opened through the cliffs to the hollow; but no traces of such an 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, 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 perplexities. 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 his gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, 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, always stroked their chins. The constant recurrence of this gesture induced Rip 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 village. troop of strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his grey beard. The dogs too, not one of whom 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 ran the silver Hudson at a distance there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always been. Rip was sorely perplexed. "That flagon last night," thought he, <has addled my poor head sadly."

to

It was with some difficulty that he found his way to his own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame van Winkle. He found the house gone 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 his 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 ! "

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

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 was now 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 he could not understand it. He recognised 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 changed. 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.

DIRGE FOR ONE WHO FELL IN BATTLE.

I. Room for a soldier! lay him in the clover;
He loved the fields, and they shall be his cover;
Make his mound with hers who called him once her

lover:

Where the rain may rain upon it,

Where the sun may shine

upon it, Where the lamb hath lain upon it, And the bee will dine upon it.

2. Bear him to no dismal tomb under city churches; Take him to the fragrant fields, by the silver birches, Where the whippoorwill shall mourn, where the oriole

perches:

Make his mound with sunshine on it,
Where the bee will dine upon it,
Where the lamb hath lain upon it,

And the rain will rain upon it..

3. Busy as the busy bee, his rest should be the clover; Gentle as the lamb was he, and the fern should be his

cover;

Fern and rosemary shall grow my soldier's pillow over :
Where the rain may rain upon it,
Where the sun may shine upon it,
Where the lamb hath lain upon it,
And the bee will dine upon it.

4. Sunshine in his heart, the rain would come full often
Out of those tender eyes which evermore did soften :
He never could look cold till we saw him in his coffin.
Make his mound with sunshine on it,
Where the wind may sigh upon it,
Where the moon may stream upon it,
And Memory shall dream upon it.

5. "Captain or Colonel,"-whatever invocation
Suit our hymn the best, no matter for thy station,-
On thy grave the rain shall fall from the eyes of a
mighty nation;

Long as the sun doth shine upon it
Shall glow the goodly pine upon it,
Long as the stars do gleam upon it
Shall Memory come to dream upon it.
THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS.

XXXV.

RIP VAN WINKLE.-V.

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, eager tone about it, instead of the usual drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad face, double chin, and fair long pipe, uttering clouds of tobbacco 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 talking vehemently about rights of citizens-elections-members of Congress-libertyBunker's Hill-heroes of seventy-six-and other words, which were a perfect jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle.

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 attention of the tavern group. 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 a Federal or a Democrat? 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