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gives additional interest to the story.
The lines which follow were written on
the occasion of her lover's tragical fate,
and, as they are from the pen of Mr.
Moore, our readers will, we are sure,
feel pleasure in perusing them.

Oh! breathe not his name, let it rest in the shade
Where cold and unhonor'd his relics are laid,
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed,
As the night dew that falls on the grave o'er his
head.

But the night dew that falls, tho' in silence it
weeps,
[sleeps,
Shall long dew the turf on the grave where he
And the tear that we shed, tho in silence it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls
We now pass from this melancholy
story to one of a laughter moving nature.
The tale of Rip Van Winkle, for humour
and pleasantry, has rarely been equalled,
and, we sincerely regret that its length
has obliged us to omit altogether, many
of its most entertaining parts. We are
quite aware how much the facetious
legend will loose by being thus mutilated,
but, we are anxious, if possible, to afford
to our readers as great a variety of ex-
tracts from the works of this very popular
author, as may give them a just impres
sion of the various powers of his pen.

"Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to a noble height and 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 aud shapes of these mountains, and they are regarded by all the goodwives, 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 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 descried 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 nearest 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 beginning of the government of the good Peter Stuyvesant, (may he rest in peace!) and there were some of the houses of the originla settlers standing within a few years, built of small yellow bricks

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brought from Holland, haring latticed windows and gable fronts, surmounted with weathercocks.

"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."

Here follows a most humourous and entertaining account of the miseries which the poor man endured under the government of a termagant wife. Such was the tartness of her temper, and such her love of rule, that honest Rip's home became any thing but agreeable to him, and he was forced to betake himself, when driven from its shelter, to the village inn, where the sages, philosophers, and all the idlers of the neighbourhood, were wont to assemble and regale them, selves on a bench before the door, over which hung the rubicund portrait of his majesty George the Third." Here Rip would lounge for the length of a summer's day, listening to the village gossip, and attending," with openmouthed attention,”" to " long stories, that ended in nothing." At times a chance traveller enlivened the debates of the sleepy club with the contents of an old newspaper, which was generally read for the edification and amusement of the company by a dapper, pedantic little man named Diedrich Van Brummel, the village schoolmaster; but alas! this peaceful retreat was no longer a safe refuge for the persecuted and much enduring man. Dame Van Winkle's shrill voice broke in upon the last sojourn of her persecuted spouse, and he was driven for ever from its sleepy seclusion. As a last resource, poor Rip was driven. to the expedient of taking up his fowl ing-piece, and wandering to the mountains, followed by his dog, there to indulge in the harmless pastime of squirrel shooting; which led to the following most marvellous and whimsical adventuré. "In a long ramble of this kind on a fine autumnal 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. 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

sun.

"On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from the impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting For some time Rip lay musing on this 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 hallowing, "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!" He looked around, but could see nothing but a crow winging its solitary flight across the mountain. He though his fancy might 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, 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, 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 supposing 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 surprised at the singularity of the stranger's appearance. 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 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, Rip complied with his usual alacrity, and mutually relieving each other, 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 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 mar velled 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 companyofodd looking personages playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in a 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 guide's. Their visages, too, were peculiar: one had a large head, 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 stont old gentleman, with a weather-beaten coontenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and feather, red stock ings, 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 Domine Van Shaick, 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 folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, and were withal, the most malancholy 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 ap

proached them, they suddenly desisted from their play, and stared at him with such fixed statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack-lustre 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 sigus to him to wait upon the company. He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then returned 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. 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 overpow ered, his eyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.

"On waking, he found himself on the green knoll from 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," 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 mountain ravinethe wild retreat among the rocks-the woe-begone party at nine-pins the flagon-Oh! that flagon-that wicked flagon!" thought Rip-"what excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle?"

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On looking round him for his welloiled fowling-piece, he discovers in its stead an old rusty firelock, and he immediately suspects that the grave persous into whose company he had so strangely fallen, having dosed him with the contents of the flagon, made free with his gun, and left him this rusty utensil in its place. He now whistled for his dog, but that faithful auimal was no where to be seen at last he resolves to go home.

"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 when ever they cast their eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. The con

stant recurrence of this gesture induced Rip, 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 troop of strange children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his grey beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognised. for an old acquaintance, barked at him as he passed. The very village was altered it was large 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-every thing was strange. His mind now misgave him; he begau to doubt whether both he and the world around him were not bewitched."

Honest Rip, having looked in vain 6. his wife and dog, and finding his home roofless and deserted, turns his steps to his former resort, the village inn; but here every thing was changed; the windows were broken, and stuffed with old hats; a tall pole, with a thing like a red night-cap on the top, supplied the place of the venerable tree beneath whose shade he was wont to sit, and while away the drowsy hours: the portrait of King George was changed, by a few dashes of the painter's brush, into the grim visage of GENERAL WASHINGTON, and a crowd of busy, disputatious persons filled the places of his quiet cronies: he looked in their faces, but every visage was new to Rip. Nicholas Vedder was not there, blowing a peaceful cloud, nor could he spy Van Brummel poring over the con'tents of a worn-out newspaper; in short, the new order of things had completely upset the old, and the quiet village of Winkle's nativity was turned into a bustling town, in which a contested election for a Member to sit in the New Congress was just going on in all the glorious spirit of Republican liberty. An orator bustles up to Rip, and asks him for his vote; while another inquires whether he

was a Federal or a Democrat. All this was quite incomprehensible to the much astounded man, and the only answer he can make is, that "he is a poor quiet man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the King, God bless him!" These unlucky words make matters still worse with honest Van Winkle, and he is about to be consigned to the horsepond as a spy, when one of the party interposes his authority, and sternly demands of the intruder what business brought him there, and whom he sought for?

