si&?!aU:K!:i B.roMm:S SKr:\ ENGLI SH READINCf5-FOR 5CHOOLS €ng;ltsif) Eeabtngs( for Retools; GENERAL EDITOR WILBUR LUCIUS CROSS PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN YALE UNIVERSITY Washington Irving From a portrait by James Jarvis 7 A.WwN^1 , *^ (K4JI^^\,>^^kA9'K^ I R V I N G ' S SKETCH BOOK EDITED BY ARTHUR WILLIS LEONARD INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH IN PHILLIPS ACADEMY. ANDOVER, MASS. NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 191 1 \xmt of The Crayon Legends of the Conquest of Spain. ) Miscellany. 1836. Astoria. (In collaboration with Pierre M. Irving.) 1837. Adventures of Captain Bonneville. 1840. Biography of Goldsmith. To accompany a selection of Goldsmith's writings in " Harper's Family Library." 1840. Life of Margaret Davidson. An account of the life of a beautiful American girl of surprising poetical talent, who died between the ages of fifteen and sixteen. Descriptive Bibliography xxxlli 1841. Life of Thomas Campbell. 1849. Life of Goldsmith. Enlarged from the earlier sketch. 1850. Mahomet and His Successors. 1855. Wolfert's Roost. Containing essays previously published in the Knicker' bocker Magazine. 1855-1859. Life of George Washington. In five volumes. THE SKETCH BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. ** I have no wife nor children, good or bad, to provide for. A mere spectator of other men's fortunes and adventures, and how they play their parts, which, methinks, are diversely presented unto me, as from a common theater or scene." Burton. AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION The following papers, with two exceptions, were writ- ten In England, and formed but part of an Intended series, for which I had made notes and memorandums. Before I could mature a plan, however, circumstances compelled me to send them piece-meal to the United States, where 5 they were published from time to time In portions or num- bers. It was not my Intention to publish them In England, being conscious that much of their contents would be inter- esting only to American readers, and, in truth, being deterred by the severity with which American produc- 10 tlons had been treated by the British press. By the time the contents of the first volume had ap- peared In this occasional manner, they began to find their way across the Atlantic, and to be Inserted, with many kind encomiums, in the London Literary Gazette. It was 15 said, also, that a London bookseller intended to publish them in a collective form. I determined, therefore, to bring them forward myself, that they might at least have the benefit of my superintendence and revision. I accord- ingly took the printed numbers which I had received from 20 the United States, to Mr. John Murray, the eminent pub- lisher, from whom I had already received friendly atten- tions, and left them with him for examination, informing him that should he be Inclined to bring them before the public, I had materials enough on hand for a second 25 volume. Several days having elapsed without any com- 3 4 Preface to the Revised Edition munication from Mr. Murray, I addressed a note to him, in which I construed his silence into a tacit rejection of my work, and begged that the numbers I had left with him might be returned to me. The following was his reply: 5 My dear Sir, — I entreat you to believe that I feel truly obliged by your kind intentions towards me, and that I entertain the most unfeigned respect for your most tasteful talents. My house is completely filled with work-people at this time, and I have only an office to 10 transact business in; and yesterday I was wholly occupied, or I should have done myself the pleasure of seeing you. If it would not suit me to engage in the publication of your present work, it is only because I do not see that scope in the na- ture of it which would enable me to make those satisfactory ac- 15 counts between us, without which I really feel no satisfaction in engaging — but I will do all I can to promote their circulation, and shall be most ready to attend to any future plan of yours. With much regard, I remain, dear sir. Your faithful servant, John Murray. This was disheartening, and might have deterred me 20 from any further prosecution of the matter, had the ques- tion of republication in Great Britain rested entirely with me; but I apprehended the appearance of a spurious edi- tion. I now thought of Mr. Archibald Constable as pub- lisher, having been treated by him with much hospitality 25 during a visit to Edinburgh ; but first I determined to submit my work to Sir Walter (then Mr.) Scott, being encouraged to do so by the cordial reception I had. experi- enced from him at Abbotsford a few years previously, and by the favorable opinion he had expressed to others of my 30 earlier writings. I accordingly