Rip Van Winkle by Washington Irving

Rip Van Winkle a posthumous writing of

Diedrich Knickerbocker by Woden God of

Saxons from whence comes Wednesday that

is wilden’s de truth is a thing that

ever I will keep until the day in which

I creep into my Sepulcher Cartwright

whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson

must remember the Catskill Mountains

they are a dismembered branch of the

great Appalachian family and are seen

away to the west of the river swelling

up to ennoble heights and lording it

over the surrounding country every

change of season and 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 perfect barometers when the

weather is fair and settled they are

clothed in blue and purple and print

their bold outlines on the clear evening

sky but sometimes when the rest of the

landscape is cloudless they will gather

a hood of grey vapors 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 wear 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 time to the

province just about the beginning of the

government of 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

surrounded with weathercocks

in that same village and in one of these

very houses wish to tell the precise

truth was sadly time warned and

weather-beaten there lived many years

sense while the country was yet a

province of Great Britain a simple

good-natured fellow of the name of Rip

Van Winkle he was a descendant of the

Van Winkle’s who figured so gallantly

and the chivalrous days of Peter

Stuyvesant and accompanied him to the

siege of fort Cristina he inherited

however but little of the martial

quality of his ancestors I have observed

that he was a simple good-natured man he

was moreover

kind neighbor and an obedient henpecked

husband indeed to the latter

circumstance might be owing that

meekness of spirit which gained him such

Universal popularity for those men are

most apt to be obsequious and

conciliating abroad who are under the

discipline 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

patience and long-suffering a termagant

wife may therefore in some respects be

considered a tolerable blessing and if

so Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed

certain it is that he was a great

favored among the good wives of the

village who as usual with the amiable

sex took his part in all family

squabbles and never failed whenever they

talk those matters over in their evening

gossiping to lay all the blame on Dame

Van Winkle 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

neighborhood the great error in rips

composition was an insuperable aversion

to all kinds of profitable labor 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 Tartars Lance and fish all day without

a murmur even though he should not be

encouraged by a single nibble he would

carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder

for hours together trudging through

woods and swamps and up hill and down

dale to shoot a few squirrels or wild

pigeons he would never refuse to assist

a neighbor 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 implore him to run

their errands and to do such little odd

jobs as their less obliging husbands

would not do for them in a word ripp was

ready to attend to anybody’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 car

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 outdoor work to do

so that though his patrimonial estate

had dwindled away under his management

acre by acre until there was little more

left than a mere patch of Indian corn a

potatoes yet it was the worst

conditioned farm in the neighborhood his

children too were as ragged and wild as

if they belonged to nobody

his son ripp an urchin begotten in his

own likeness promised 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 and a pair of his father’s

cast-off gala Gaskins which he had much

ado to hold up with one hand as a fine

lady does hurt rein in bad weather 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 his life away in perfect

contentment 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 ripp had but one way

of replying to all lectures of the kind

and that my frequent use had grown into

a habit he shrugged his shoulders 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 henpecked husband

rips so domestic adherent was his dog

wolf who was as much henpecked as his

master for Dame Van Winkle regarded them

as companions in idleness and even

looked upon a 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 honorable dog

he was as courageous and animal as ever

scoured the woods but what courage can

withstand the ever during and Alba

setting terrors of a woman’s tongue the

moment wolf entered the house his crest

fell his tail droops to the ground or

curled between his legs he sneaked about

with a gallows 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

time’s 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 for a

long while he consoled himself when

driven from home by frequenting a kind

of Perpetual Club of Sage’s 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 listless Lee 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 how solemnly they would listen

to the contents as drawled out by derek

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 neighbors could tell

the hour by his movements as accurately

as by a sundial it is true he was rarely

heard to speak but smoked his pipe

incessantly his adherence however for

every great man has his adherence

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

frankly and amid it in light and Placid

clouds and sometimes taking the pipe

from his mouth and letting the fragrant

vapor curl about his nose would gravely

nod his head in token of perfect

approbation

from even this stronghold the unlucky

rip was at length routed by his

termagant wife who would suddenly break

in upon the tranquility of the

assemblage and call the members all to

not 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 Paul ripp was at last reduced

almost to despair and his only

alternative to escape from the labor of

the farm and the clamor of his wife was

to take gun in hand and stroll away into

the woods here he would sometimes 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 Oh wolf they

