Lanfranchi might have the advantage of his adversary in skill, Borgiano pressed upon him so furiously, that he rushed within his guard, and stabbed him to the heart. The weapon broke as the dying man staggered to the ground; and sheathing the remainder of his sword, the Florentine retired hastily from the spot. A crowd was speedily gathered to the scene. At first the name of Lanfranchi was on the lips of every one; but when Florence was decyphered in the faint light on the fragment of the weapon, which some one had extracted, still reeking and warm with blood, the sorrow of the people burst forth into tumultuous rage. "Some accursed Florentine !" passed from man to man." Down with the Florentine curs!" was next their cry; and when their minds were more settled, and they knew their own object, a search was commenced in the house of every Florentine family within the city. Borgiano, with that infatuation which seems ever to haunt men when engaged in the most desperate enterprises, had carried home with him the handle of the blade. It was stained with blood -the fragment corresponded with it exactly. These were damning proofs of guilt to the minds of the outrageous populace, to whom even more superfiIcial evidence would have sufficed to convict any Florentine in their present ebullition of fury. They hurried him before judges who were not less prejudiced against him than his accusers; and as in those days proceedings against a criminal were brief in proportion as they were unjust;-his trial was concluded ere it was well begun. Death by the wheel was the sentence. Maddalena, even in her lowliness and retirement, could distinguish the name of Borgiano uttered in curses from Pisan tongues from every corner of the city. Roused by this into a state of excitement, restless, yet without an object, she escaped into the street; her dress in careless disarray, her hair untied, and her eye fixed in the wildness of unsettled thought. She wandered on through the people, an object of pity to some, of derision to others. She came, whether by instinct or chance, to the very spot where the whole circumstance of death was going on. Already had Borgiano's slow and terrible death been begun. He had endured the agonies of their most refined torture without gratifying their cruelty by uttering a single groan; and even the executioners, in spite of their hatred to his race, began almost to pity him, when they beheld one so young surrendering his life without a murmur. Maddalena saw and recognised Borgiano as his limbs were writhing on the wheel. She rushed into the middle of the crowd-most of whom made way for her, as if unconsciously; others she tore aside, till she stood on the very spot where Borgiano was expiring on the rack; his eyes were then almost closed for ever-another turn of the wheel, and life was fled. Had Maddalena really recognised in him the companion of her moonlight wandering, the gentle wooer, whom even in her madness her soul had ceaselessly clung to? -For a while she stood motionless, as if gazing on the terrific sight before her, then fell to the ground stiff and moveless. Her heart had leapt for ever from its seat; and there she lay a cold and lifeless corpse, within a foot or two of Borgiano's mangled remains. They were buried in the same grave by the kindness, or it may have been, by the derision of the Pisans. It was immediately under the hanging tower; and upon it some friend had placed a slab of polished marble, upon which the words "Borgiano and Maddalena" were engraved. At the beginning of the last century it was still to be seen, though the ground had then gradually risen around it, and it was in some degree hid beneath a profusion of luxuriant wild flowers. Now it is completely lost to the sight, and no record remains to tell of their ill-fated love." The following tale is extracted from that admirable Collection of desultory papers "The Sketch Book," by Geoffry Crayon-and appears to have been suggested to the author by a little German superstition concerning the Emperor Frederick der Rothbart, and the Kyffhausen Mountain, which has been already incorporated in our Volume (Vide Peter Klaus, page 31), where we have observed that the whole of the Legends on this subject appear to have their origin from that of the "Seven Sleepers ;"-only disfigured by the lapse of ages and by the introduction of other superstitions. Mr. Knickerbocker (among whose papers the tale of Rip Van Winkle was found) appears, however, to disclaim the idea of his having attempted a second hand version-and the subjoined note which he appended to the tale shews that it is an absolute fact narrated with his usual fidelity and ability. "The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, but nevertheless 1 give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity of our old Dutch settlements to have been very subject to marvellous events and appearances. Indeed, I have heard many stranger stories than this, in the villages along the Hudson; all of which were too well authenticated to admit of a doubt. I have even talked with Rip Van Winkle myself, who, when last I saw him, was a very venerable old man, and so perfectly rational and consistent on every other point, that I think no conscientious person could refuse to take this into the bargain; nay, I have seen a certificate on the subject taken before a country justice, and signed with a cross, in the justice's own hand writing. The story, therefore, is beyond the possibility of doubt." ausibed 1 bus We now present our readers with the story itself, and leave them to judge of its authenticity. mounted with ancient weathercocks. WHOEVER has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaat-In that same village, and in one of skill mountains. They are a dismem- these very houses, (which, to tell the bered branch of the great Appalachian precise truth, was sadly time-worn and family, and are seen away to the west weather-beaten), there lived many years of the river, swelling up to a noble since, while the country was yet a proheight and lording it over the surround- vince of Great Britain, a simple gooding country. Every change of season, natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van every change of weather, indeed every Winkle. He was a descendant of the hour of the day produces some change Van Winkles, who figured so gallantly in the magical hues and shapes of these in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvemountains, and they are regarded by all sant, and accompanied him to the siege the good wives, far and near, as perfect of Fort Christiana. He inherited, howbarometers. When the weather is fair ever, but little of the martial character and settled, they are clothed in blue of his ancestors. I have observed that and purple, and print their bold outlines he was a simple, good-natured man; he on the clear evening sky; but some- was, moreover, a kind neighbour, and times when the rest of the landscape is an obedient henpecked husband. Incloudless, they will gather a hood of deed, to the latter circumstance might grey vapours about their summits, which, be owing that meekness of spirit which in the last rays of the setting sun, will gained him such universal popularity; glow and light up like a crown of glory. for these men are more apt to be obseAt the foot of these fairy mountains, quious and conciliating abroad, who are the voyager may have descried a light under the discipline of shrews at home. smoke curling up from a village, whose Their tempers, doubtless, are rendered shingle roofs gleam among the trees, pliant and malleable in the fiery furnace just where the blue tints of the upland of domestic tribulation, and a curtain melt away into the fresh green of the lecture is worth all the sermons in the nearer landscape. It is a little village world for teaching the virtues of patience of great antiquity, having been founded and long suffering. A termagant wife by some of the Dutch colonists, in the may therefore, in some degree, be conearly times of the province, just about sidered a tolerable blessing; and if so, the beginning of the government of the Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed. 