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