would say thy mistress leads thee a

dog’s life of it but never mind my lad

whilst I live thou shall never want a

friend to stand by the wolf would wag

his tail look wistfully at his master’s

face and if dogs can feel pity I verily

believe he reciprocated the sentiment

with all his heart

in a long ramble of the kind on a fine

autumnal day rip had unconsciously

scrambled to one of the highest parts of

the Catskill Mountains he was after his

favorite sport of squirrel shooting and

the steel solitudes had echoed and

re-echoed with the reports of his gun

panting and fatigue he threw himself

late in the afternoon on a green Knoll

covered with mountain herbage that

crowned the brow of a precipice 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 it’s silent but majestic

course with a reflection of a purple

cloud for the sale 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

looks down into a deep Mountain Glen

wild lonely and shagird the bottom

filled with fragments from the impending

cliffs and scarcely lighted by the

reflected rays of the Setting Sun for

some time rippling musing on their scene

evening was gradually advancing the

mountains began 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

howl looing Rip Van Winkle red van awake

oh they 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 wolf bristled up

his back and giving a low growl skull 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 and

perceived a strain

figure slowly toning 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 supposing it to

be someone of the neighborhood in need

of his assistance he hastened down to

yield it on nearer approach he was still

more surprised at the singularity of the

strangers appearance he was a short

Square bill to old fellow with thick

bushy hair and a grizzled beard his

dress was of the antique Dutch fashion a

cloth jerkin strapped around the waist

several pair 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 keg that seemed full of liquor and

made signs for rip to approach and

assist him with the load though rather

shy and distrustful of this new

acquaintance ripp complied with his

usual alacrity and mutually relieving

one another they clambered up a narrow

gully apparently the dry bed of a

mountain torrent 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 ragged paths conducted he paused

for an instant but supposing it to be

the muttering of one of those transient

thundershowers 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 in the bright

evening cloud during the whole time rip

and his companion had labored 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 all and checked familiar

are entering the amphitheater new

objects of wonder presented themselves

on a level spot in the center was a

company of odd-looking personages

playing at ninepins they were dressed in

quaint outlandish 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 guides their visitors

too were peculiar one had a large beard

broad face and small piggish eyes the

face of another seemed to consist

entirely of nose and was surmounted by a

white Sugarloaf hat set off with a

little red tail they all had

beards of various shapes and colors

there was one who seemed to be the

commander he was a stout old gentleman

with a weather-beaten countenance they

wore a laced doublet broad belt and

hanger high crown hat and feather red

stockings and high-heeled shoes with

roses in them the whole group reminded

rip of the figures and an old Flemish

painting in the parlor of Doman - shank

the village parson and which had been

brought over from Holland at the time of

the settlement what seemed particularly

odd to rip was that though these fellows

were evidently amusing themselves yet

they maintained the gravest faces the

most mysterious silence and were with

all 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 statue-like gaze and such

strange uncouth lackluster countenances

that his heart turned within him and his

knees smote together 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 quaff their liquor in

profound silence and then returned to

their game

fine degrees rips all an apprehension

subsided he even ventured when no I was

fixed upon him to taste the beverage

which he found and much of the flavor of

excellent Holland’s he was naturally a

thirsty soul and was soon tempted to

repeat the draught one taste provoked

another and he reiterated his visits to

the flagon so often that at length his

senses were overpowered as I swam in his

head his head gradually declined and he

fell into a deep sleep

on waking he found himself on the green

know whence he had first seen the old

man of the Glen he rubbed his eyes it

was a bright sunny morning the birds

were hopping and twittering among the

bushes and the eagle was wheeling aloft

and breasting the pure mountain breeze

surely thawed rip I have not slept here

all night he recalled the occurrences

before he fell asleep a strange man with

a keg of liquor the mountain ravine the

wild retreat among the rocks the woe

begotten party at ninepins the flagon

oh that flagon that wicked flagon

thought rip what excuse shall I make to

tame 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 encrusted with

rust the lock falling off and the stock

worm-eaten he now suspected that the

grave Roy stirs 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

cartridge 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 seen he determined

to revisit the scene of the last

evenings gamble and if he met any of the

party to demand his dog and gun as he

rose to walk he found himself stiff in

the joints and wanting in his usual

activity these mountain birds do not

agree with me thought rip and if this

frolic should lay me up with a fit of

rheumatism I shall have a blessed time

with Dame Van Winkle 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 Phil

than Glenn with babbling murmurs hey

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 grapevines that

twisted their coils and 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 amphitheater but no