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 some yellow bricks brought from Holland, having laticed windows and gable fronts, sur Certain it is, that he was a great favourite among all the good wives of the village, who, as usual with the amiable sex, took his part in all family squabbles; and never failed, whenever they talked those matters over in their even ing gossippings, 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 play-things, 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 whole neighbourhood. The great error in Rip's composition was an insuperable aversion to all kinds of profitable labour. It could not be from want of assiduity or perseverance; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod as long and heavy as a Tartar's lance, and fish all day without a murmur, even though he should not be 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 neighbour even in the roughest toil, and was a foremost man at all country frolics for husking Indian corn, or building stone fences; the women of the village, too, used to employ him to run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging husbands would not do for them.-In a word, Rip was ready to attend to any body's business but his own; but as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible. In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm; it was the most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole country; every thing about it went wrong, in spite of him. His fences were continually falling to pieces; his cows would either go astray, or get among the cabbages; weeds were sure to grow quicker in his fields than any where else; the rain always made a point of setting in just as he had some out-door work to do; so that though his patrimonial estate had dwindled away under his management, acre by acre, until there was little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it was the worst conditioned farm in the neighbourhood. His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to nobody.His son Rip, 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 in a pair of his father's cast-off galligaskins, which he had much ado to hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her train in bad weather. Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish, welloiled disposition, who takes the world easy, eat white bread or brown, which ever can be got with least thought or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny than work for a pound. pound. If left to himself, he would have whistled life away in perfect contentment; but his wife kept continually dinning 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 every thing he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence. Rip had but one way of replying to all lectures, and that, by 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. Rip's sole 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 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 honourable dog, he was as courageous an animal as ever scoured the woods-but what courage can withstand the ever-during and all-besetting terrors of a woman's tongue? The moment Wolf entered the house, his crest fell, his tail drooped 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. Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as years of matrimony rolled on; a tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edge tool that grows keener with constant use. For a long while he used to condole himself, when driven from home by frequenting a kind of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers, and other idle personages of the village; which held its sessions on a bench before a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of His Majesty George the Third. Here they used to sit in the shade of a long lazy summer's day, talk listlessly over village gossip, or tell 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 Derrick Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, a dapper learned little man, who was not to be daunted by the most gigantic word in the dictionary; and how sagely they would deliberate upon public events some months after they had taken place. The opinions of the junto were completely controlled by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the inn, at the door of which he took his seat from morning till night, just moving sufficiently to avoid the sun; and keep in the shade of a large tree; so that the neighbours could tell the hour by his movements as accurately as by a sun dial. It is true, he was rarely heard to speak, but smoked his pipe incessantly. His adherents, however, (for every great man has his adherents,) perfectly understood him, and knew how to gather his opinions. When any thing that was read or related displeased him, he was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, and send forth short, frequent, and angry puffs; but when pleased, he would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly, and emit it in light and placid clouds, and sometimes taking the pipe from his mouth, and letting the fragrant vapour curl about his nose, would gravely nod his head in token of perfect approbation. From even this strong hold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by his termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tranquillity of the assemblage and call the members all to naught; nor was that august personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue of this terrible virago, who charged him outright with encouraging her husband in habits of idleness. Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only alternative, to escape from the labour of the farm and the clamour of his wife, was to take gun in hand, and stroll away into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the contents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathised as a fellow sufferer in persecution. " Poor Wolf!" he would say, "thy mistress leads thee a dog's life of it; but never mind, my lad, whilst I live thou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!" Wolf would wag his tail, look wistfully in his master's face, and if dogs can feel pity, I verily believe he reciprocated the sen timent 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 Kaatskill mountains. He was after his favourite sport of squirrel shooting, |