Todos los departamentos. Once upon a time, however, a hunter who had lost his way, penetrated to the garden rock, where he beheld a number of gourds placed in the crotches of trees. True it is, in all points of spirit befitting an honorable 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? 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. View from the Hudson River … 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! If displeased, however, she would brew up clouds black as ink, sitting in the midst of them like a bottle-bellied spider in the midst of its web; and when these clouds broke, woe betide the valleys! His mind now misgave him; he began to doubt whether both he and the world around him were not bewitched. He, however, was apt to ride his hobby his own way; and though it did now and then kick up the dust a little in the eyes of his neighbors, and grieve the spirit of some friends, for whom he felt the truest deference and affection; yet his errors and follies are remembered “more in sorrow than in anger,” and it begins to be suspected, that he never intended to injure or offend. 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. 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 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. why, he is dead and gone these eighteen years! He obeyed with fear and trembling; they quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and then returned to their game. 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. The very character of the people seemed changed. Rip’s story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to him but as one night. He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the little village inn—but it too was gone. El único aliado con que contaba Rip en la familia era su perro Wolf (lobo), tan maltratado como su amo, pues la señora Van Winkle juzgaba a ambos compañeros de ociosidad, y aun miraba a Wolf con malos ojos considerándole culpable de los frecuentes extravíos de su dueño. Rip Van Winkle, a Posthumous Writing of Diedrich Knickerbocker. That his father had once seen them in their old Dutch dresses playing at nine-pins in a hollow of the mountain; and that he himself had heard, one summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like distant peals of thunder. 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. 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 broom-stick or ladle, he would fly to the door with yelping precipitation. 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. 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. a historical narrative researched and written by Knickerbocker. 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. Whenever her name was mentioned, however, he 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. a spy! 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. It is a great rock or cliff on the loneliest part of the mountains, and, from the flowering vines which clamber about it, and the wild flowers which abound in its neighborhood, is known by the name of the Garden Rock. 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. The old Dutch inhabitants, however, almost universally gave it full credit. The favorite abode of this Manitou is still shown. Rip Van Winkle Characters The main characters in “Rip Van Winkle” are Rip Van Winkle, Dame Van Winkle, Henry Hudson, Peter Vanderdonk, Judith Gardenier, and Diedrich Knickerbocker. They all stared at him with equal marks of surprise, and whenever they cast their eyes upon him, invariably stroked their chins. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his steps homeward. 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. The very village was altered; it was larger and more populous. 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. 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 culprit, what he came there for, and whom he was seeking? There stood the Kaatskill 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!”, It was with some difficulty that he found the way to his own house, which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening’s gambol, and if he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. He was a short, square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. 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! Rip had but one question more to ask; but he put it with a faltering voice: “Oh, she too had 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. He then proceeds to describe the “magical” beauty of the Catskills. He and the doors off the hinges, nod, wink significantly, returned... 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