sent him the printed num- bers of the Sketch Book in a parcel by coach, and at the same time wrote to him, hinting that since I had had the pleasure of partaking of his hospitality, a reverse had Preface to the Revised Edition 5 taken place in my affairs which made the successful exercise of mj^ pen all-important to me ; I begged him, therefore, to look over the literary articles I had forwarded to him, and, if he thought they would bear European republication, to ascertain whether Mr. Constable would be inclined to 5 be the publisher. The parcel containing my work went by coach to Scott's address in Edinburgh ; the letter went by mail to his resi- dence in the country. By the very first post I received a reply, before he had seen my work. 10 " I was down at Kelso," said he, " when your letter reached Abbotsford. I am now on my way to town, and will converse with Constable, and do all in my power to forward your views — I assure you nothing will give me more pleasure." 15 The hint, however, about a reverse of fortune had struck the quick apprehension of Scott, and, with that practical and efficient good will which belonged to his nature, he had already devised a way of aiding me. A weekly periodical, he went on to inform me, was 20 about to be set up in Edinburgh, supported by the most respectable talents, and amply furnished with all the neces- sary information. The appointment of the editor, for which ample funds were provided, would be five hundred pounds sterling a year, with the reasonable prospect of 25 further advantages. This situation, being apparently at his disposal, he frankly offered to me. The work, how- ever, he intimated, was to have somewhat of a political bearing, and he expressed an apprehension that the tone it was desired to adopt might not suit me. " Yet I risk the 30 question," added he, " because I know no man so well qualified for this important task, and perhaps because it will necessarily bring you to Edinburgh. If my proposal does not suit, you need only keep the matter secret, and 6 Preface to the Revised Edition there is no harm done. ' And for my love I pray you wrong mc not.' If, on the contrary, you think it could be made to suit you, let me know as soon as possible, addressing Castle Street, Edinburgh." 5 In a postscript, written from Edinburgh, he adds, *' I am just come here, and have glanced over the Sketch Book. It is positively beautiful, and increases my desire to crimp you, if it be possible. Some difficulties there always are in managing such a matter, especially at the outset; but we 10 will obviate them as much as we possibly can." The following is from an imperfect draught of my reply, which underwent some modifications in the copy sent: " I cannot express how much I am gratified by your 15 letter. I had begun to feel as if I had taken an unwarrant- able liberty; but, somehow or other, there is a genial sun- shine about you that warms every creeping thing into heart and confidence. Your literary proposal both surprises and flatters me, as it evinces a much higher opinion of my 20 talents than I have myself." I then went on to explain that I found myself peculiarly unfitted for the situation offered to me, not merely by my political opinions, but by the very constitution and habits of my mind. " My whole course of life," I ob- 25 served, " has been desultory, and I am unfitted for any periodically recurring task, or any stipulated labor of body or mind. I have no command of my talents, such as they are, and have to watch the varyings of my mind as I would those of a weather-cock. Practice and training may bring 30 me more into rule, but at present I am as useless for regu- lar service as one of my own country Indians or a Don Cossack. " I must, therefore, keep on pretty much as I have be- gun; writing when I can, not when I would. I shall Preface to the Revised Edition 7 occasionally shift my residence and write whatever is sug- gested by objects before me, or whatever rises in my imagi- nation; and hope to write better and more copiously by and by. " I am playing the egotist, but I know no better way of 5 answering your proposal than by showing what a very good-for-nothing kind of being I am. Should Mr. Con- stable feel inclined to make a bargain for the wares I have on hand, he will encourage me to further enterprise; and it w^ill be something like trading with a gipsy for the fruits 10 of his prowlings, who may at one time have nothing but a wooden bowl to offer, and at another time a silver tankard." In reply, Scott expressed regret, but not surprise, at my declining what might have proved a troublesome duty. 15 He then recurred to the original subject of our corre- spondence ; entered into a detail of the various terms upon which arrangements were made between authors and book- sellers, that I might take