traces of such opening remained the

rocks presented a high impenetrable 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 a

poor rip was brought to a stand he again

called and whistled after his dog he was

only answered by the calling of a flock

of idle crows sporting high and 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 perplexities what

wants to be done the morning was passing

away and rip felt famished for one of

his breakfast he grieves to give up his

dog and gun he dreaded to meet his wife

but he would not do to starve among the

mountains they 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 who me knew

which somewhat surprised him for he had

thought himself acquainted with everyone

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 struck their chins the

constant recurrence of this gesture

induce trip involuntarily to do the same

when to his astonishment he found his

beard had grown a foot long he had now

entered the skirts of the village a

troupe of strange children ran at his

heels

hooting after him and pointing at his

gray beard the dogs - not one of which

he recognised 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 Catskill Mountains there

around the Silver Hudson at a distance

there was every Hill and Dale precisely

as it had always been rip was sorely

perplexed that flaggin 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

approached with silent or 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 read called him by

name

but the curse snarl showed his teeth and

passed on this was an unkind cut indeed

my very dog sighed Boroff has forgotten

me he entered the house which to tell

the truth Dame Van Winkle had always

kept in neat order it was empty forlorn

and apparently abandoned this desolate

miss overcame all his connubial fears he

called loudly for his wife and children

the lonely chambers rang for a moment

with his voice and then all again was

silenced

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 in of you’re there now was

reared at all 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 scepter 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 that people seemed changed

there was a busy bustling disputatious

tone about it instead of the accustomed

phlegm and drowsy tranquillity 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 harangue vehemently about

rights of citizens elections members of

Congress Liberty bunkers Hill heroes of

76 and other words which were a perfect

Babylonish jargon to the bewildered van

winkle the appearance of rip with his

long grizzled beard his rusty

fowling-piece his uncle

dress and an army of women and children

at his heels soon attracted the

attention of the tavern politicians they

crowded round him eyeing him from head

to foot with great curiosity the orator

bustled DUP tell 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 up on

tiptoe inquired in his ear I thought he

was federal or Democrat rip was equally

at a loss to comprehend the question

when a knowing self-important old

gentleman in a sharp 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 penetrating as it were into

his very soul demanded 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 last gentlemen

cried rip somewhat dismayed

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 hassle 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 culprits 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 neighbors who used

to keep about the tavern well who are

they named them rip bethought himself a

moment and inquired where’s Nicholas

Vedder there was a silence for a little

while

old man replied in a thin piping voice

Nicholas better why he is dead and gone

these 18 years there was a wooden

tombstone in the churchyard that used to

tell all about him but that’s rotten and

gone - yes

Brom touch' oh he went off to the army

in the beginning 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 Anthony’s nose I

don’t know he never came back again

where’s van Bummel the schoolmaster he

went off to the war stool was a great

militia general and is now in Congress

Rip’s heart died away at hearing of

these 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 matters 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