“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 enquired, "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 tomb-stone in the churchyard, that used to tell all about him, but that's rotten and gone too.

"Where's Brom Dutcher? "Oh! he went off to the army in the beginning of the war-some say he was killed at the storming of Stoney Pointothers 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 Brummel, 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 the 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--- Stoney Point ;---he had no courage to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair, Does no body here know Rip Van Winkle?'

"O, 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 ragged. The poor fellow 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 wit's end; I'm not myseif I'm somebody else that's me yonder no---that's somebody else, got into my shoes---1 was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the mountain, and they've changed my gun, every thing'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, nod, 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 grey bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to cry. Hush, Rip,' cried she, hush, you little fool, the old man won't hurt you." The name of the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, ali awakened a train of recollections in his mind. "Wh is your name, my good woman?" asked. "Judith Gardenier."

"And your father's name?"

"Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van Winkle; it's twenty years since he went away from home with his gun, and, never has been heard of since---his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself, or was carried away by Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl."

Rip had but one question more to ask; but he put it with a faltering voice: "Where's your mother?"

"Oh, she too had died but a short time since; she broke a blood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New-England pedlar."

"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---old. Rip Van Winkle now!"

Rip, having now completely esta blished his identity, is taken to his daughter's house, where he soon falls into his old habits, and, freed from his former plagues, he passes the rest of his life in undisturbed felicity. The facetious legend is thus wound up:

"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. If at last settled down precisely to the tale I have related, and not a man, woman, or child in the neighbourhood, 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 on which he always remained flighty. The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost universally gave it full credit. Even to this day they never hear a thunder-storm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at their game of nine-pins; and it is a common wish of all hen-pecked husbands in the

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THE ADVENTURE OF THE

POPKINS FAMILY.

"It was but a few days before, that the carriage of Alderman Popkins had driven up to the inn of Terracina. Those who have seen an English family carriage on the Continent must have remarked the sensation it produces. It is an epitome of England; a little morsel of the old island rolling about the world Every thing about it compact, snug, finished, and fitting. The wheels, turning on patent axles without rattling; the body, hanging so well on its springs, yielding to every motion, yet protecting from every shock; the ruddy faces gaping from the windows sometimes of a portly old citizen, sometimes of a voluminous dowager, and sometimes of a fine fresh hoyden just from boardingschool. And then the dickey's loaded with well-dressed servants, beef-fed and bluff; looking down from their heights with contempt on all the world around; profoundly ignorant of the country and the people, and devoutly certain that every thing not English must be wrong. "Such was the carriage of Alderman Popkins, as it made its appearance at Terracina. The courier who had preceded it to order horses, and who was a Neapolitan, had given a magnificent account of the riches and greatness of his master, blundering with an Italian's splendour of imagination about the alderman's titles and dignities: the host had added his usual share of exaggeration; so that by the time the alderman drove up to the door, he was a Milor Magnifico-Principe-the Lord knows

what!

"The alderman was advised to take au escort to Fondi and Itri, but he refused. It was as much as a man's life was worth, he said, to stop him on the

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king's highway: he would complain of it to the ambassador at Naples; he would make a national affair of it. The Principessa Popkins, a fresh, motherly dame, seemed perfectly secure in the protection of her husband, so omnipotent a man in the city. The Signorine Popkins, two fine bouncing girls, looked to their brother Tom, who had taken lessons in boxing: and as to the dandy himself, he swore no scaramouch of an Italian robber would dare to meddle with an Englishman. The landlord shrugged his shoulders, and turned out Italian grimace, and the carriage of the palms of his hands with a true Milor Popkins rolled on.

"They passed through several very suspicious places without any molestation. The Miss Popkins', who were very romantic, and had learnt to draw in water-colours, were enchanted with the savage scenery around; it was so like what they had read in Mrs. Radcliffe's romances; they should like of all things to make sketches. At length the carriage arrived at a place where the road wound up a long hill. Mrs. Popkins had sunk into a sleep; the young ladies were lost in the "Loves of the Angels;" and the dandy was hectoring the postilions from the coach-box. The alderman got out, as he said, to stretch his legs up hill. It was a long, winding ascent, and obliged him every now and then to stop and blow, and wipe his forehead, with many a pish! and phew! being rather pursy and short of wind. As the carriage, however, was far behind him, and moved slowly under the weight of so many well-stuffed trunks and well-stuffed travellers, he had plenty of time to walk at leisure.

"On a jetting point of rock that overhung the road, nearly at the summit of the hill, just where the route had began to descend, he saw a solitary man seated, who appeared to be tending goats. Aldermin Popkins was one of your shrewd travellers who always like to be picking up small information along the road; so he thought he'd just scramble up to the honest man, and have a little talk with him by way of learning the news and getting a lesson in Italian, As he drew near to the peasant, he did not half like his looks. He was partly reclining on the rocks, wrapped in the usual long mantle, which, with his slouched hat, only left a part of a swarthy visage, with a keen black eye, a beetle brow, and a fierce moustache to be seen. He had whistled several times to his dog, which was roving about the side of the hill. As the alderman approached, he

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