my choice; expressing the most encouraging confidence of the success of my work, and of 20 previous works which I had produced in America. " I did no more," added he, *' than open the trenches with Con- stable; but I am sure if you will take the trouble to write to him, you will find him disposed to treat your overtures with every degree of attention. Or, if you think it of con- 25 sequence in the first place to see me, I shall be in London in the course of a month, and whatever my experience can command is most heartily at your command. But I can add little to what I have said above, except my earnest recommendation to Constable to enter into the negotia- 30 tion." ^ ^ I cannot avoid subjoining in a note a succeeding paragraph of Scott's letter, which, though it does not relate to the main subject of our correspondence, was too characteristic to be omitted. Some 8 Preface to the Revised Edition Before the receipt of this most obliging letter, however, I had determined to look to no leading bookseller for a launch, but to throw my w^ork before the public at my own risk, and let it sink or swim according to its merits. I 5 wrote to that effect to Scott, and soon received a reply: " I observe with pleasure that you are going to come forth in Britain. It is certainly not the very best way to publish on one's own account; for the booksellers set their face against the circulation of such works as do not pay an 10 amazing toll to themselves. But they have lost the art of altogether damming up the road in such cases between the author and the public, which they were once able to do as effectually as Diabolus in John Bunyan's Holy War closed up the windows of my Lord Understanding's mansion. 15 I am sure of one thing, that you have only to be known to the British public to be admired by them, and I would not say so unless I really was of that opinion. *' If you ever see a witty but rather local publication called Blackivood's Edinburgh Magazine, you will find 20 some notice of your works in the last number: the author is a friend of mine, to whom I have introduced you in your literary capacity. His name is Lockhart, a young man of time previously I had sent Miss Sophia Scott small duodecimo American editions of her father's poems published in Edinburgh in quarto volumes ; showing the " nigromancy " of the American press, by which a quart of wine is conjured into a pint bottle. Scott observes: " In my hurry, I have not thanked you in Sophia's name for the kind attention which furnished her with the Amer- ican volumes. I am not quite sure I can add my own, since you have made her acquainted with much more of papa's folly than she would ever otherwise have learned; for I had taken special care they should never see any of those things during their earlier years. I think I told you that Walter is sweeping the firmament with a feather like a may-pole, and indenting the pavement with a sword like a scythe — in other words, he has become a whiskered hussar in the i8th dragoons." Preface to the Revised Edition 9 very considerable talent, and who will soon be intimately connected with my family. My faithful friend Knicker- bocker Is to be next examined and Illustrated. Constable was extremely willing to enter into consideration of a treaty for your works, but I foresee will be still more so 5 when Your name Is up, and may go From Toledo to Madrid. And that will soon be the case. I trust to be in London about the middle of the month, and promise my- 10 self great pleasure in once again shaking j-ou by the hand." The first volume of the Sketch Book was put to press In London as I had resolved, at my own risk, by a book- seller unknown to fame, and without any of the usual arts by which a work Is trumpeted Into notice. Still some at- 15 tentlon had been called to It by the extracts which had previously appeared In the Literary Gazette, and by the kind word spoken by the editor of that periodical, and it was getting into fair circulation, when my worthy book- seller failed before the first month w^as over, and the sale 20 was interrupted. At this juncture Scott arrived in London. I called to him for help, as I w^as sticking in the mire, and, more propitious than Hercules, he put his own shoulder to the w^heel. Through his favorable representations, Murray 25 w^as quickly Induced to undertake the future publication of the work which he had previously declined. A further edition of the first volume was struck ofE and the second volume was put to press, and from that time Murray be- came my publisher, conducting himself In all his dealings 30 with that fair, open, and liberal spirit which had obtained for him the well-merited appellation of the Prince of Book- sellers. 10 Preface to the Revised Edition Thus, under the kind and cordial auspices of Sir Walter Scott, I began my literary career in Europe ; and I feel that I am but discharging, in a trifling degree, my debt of gratitude to the memory of that golden-hearted man in 5 acknowledging my obligations to him. — But who of his literary contemporaries ever applied to him for aid or coun- sel that did not experience the most prompt, generous, and effectual assistance! W.I. THE SKETCH BOOK THE AUTHOR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF " I am of this mind with Homer, that as the snaile that crept out of her she! was turned eftsoons into a toad, and thereby was forced to make a stoole to sit on; so the traveler that stragleth from his owne country is in a short time transformed into so monstrous a shape, that he is faine to alter his mansion with his manners, and to live where he can, not where he would." Lily's Euphues. I WAS always fond of visiting new scenes, and observ- ing strange characters and manners. Even when a mere child I began my travels, and made many tours of discovery Into foreign parts and unknown regions of my native city, to the frequent alarm of my parents and the emolument of 5 the town-crier. As I grew into boyhood, I extended the range of my observations. My holiday afternoons were spent in rambles about the surrounding country. I made myself familiar with all its places famous In history or fable. I knew every spot where a murder or robbery had 10 been committed, or a ghost seen. I visited the neighbor- ing villages, and added greatly to my stock of knowledge, by noting their habits and customs, and conversing with their sages and great men. I even journeyed one long summer's day to the summit of the most distant hill, 15 whence I stretched my eye over many a mile of terra incognita, and was astonished to find how vast a globe I inhabited. II 12 The Sketch Book This rambling propensity strengthened with my years. Books of voyages and travels became my passion, and in devouring their contents I neglected the regular exer- cises of the school. How wistfully would I wander 5 about the pier-heads in fine weather, and watch the part- ing ships, bound to distant climes; with what longing eyes would I gaze after their lessening sails, and waft myself in imagination to the ends of the earth ! Further reading and thinking, though they brought 10 this vague inclination into more reasonable bounds, only served to make it more decided. I visited various parts of my own country; and had I been merely a lover of fine scenery, I should have felt little desire to seek else- where its gratification, for on no country have the charms 15 of nature been more prodigally lavished. Her mighty lakes, like oceans of liquid silver ; her mountains, with their bright aerial tints; her valleys, teeming with wild fertility; her tremendous cataracts, thundering in their solitudes; her boundless plains, waving with spontaneous 20 verdure; her broad deep rivers, rolling in solemn silence to the ocean ; her trackless forests, where vegetation puts forth all its magnificence; her skies, kindling with the magic of summer clouds and glorious sunshine ; — no, never need an American look bej^ond his own country for the 25 sublime and beautiful of natural scenery. But Europe held forth the charms of storied and poetical association. There w^re to be seen the master- pieces of art, the refinements of highly cultivated society, the quaint peculiarities of ancient and local custom. My 30 native country was full of youthful promise: Europe was rich in the accumulated treasures of age. Her very ruins told the history of times gone by, and every mouldering stone was a chronicle. I longed to wander over the scenes of renowned achievement — to tread, as it were, in the foot- The Author's Account of Himself 13 steps of antiquity — to loiter about the ruined castle — to meditate on the falling tower — to escape, in short, from the commonplace realities of the present, and lose myself among the shadowy grandeurs of the past. I had, beside all this, an earnest desire to see the great 5 men of the earth. We have, it is true, our great men in America: not a city but has an ample share of them. I have mingled among them in my time, and been almost withered by the shade into w^hich they cast me; for there is nothing so baleful to a small man as the shade of a great 10 one, particularly the great man of a city. But I was anxious to see the great men of Europe ; for I had read in the works of various philosophers, that all animals degener- ated in America, and man among the number. A great man of Europe, thought I, must therefore be as superior 15 to a great man of America, as a peak of the Alps to a high- land of the Hudson, and in this idea I was confirmed, by observing the comparative importance and swelling magni- tude of many English travelers among us, who, I w^as as- sured, were very little people in their own country. I 20 will visit this land of wonders, thought I, and see the gigantic race from which I am degenerated. It has been either my good or evil lot to have my roving passion .gratified. I have wandered through different coun- tries, and witnessed many of the shifting scenes of life. 25 I cannot say that I have studied them with the eye of a philosopher; but rather with the sauntering gaze with which humble lovers of the picturesque stroll from the window of one print-shop to another; caught sometimes by the delineations of beauty, sometimes by the distortions 30 of caricature, and sometimes by the loveliness of landscape. As it is the fashion for modern tourists to travel pencil in hand, and bring home their portfolios filled with sketches, I am disposed to get up a few for the entertainment of 14 The Sketch Book my friends. When, however, I look over the hints and memorandums I have taken down for the purpose, my heart almost fails me at finding how my idle humor has led me aside from the great objects studied by every regu- 5 lar traveler who would make a book. I fear I shall give equal disappointment w^ith an unlucky landscape painter, who had traveled on the continent, but, following the bent of his vagrant inclination, had sketched in nooks and corners and by-places. His sketch-book was accordingly 10 crowded with cottages and landscapes and obscure ruins; but he had neglected to paint St. Peter's, or the Coliseum ; the Cascade of Terni, or the Bay of Naples; and had not a single glacier or volcano in his whole collection. THE VOYAGE Ships, ships, I will descrie you Amidst the main, I will come and try you, What you are protecting, And projecting. What's your end and aim. One goes abroad for merchandise and trading. Another stays to keep his country from invading, A third is coming home with rich and wealthy lading. Halloo! my fancie, whither wilt thou go? Old Poem. To an American visiting Europe, the long voyage he has to make Is an excellent preparative. The temporary ab- sence of worldly scenes and employments produces a state of mind peculiarly fitted to receive new and vivid im- pressions. The vast space of waters that separates the 5 hemispheres Is like a blank page In existence. There is no gradual transition, by which, as In Europe, the features and population of one country blend almost Imperceptibly with those of another. From the moment you lose sight of the land you have left, all is vacancy until you step 10 on the opposite shore, and are launched at once into the bustle and novelties of another world. In traveling by land there Is a continuity of scene and a connected succession of persons and incidents, that carry on the story of life, and lessen the effect of absence and 15 separation. We drag, It Is true, " a lengthening chain," at each remove of our pilgrimage; but the chain Is un- 15 1 6 The Sketch Book broken : we can trace it back link by link ; and we feel that the last still grapples us to home. But a wide sea voyage severs us at once. It makes us conscious of being cast loose from the secure anchorage of settled life, and sent adrift 5 upon a doubtful world. It interposes a gulf, not merely imaginary, but real, between us and our homes — a gulf subject to tempest and fear and uncertainty, rendering dis- tance palpable, and return precarious. Such, at least, was the case with myself. As I saw 10 the last blue line of my native land fade away like a cloud in the horizon, it seemed as if I had closed one volume of the world and its concerns, and had time for meditation before I opened another. That land, too, now vanishing from my view, which contained all most dear to me in life; 15 what vicissitudes might occur in it — what changes might take place in me, before I should visit it again ! /Who can tell, when he sets forth to wander, whither he may be driven by the uncertain currents of existence; or when he may return ; or whether it may ever be his lot to revisit 20 the scenes of his childhood?/ I said that at sea all is vacancy; I should correct the expression. To one given to day-dreaming, and fond of losing himself in reveries, a sea voyage is full of subjects for meditation ; but then they are the wonders of the deep 25 and of the air, and rather tend to abstract the mind from worldly themes. ( I delighted to loll over the quarter- railing, or climb ^0 the main-top of a calm day, and muse for hours together on the tranquil bosom of a summer's sea; to gaze upon the piles of golden clouds just peering 30 above the horizon, fancy them some fairy realms, and people them with a creation of my own ; — to watch the gentle undulating billows, rolling their silver volumes, as if to die away on those happy shores. There was a delicious sensation of mingled security The Voyage 17 and awe with which