counterpart of himself as he went up the

mountain apparently as lazy and

certainly as raggedy the poor fella was

now completely confounded he doubted his

own identity and whether he was himself

or another man in the midst of his

bewilderment the man in the cocked hat

demanded who he was and what was his

name

God knows exclaimed he at his wits end

I’m not myself I’m somebody else that’s

me yonder know that somebody else got

into my shoes I was myself last night

before I fell asleep on the mountain and

they’ve changed my gun and and

everything’s changed and I’m changed and

I can’t tell what’s my name or who I am

the bystanders began now to look at each

other not a wink significantly and tap

their fingers against their foreheads

there was a whisper also about securing

the gun and keeping the old fellow from

doing mischief at the very suggestion of

which the self-important man in the

cocked hat retired with some

precipitation

at this critical moment a fresh comely

woman pressed through the throng to get

a peep at the gray bearded man she had a

chubby child in her arms which

frightened at his looks began to cry

hush rip cried she hoarse you little

fool the man won’t hurt you the name of

the child the air of the mother the tone

of her voice all awakened a train of

recollections in his mind what is your

name good woman asked he Judith got an

ear and your father’s name Oh poor man

Rip Van Winkle was his name but it’s 20

years since he went away from home with

his gun and never has been heard of

since

his - all came home without him but

whether he shot himself or was carried

away by the Indians nobody can tell I

was then but a little girl rip at but

one question more to ask but he put it

with a faltering voice Oh where’s your

mother

oh she too died but a short time since

she broke a blood vessel in a fit of

passion at a New England peddler there

was a drop of comfort at least in this

intelligence the honest man could

contain himself no longer he caught his

daughter and her child in his arms I am

your father cried he

young Rip Van Winkle once ol drip and

wiggle now does anybody know poor Rip

Van Winkle all stood amazed until an old

woman tottering out from among the crowd

put her hand to her brow and peering

under it in his face for a moment

exclaimed oh sure enough it is Rip Van

Winkle it is himself welcome home again

old neighbor why where have you been

these twenty long years

Rip’s story was soon told for the whole

20 years had been to him but as one

night the neighbors stared when they

heard it

some were seen to wink at each other and

put their tongues in their cheeks and

the self-important man in the cocked hat

who when the alarm was over had returned

to the field screwed down the corners of

his mouth and shook his head upon which

there was a general shaking of the head

throughout the assemblage he was

determined however to take the opinion

of old Peter van der Donck

who was seen slowly advancing up the

road he was a descendant of the

historian of that name who wrote one of

the earliest accounts of the province

Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of

the village and well-versed in all the

wonderful events and traditions of the

neighborhood he recollected rip at once

and corroborated his story in the most

satisfactory manner he assured the

company that it was a fact handed down

from his ancestor the historian that the

Catskill Mountains had always been

haunted by strange beings that it was

affirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson

the first Discoverer of the river and

country kept a kind of vigil there every

20 years with his crew of the half moon

being permitted in this way to revisit

the scenes of his enterprise and keep a

guardian eye upon the river and the

great city called by his name that his

father had once seen them in their old

Dutch dresses playing at ninepins in the

hollow of the mountain and that he

himself had heard one summer afternoon

the sound of their balls like distant

peals of thunder to make a long story

short the company broke up men returned

to the more important concerns of the

election Rip’s daughter took him home to

live with her she had a snug well

furnished house and a stout cherry

farmer for a husband whom rip

recollected for one of the urchins that

used to climb upon his back as to Rip’s

son and heir who was the dinner of

himself seen leaning against the tree he

was employed to work on the farm but

evinced an hereditary disposition to

attend to anything else

his business rip now resumed his old

walks and habits he soon found many of

his former cronies though all rather

worse for the wear and tear of time and

preferred making friends among the

rising generation with whom he soon grow

into great favor having nothing to do at

home and being arrived at that happy age

when a man can be idle with impunity

he took his place once more on the bench

at the inn door and was referenced as

one of the patriarchs of the village and

a chronicle of the old times before the

war it was some time before he could get

into his regular tract of gossip or

could be made to comprehend the strange

events that had taken place during his

torpor how that there had been a

revolutionary war that the country had

thrown off the yoke of old England and

that instead of being a subject of his

majesty George the third he was now a

free citizen of the United States rip in

fact was no politician the changes of

states and empires made but little

impression on him but there was one

species of despotism under which he had

long groaned and that was petticoat

government happily that was at an end he

had got his neck out of the yoke of

matrimony and could go in and out

whenever he pleased without dreading the

tyranny of Dame Van Winkle whenever her

name was mentioned however they shook

his head shrugged his shoulders and cast

up his eyes which might pass either for

an expression of resignation to his fate

or joy at his deliverance he used to

tell his story to every stranger that

arrived at mr. Doolittle’s hotel he was

observed at first to vary on some points

every time he told it which was

doubtless owing to his having so

recently awaked it at last settled down

precisely to the tale I have related and

not a man woman or child in the

neighborhood but knew it by heart

some always pretended to doubt the

reality of it and insisted that rip had

been out of his head and that this was

one point

which he always remained flighty the old

Dutch inhabitants however almost

universally he gave it full credit even

to this day they never hear a

thunderstorm of a summer afternoon about

the Catskill but say that Hendrick

Hudson and his crew are at their game of

nine pins and it is a common wish of all

henpecked husbands in the neighborhood

when life hangs heavy on their hands

that they might have a quieting draft

out of Rip Van Winkle’s flagon

and of Rip Van Winkle