Mrs. Searle. You know I dote upon the river-- ‘Twas settled we should row to Kew; And though the cold did make us shiver, In England that’s not very new. But I should tell you that our number Was rather more than you would like; For Ma would ask that living lumber, That dull, but worthy, Mrs. Pike: Then _she_ insisted that her daughter Could not, for worlds, be left behind; The poor girl screamed so, on the water-- I wonder mothers are so blind! We’d Clara Smith, and Major Morris, Besides Sir John, and Lady Gann-- Their nephew too--his name is Horace-- A well-bred, clever, tall young man: