Front Cover
 Half Title
 Title Page
 List of Illustrations
 Back Cover

Group Title: Rip Van Winkle : : a legend of the Hudson
Title: Rip Van Winkle
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00055356/00001
 Material Information
Title: Rip Van Winkle a legend of the Hudson
Physical Description: 127 p. : ill. ; 25 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Irving, Washington, 1783-1859
Browne, Gordon, 1858-1932 ( Illustrator )
Scribner & Welford ( Publisher )
Publisher: Scribner and Welford
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: 1887
Subject: Van Winkle, Rip (Fictitious character) -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Laziness -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Drinking of alcoholic beverages -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Scolds -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Bowling -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Dreams -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Magic -- Juvenile fiction   ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1887
Genre: novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- New York -- New York
Statement of Responsibility: by Washington Irving ; illustrated by Gordon Browne.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00055356
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002223953
notis - ALG4209
oclc - 09170106

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
    Half Title
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
    List of Illustrations
        Page 9
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    Back Cover
        Cover 1
        Cover 2
Full Text





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743 & 745 BROADWAY.


THE famous story of Rip Van Winkle first appeared
in 1818, and was republished in London the follow-
ing year as one of a series of papers which had the
collective title of The Sketch-book of Geoffrey Crayon,
Gent', this being a pseudonym which Washington
Irving attached to several of his works. The author,
born in New York in 1783, of a Scotch father and an
English mother, was residing in England when the
Sketch-book appeared. He had already become known
to the reading world of Britain by his humorous and
fictitious History of Nezv York, by Diedrick Knicker-
bocker. It is to the same mythical American Dutch-
man that he ascribes the admirable tale here pre-

sented, as the reader will learn from the statement
prefixed to it, professedly proceeding from the pen
of Geoffrey Crayon. Irving lived for a number of
years in England, and was on intimate terms with
Moore, Campbell, Sir Walter Scott, and other dis-
tinguished men of the time. His later years were
spent at Wolfert's Roost (or Sunnyside), his retreat
on the River Hudson, and here he died in 1859.
The speciality of this edition consists in the illus-
trations by Gordon Browne, and these speak for
themselves. The text is divided into pages of various
sizes, in order that the passages illustrated may come
directly opposite the respective illustrations.

LONDON, October, z886.



The dream, Frontispiece.

The author's material, 13

An old Dutch garden, 17

Rip's ancestor, 2

The I i. gossips, 23

Rip and the children, 25

Rip fishing, 27

Assisting a neighbour, 29

Rip's wife and son, 33

The termagant wife, 35

Wolf's characteristics, 37

The terrors of a woman's tongue, 39

The village club, 41

Nicholas Vedder, 45
(9) B

The club routed, 47

Rip and his dog, 49

On the mountain, .

A voice calls "Rip Van Winkle," 55

The meeting, 57

Lending a hand, 59

Odd-looking personages, 63

The nine-pin players, .65

The first taste,. 67

A thirsty soul, 69

The slumber, 7

The awakening, 75

The return, 79

The deserted home, 83

The sign-boards, 87

A politician, 89

Federal or Democrat, 91

Resting-place of Nicholas Vedder, 95

Van Bummel translated, 97

Rip junior, 99

Rip bewildered, 101

Rip's daughter, 103

Return of Wolf, .05

Rip recognized, 107

Peter Vanderdonk, og9

"Like father like son," 113

Former cronies, I 15

The rising generation, 17

Dora Van Winkle's grave, 121

The story retold, 123

In the hands of the barber, 24

Henpecked, 128


A-A F /I$
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[THE following tale was found among the papers of the late
Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York,
who was very curious in the Dutch history of the province
and the manners of the descendants from its primitive
settlers. His historical researches, however, did not lie so
much among books as among men, for the former are
lamentably scanty on his favourite topics, whereas he found
the old burghers, and still more their wives, rich in that
legendary lore so invaluable to true history. Whenever,
therefore, he happened upon a genuine Dutch family, snugly
shut up in its low-roofed farm-house, under a spreading

sycamore, he looked upon it as a little clasped volume of
black-letter, and studied it with the zeal of a book-worm.

The result of all these researches was a history of the
province during the reign of the Dutch governors, which he
published some years since. There have been various
opinions as to the literary character of his work, and, to tell
the truth, it is not a whit better than it should be. Its chief
merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which, indeed, was a little
questioned on its first appearance, but has since been com-
pletely established: and it is now admitted into all historical
collections as a book of unquestionable authority.

The old gentleman dfed shortly after the publication of
his work; and now that he is dead and gone it cannot do
much harm to his memory to say that his time might have
been much better employed in weightier labours. He, how-
ever, was apt to ride his hobby his own way; and though it
did now and then kick up the dust a little in the eyes of his
neighbours, and grieve the spirit of some friends for whom
he felt the truest deference and affection, yet his errors and
follies are remembered "more in sorrow than in anger," and
it begins to be suspected that he never intended to injure or
offend. But however his memory may be appreciated by

critics, it is still held dear by many folk, whose good opinion
is well worth having, particularly by certain biscuit-bakers,
who have gone so far as to imprint his likeness on their
New-year cakes, and have thus given him a chance for im-
mortality almost equal to the being stamped on a Waterloo
medal or a Queen Anne's farthing.]

( 5





From whence comes Wensday, tat is Wodensday,

By Wooden, God of Sixons,
From whence comes Weensday, that is Wodensday,
Truth is a thing that ever I will keep
Unto thylke day in which I creep into
My sepulchre. CARTWRIGHT.

Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson,

must remember the Kaatskill Mountains. They

are a dismembered branch of the great Appa-

lachian family, and are seen away to the west

of the river, swelling up to a noble height and
(17) c

lording it over the surrounding country.
Every change of season, every change of
weather, indeed every hour of the day, produces
some change in the magical hues and shapes
of these mountains, and they are regarded
by all the good wives, far and near, as per-
fect barometers. When the weather is fair and
settled, they are clothed in blue and purple,
and print their bold outlines on the clear even-
ing sky; but sometimes, when the rest of the
landscape is cloudless, they will gather a hood
of gray vapours about their summits, which,
in the last rays of the setting sun, will glow
and light up like a crown of glory.
At the foot of these fairy mountains, the
voyager may have described the light smoke
curling up from a village, whose shingle-roofs
gleam among the trees, just where the blue

tints of the upland melt away into the fresh
green of the nearer landscape. It is a little
village of great antiquity, having been founded
by some of the Dutch colonists, in the early
times of the province, just about the begin-
ning of the government of the good Peter
Stuyvesant; (may he rest in peace!) and there
were some of the houses of the original settlers
standing within a few years, built of small
yellow bricks brought from Holland, having
latticed windows and gable fronts, surmounted
with weather-cocks.
In that same village, and in one of these very
houses (which, to tell the precise truth, was
sadly time-worn and weather-beaten), there lived
many years since, while the country was yet a
province of Great Britain, a simple, good-natured
fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle.
( .9

He was a descendant of the Van Winkles who
figured so gallantly in the chivalrous days of
Peter Stuyvesant, and accompanied him to the
siege of Fort Christina. He inherited, how-
ever, but little of the martial character of his
ancestors. I have observed that he was a
simple, good-natured man; he was, moreover,
a kind neighbour, and an obedient, hen-
pecked husband. Indeed, to the latter circum-
stance might be owing that meekness of spirit
which gained him such universal popularity;





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for those men are most apt to be obsequious
and conciliating abroad, who are under the dis-
cipline of shrews at home. Their tempers,
doubtless, are rendered pliant and malleable
in the fiery furnace of domestic tribulation,
and a curtain lecture is worth all the sermons
in the world for teaching the virtues of pa-
tience and long-suffering. A termagant wife
may, therefore, in some respects, be consid-
ered a tolerable blessing; and if so, Rip Van
Winkle was thrice blessed.
Certain it is, that he was a great favourite
among all the good wives of the village, who,
as usual with the amiable sex, took his part in
all family squabbles; and never failed, when-
ever they talked those matters over in their
evening gossipings, to lay all the blame on
Dame Van Winkle.

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The children of the village, too, would shout
with joy whenever he approached. He assisted
at their sports, made their playthings, taught
them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told
them long stories of ghosts, witches, and
Indians. Whenever he went dodging about
the village, he was surrounded by a troop of
them, hanging on his skirts, clambering on his
back, and playing a thousand tricks on him
with impunity; and not a dog would bark at
him throughout the neighbourhood.

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The great error in Rip's composition was an
insuperable aversion to all kinds of profitable
labour. It could not be from the want of
assiduity or perseverance; for he would sit on
a wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a
Tartar's lance, and fish all day without a
murmur, even though he should not be encour-
aged by a single nibble. He would carry a
fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours toge-
ther, trudging through woods and swamps,
and up hill and down dale, to shoot a few
squirrels or wild pigeons.

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He would never refuse to assist a neighbour
even in the roughest toil, and was a foremost
man at all country frolics for husking Indian
corn, or building stone fences: the women of
the village, too, used to employ him to run
their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as
their less obliging husbands would not do for

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In a word, Rip was ready to attend to any-
body's business but his own; but as to doing
family duty, and keeping his farm in order,
he found it impossible.
In fact, he declared it was of no use to
work on his farm: it was the most pestilent
little piece of ground in the whole country;
everything about it went wrong, and would go
wrong, in spite of him. His fences were
continually falling to pieces; his cow would

either go astray, or get among the cabbages;
weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields
than anywhere else; the rain always made a
point of setting in just as he had some out-door
work to do; so that though his patrimonial
estate had dwindled away under his manage-
ment, acre by acre, until there was little more
left than a mere patch of Indian corn and
potatoes, yet it was the worst-conditioned farm
in the neighbourhood.

His children, too, were as :_..-. 1 and wild as
if they belonged to nobody. His son Rip, an
urchin begotten in his own likeness, pro-
mised to inherit the habits with the old clothes
of his father. He was generally seen trooping
like a colt at his mother's heels, equipped in
a pair of his father's cast-off galligaskins,
which he had much ado to hold up with one
hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad
Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those
happy mortals, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions,
who take the world easy, eat white bread or
brown, whichever can be got with least thought
or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny
than work for a pound. If left to himself, he
would have whistled life away in perfect con-

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but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears
about his idleness, his carelessness, and the
ruin he was bringing on his family. Morning,
noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly
going, and everything he said or did was sure
to produce a torrent of household eloquence.
Rip had but one way of replying to all lectures
of the kind, and that by frequent use had
grown into a habit. He shrugged his shoul-
ders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but
said nothing. This, however, always provoked
a fresh volley from his wife; so that he was
fain to draw off his forces, and take to the
outside of the house-the only side which, in
truth, belongs to a hen-pecked husband.


Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog
Wolf, who was as much hen-pecked as his
master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them
as companions in idleness, and even looked
upon Wolf with an evil eye as the cause of
his master's going so often astray. True it
is, in all points of spirit befitting an honour-
able dog, he was as courageous an animal as
ever scoured the woods--but what courage
can withstand the ever-during and all-beset-
ting terrors of a woman's tongue? The
moment Wolf entered the house his crest fell,
his tail drooped to the ground, or curled be-
tween his legs, he sneaked about with a gal-
lows air, casting many a sidelong glance at
Dame Van Winkle, and at the least flourish of
a broomstick or ladle he would fly to the door
with yelping precipitation.


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Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van

Winkle as years of matrimony rolled on: a tart
temper never mellows with age, and a sharp
tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener
with constant use.

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For a long while he used to console himself,
when driven from home, by frequenting a kind
of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers,
and other idle personages of the village; which
held its sessions on a bench before a small
inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of His
Majesty George the Third. Here they used
to sit in the shade, through a long lazy
summer's day, talking listlessly over village
gossip, or telling endless sleepy stories about
nothing. But it would have been worth any
statesman's money to have heard the profound
discussions that sometimes took place, when
by chance an old newspaper fell into their
hands from some passing traveller.


Q 1

How solemnly they would listen to the con-
tents, as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel,
the schoolmaster, a dapper learned little man,
who was not to be daunted by the most
gigantic word in the dictionary; and how
sagely they would deliberate upon public
events some months after they had taken place.
The opinions of this junto were completely

controlled by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of
the village, and landlord of the inn, at the
door of which he took his seat from morning
till night, just moving sufficiently to avoid
the sun and keep in the shade of a large
tree; so that the neighbours could tell the
hour by his movements as accurately as by a

It is true he was rarely heard to speak,
but smoked his pipe incessantly. His adher-
ents, however (for every great man has his
adherents), perfectly understood him, and knew
how to gather his opinions. When anything
that was read or related displeased him, he
was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently,
and to send forth short, frequent, and angry
puffs; but when pleased he would inhale the
smoke slowly and tranquilly, and emit it in
light and placid clouds; and sometimes, taking
the pipe from his mouth, and letting the
fragrant vapour curl about his nose, would
gravely nod his head in token of perfect

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From even this strong-hold the unlucky Rip
was at length routed by his termagant wife,
who would suddenly break in upon the tran-
quillity of the assemblage, and call the mem-
bers all to naught; nor was that august
personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred
from the daring tongue of this terrible virago,
who charged him outright with encouraging
her husband in habits of idleness.

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Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to de-
spair; and his only alternative, to escape from
the labour of the farm and the clamour of
his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll
away into the woods. Here he would some-
times seat himself at the foot of a tree, and
share the contents of his wallet with Wolf,
with whom he sympathized as a fellow-sufferer
in persecution. Poor Wolf," he would say,
"thy mistress leads thee a dog's life of it:
but never mind, my lad, whilst I live, thou
shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!"
Wolf would wag his tail, look wistfully in his
master's face, and if dogs can feel pity, I
verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment
with all his heart.

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In a long ramble of the kind on a fine au-
tumnal day, Rip had unconsciously scrambled
to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill
Mountains. He was after his favourite sport
of squirrel -shooting, and the still solitudes
had echoed and re-echoed with the reports
of his gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw
himself, late in the afternoon, on a green
knoll, covered with mountain herbage that
crowned the brow of a precipice.


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From an opening between the trees he could
overlook all the lower country for many a
mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance
the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving
on its silent but majestic course, with the
reflection of a purple cloud, or the sail of a
lagging bark, here and there sleeping on its
glassy bosom, and at last losing itself in the
blue highlands.
On the other side he looked down into a
deep mountain glen, wild, lonely, and shagged,
the bottom filled with fragments from the im-
pending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the
reflected rays of the setting sun. For some
time Rip lay musing on this scene: evening

was gradually advancing; the mountains be-
gan to throw their long blue shadows over
the valleys; he saw that it would be dark
long before he could reach the village, and
he heaved a heavy sigh when he thought of
encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle.
As he was about to descend he heard a
voice from a distance hallooing, "Rip Van
Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" He looked
round, but could see nothing but a crow
winging its solitary flight across the mountain.
He thought his fancy must have deceived
him, and turned again to descend, when he
heard the same cry ring through the still
evening air: "Rip Van Winkle!

Rip Van Winkle!"-at the same time Wclf
bristled up his back, and, giving a low growl,
skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully
down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague
apprehension stealing over him; he looked
anxiously in the same direction,

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and perceived a strange figure slowly toiling
up the rocks, and bending under the weight
of something he carried on his back. He
was surprised to see any human being in
this lonely and unfrequented place; but sup-
posing it to be some one of the neighbourhood
in need of his assistance, he hastened down
to yield it.
On nearer approach he was still more sur-
prised at the singularity of the stranger's ap-
pearance. He was a short square-built old
fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled
beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch
fashion a cloth jerkin strapped round the
waist several pairs of breeches, the outer
one of ample volume, decorated with rows
of buttons down the sides, and bunches at
the knees. He bore on his shoulder a stout



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keg that seemed full of liquor, and made
signs for Rip to approach and assist him
with the load. Though rather shy and dis-
trustful of this new acquaintance, Rip com-
plied with his usual alacrity; and, mutually
relieving each other, they clambered up a
narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a
mountain torrent.


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As they ascended, Rip every now and then
heard long rolling peals like distant thunder,
that seemed to issue out of a deep ravine,
or rather cleft, between lofty rocks, toward
which their rugged path conducted. He
paused for an instant, but supposing it to
be the muttering of one of those transient
thunder-showers, which often take place in
mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing
through the ravine, they came to a hollow,
like a small amphitheatre, surrounded by
perpendicular precipices, over the brinks of
which impending trees shot their branches, so
that you only caught glimpses of the azure
sky and the bright evening cloud. During

the whole time Rip and his companion had
laboured on in silence; for though the former
marvelled greatly what could be the object
of carrying a keg of liquor up. this wild
mountain, yet there was something strange
and incomprehensible about the unknown
that inspired awe and checked familiarity.
On entering the amphitheatre, new objects
of wonder presented themselves. On a level
spot in the centre was a company of odd-
looking personages playing at nine-pins. They
were dressed in a quaint outlandlish fashion:
some wore short doublets, others jerkins, with
long knives in their belts, and most of them
had enormous breeches, of similar style with
that of the guide's.
( 61)

Their visages, too, were peculiar: one had
a large head, broad face, and small piggish
eyes; the face of another seemed to consist
entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a
white sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red-
cock's tail. They all had beards of various
shapes and colours. There was one who
seemed to be the commander. He was a
stout old gentleman, with a weather-beaten
countenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad
belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather,
red stockings, and high-heeled shoes with
roses in them. The whole group reminded
Rip of the figures in an old Flemish painting
in the parlour of Dominie Van Shaick, the
village parson, and which had been brought
over from Holland at the time of the settle-

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What seemed particularly odd to Rip was,
that though these folk were evidently amusing
themselves, yet they maintained the gravest
faces, the most mysterious silence, and were
withal the most melancholy party of pleasure
he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted
the stillness of the scene but the noise of
the balls, which, whenever they were rolled,
echoed along the mountains like rumbling
peals of thunder.
As Rip and his companion approached them,
they suddenly desisted from their play, and
stared at him with such fixed statuelike gaze,
and such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre coun-
tenances, that his heart turned within him,
and his knees smote together.



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His companion now emptied the contents of
the keg into large flagons, and made signs
to him to wait upon the company. He
obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed
the liquor in profound silence, and then re-
turned to their game.
By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension
subsided. He even ventured, when no eye
was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage,
which he found had much of the flavour of
excellent Hollands.

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He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon

tempted to repeat the draught.


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One taste provoked another; and he reiterated
his visits to the flagon so often, that at length
his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam
in his head, his head gradually declined, and
he fell into a deep sleep.

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On waking he found himself on the green
knoll whence he had first seen the old man
of the glen. He rubbed his eyes-it was a
bright sunny morning. The birds were hop-
ping and twittering among the bushes, and
the eagle was wheeling aloft, and breasting the
pure mountain breeze. Surely," thought Rip,
"I have not slept here all night." He recalled
the occurrences before he fell asleep. The
strange man with a keg of liquor-the moun-
tain ravine-the wild retreat among the rocks-
the woebegone party at nine-pins-the flagon
-"Oh! that flagon! that wicked flagon!"
thought Rip,-" what excuse shall I make to
Dame Van Winkle?"
He looked round for his gun; but, in place

of the clean, well-oiled fowling-piece, he found
an old fire-lock lying by him, the barrel in-
crusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the
stock worm-eaten. He now suspected that
the grave roysters of the mountain had put
a trick upon him, and, having dosed him
with liquor, had robbed him of his gun. Wolf,
too, had disappeared; but he might have
strayed away after a squirrel or partridge.
He whistled after him, and shouted his name,
but all in vain; the echoes repeated his
whistle and shout, but no dog was to be
He determined to revisit the scene of the
last evening's gambol, and, if he met with
any of the party, to demand his dog and gun.
(73) K

As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in
the joints, and wanting in his usual activity.
"These mountain beds do not agree with
me," thought Rip; "and if this frolic should
lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, I
shall have a blessed time with Dame Van


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With some difficulty he got down into the
glen: he found the gully up which he and
his companion had ascended the preceding
evening; but, to his astonishment, a mountain
stream was now foaming down it, leaping from
rock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling
murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble
up its sides, working his toilsome way through
thickets of birch, sassafras, and witch-hazel,
and sometimes tripped up or entangled by
the wild grape-vines that twisted their coils
or tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a
kind of network in his path.
At length he reached to where the ravine
had opened through the cliffs to the amphi-
theatre; but no traces of such opening re-
mained. The rocks presented a high impene-
trable wall, over which the torrent came

tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell
into a broad deep basin, black from the
shadows of the surrounding forest. Here,
then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He
again called and whistled after his dog; he
was only answered by the cawing of a flock
of idle crows, sporting high in air about a
dry tree that overhung a sunny precipice; and
who, secure in their elevation, seemed to look
down and scoff at the poor man's perplexi-
ties. What was to be done? the morning
was passing away and Rip felt famished for
want of his breakfast. He grieved to give
up his dog and gun; he dreaded to meet his
wife; but it would not do to starve among
the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered
the rusty fire-lock, and, with a heart full of
trouble and anxiety, turned his steps homeward.

As he approached the village he met a
number of people, but none whom he knew,
which somewhat surprised him, for he had
thought himself acquainted with every one in
the country round. Their dress, too, was of
a different fashion from that to which he was
accustomed. They all stared at him with
equal marks of surprise, and, whenever they
cast their eyes upon him, invariably stroked
their chins. The constant recurrence of this
gesture induced Rip, involuntarily, to do the
same, when, to his astonishment, he found his
beard had grown a foot long!

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He had now entered the skirts of the vil-
lage. A troop of strange children ran at his
heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his
gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which
he recognized for an old acquaintance, barked
at him as he passed. The very village was
altered; it was larger and more populous.
There were rows of houses which he had
never seen before, and those which had been
his familiar haunts had disappeared. Strange
names were over the doors-strange faces at
the windows-everything was strange. His
mind now misgave him; he began to doubt
whether both he and the world around him
were not bewitched. Surely this was his
native village, which he had left but the day
before! There stood the Kaatskill Moun-

tains-there ran the silver Hudson at a dis-
tance-there was every hill and dale precisely
as it had always been-Rip was sorely per-
plexed-"That flagon last night," thought he,
"has addled my poor head sadly!"
It was with some difficulty that he found
the way to his own house, which he ap-
proached with silent awe, expecting every
moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van
Winkle. He found the house gone to decay
-the roof fallen in, the windows shattered,
and the doors off the hinges. A half-starved
dog, that looked like Wolf, was skulking about
it. Rip called him by name; but the cur
snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on.
This was an unkind cut indeed-" My very
dog," sighed poor Rip, "has forgotten me!"
(81) L

He entered the house, which, to tell the
truth, Dame Van Winkle had always kept in
neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and appa-
rently abandoned. This desolateness overcame
all his connubial fears-he loudly called for
his wife and children-the lonely chambers
rang for a moment with his voice, and then
all again was silence.


."' IVj

He now hurried forth, and hastened to his
old resort, the village inn-but it too was
gone. A large rickety wooden building stood
in its place with great gaping windows, some
of them broken and mended with old hats
and petticoats, and over the door was painted
"The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle."

Instead of the great tree that used to shelter
the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now
was reared a tall naked pole, with something
on the top that looked like a red nightcap,
and from it was fluttering a flag, on which
was a singular assemblage of stars and stripes
-all this was strange and incomprehensible.

He recognized on the sign, however, the
ruby face of King George, under which he
had smoked so many a peaceful pipe; but
even this was singularly metamorphosed. The
red coat was changed for one of blue and
buff, a sword was held in the hand instead
of a sceptre, the head was decorated with a
cocked hat, and underneath was painted in
large characters, GENERAL WASHINGTON.
There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about
the door, but none that Rip recollected. The
very character of the people seemed changed.
There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone
about it, instead of the accustomed phlegm
and drowsy tranquillity.

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He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas
Vedder, with his broad face, double chin, and
fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco smoke
instead of idle speeches; or Van Bummel,
the schoolmaster, doling forth the contents of
an ancient newspaper. In place of these, a
lean bilious-looking fellow, with his pockets full
of handbills, was haranguing vehemently about
rights of citizens elections members of
congress liberty Bunker's-hill- heroes of
'Seventy-six and other words which were a
perfect Babylonish jargon to the bewildered
Van Winkle.


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The appearance of Rip with his long
grizzled beard, his rusty fowling piece, his
uncouth dress, and an army of women and
children at his heels, soon attracted the at-
tention of the tavern politicians. They
crowded round him, eyeing him from head
to foot with great curiosity. The orator
bustled up to him, and, drawing him partly
aside, inquired, "on which side he voted?"
Rip stared in vacant stupidity. Another
short but busy little fellow pulled him by
the arm, and rising on tiptoe, inquired in his
ear, "whether he was Federal or Democrat?"

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Rip was equally at a loss to comprehend the
question; when a knowing self-important old
gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his
way through the crowd, putting them to the
right and left with his elbows as he passed,
and, planting himself before Van Winkle,
with one arm akimbo, the other resting on
his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat pene-
trating, as it were, into his very soul, de-
manded, in an austere tone, "what brought
him to the election with a gun on his
shoulder, and a mob at his heels, and whether
he meant to breed a riot in the village?"
"Alas! gentlemen," cried Rip, somewhat dis-
mayed, "I am a poor quiet man, a native of
the place, and a loyal subject of the king,

God bless him!" Here a general shout burst
from the bystanders--"A Tory! a Tory! a
spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with him!"
It was with great difficulty that the self-
important man in the cocked hat restored
order; and, having assumed a tenfold austerity
of brow, demanded again of the unknown
culprit what he came there for, and whom
he was seeking? The poor man humbly
assured him that he meant no harm, but
merely came there in search of some of his
neighbours who used to keep about the tavern.
"Well-who are they?-name them."
Rip bethought himself a moment, and in-
quired, "Where's Nicholas Vedder?"

There was a silence for a little while, when
an old man replied, in a thin piping voice,
"Nicholas Vedder? why, he is dead and
gone these eighteen years! There was a
wooden tombstone in the church yard that
used to tell all about him, but that's rotten
and gone too!"

FfB~IsP 1 1 II I ~ NIT IT '? 1I
1 F

43 _

"Where's Brom Dutcher?"
Oh, he went off to the army in the begin-
ning of the war; some say he was killed at
the storming of Stony-Point-others say he
was drowned in a squall at the foot of
Antony's Nose. I don't know- he never
came back again."
"Where's Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?"
He went off to the wars too, was a great
militia general, and is now in Congress."
Rip's heart died away at hearing of these



4 , .- ,, -

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sad changes in his home and friends, and
finding himself thus alone in the world.
Every answer puzzled him too, by treating
of such enormous lapses of time, and of mat-
ters which he could not understand: war-
congress-Stony-Point; he had no courage
to ask after any more friends, but cried out
in despair, "Does nobody here know Rip
Van Winkle?"
"Oh, Rip Van Winkle!" exclaimed two or
three; Oh, to be sure; that's Rip Van Winkle
yonder, leaning against the tree."
Rip looked, and beheld a precise counter-
part of himself as he went up the mountain:
apparently as lazy, and certainly as ragged.
The poor fellow was now completely con-
founded. He doubted his own identity, and
whether he was himself or another man.

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