I looked down from my giddy height, on the monsters of the deep at their uncouth gambols. Shoals of porpoises tumbling about the bow of the ship; the grampus slowly heaving his huge form above the sur- face; or the ravenous shark, darting, like a specter, through 5 the blue waters. My imagination would conjure up all that I had heard or read of the w^atery world beneath me ; of the finny herds that roam its fathomless valleys ; of the shapeless monsters that lurk among the very founda- tions of the earth ; and of those wild phantasms that swell 10 the tales of fishermen and sailors. Sometimes a distant sail, gliding along the edge of the ocean, would be another theme of idle speculation. How interesting this fragment of a world, hastening to rejoin the great mass of existence ! What a glorious monument 15 of human invention, which has in a manner triumphed over wind and wave, has brought the ends of the u-orld Into communion, has established an interchange of bless- ings, pouring into the sterile regions of the north all the luxuries of the south, has diffused the light of knowledge 20 and the charities of cultivated life, and has thus bound together those scattered portions of the human race be- tween which nature seemed to have thrown an insur- mountable barrier. We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at 25 a distance. At sea everything that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanse attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been completely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which some of the crew had fastened themselves to this 30 spar, to prevent their being washed ofif by the waves. There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of shellfish had fastened about 1 8 The Sketch Book it, and long seaweeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, is the crew? Their struggle has long been over — they have gone down amidst the roar of the tem- pest — their bones lie whitening among the caverns of the 5 deep. Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end. What sighs have been wafted after that ship! what prayers offered up at the deserted fireside of home! How often has the mistress, the wife, the mother, pored over the 10 daily news, to catch some casual intelligence of this rover of the deep ! How has expectation darkened into anxiety — anxiety into dread — and dread into despair! Alas! not one memento may ever return for love to cherish. All that may ever be known is, that she sailed from her port, island was never heard of more!" The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dismal anecdotes. This was particularly the case in the evening, when the weather, which had hitherto been fair, began to look wild and threatening, and gave indications 20 of one of those sudden storms which will sometimes break in upon the serenity of a summer voyage. As we sat round the dull light of a lamp in the cabin, that made the gloom more ghastly, every one had his tale of ship- wreck and disaster. I was particularly struck with a 25 short one related by the captain. '' As I was once sailing," said he, ** in a fine stout ship across the banks of Newfoundland, one of those heavy fogs which prevail in those parts rendered it impossible for us to see far ahead even in the daytime; but at night 30 the weather was so thick that we could not distinguish any object at twice the length of the ship. I kept lights at the masthead, and a constant watch forward to look out for fishing smacks, which are accustomed to lie at anchor on the banks. The wind was blowing a smacking The Voyage 19 breeze, and we were going at a great rate through the water. Suddenly the watch gave the alarm of * a sail ahead ! ' — it was scarcely uttered before we were upon her. She was a small schooner, at anchor, with her broad- side towards us. The crew were all asleep, and had 5 neglected to hoist a light. We struck her just amidships. The force, the size, the weight of our vessel bore her down below the waves; we passed over her and were hurried on our course. As the crashing wreck was sinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of two or three half-naked 10 wretches rushing from her cabin; they just started from their beds to be swallowed shrieking by the waves. I heard their drowning cry mingling with the wind. The blast that bore it to our ears swept us out of all farther hearing. I shall never forget that cry! It was some time before we 15 could put the ship about, she was under such headway. We returned, as nearly as we could guess, to the place where the smack had anchored. We cruised about for sev- eral hours in the dense fog. We fired signal guns, and listened if we might hear the halloo of any survivors; but 20 all was silent — we never saw or heard anything of them more." I confess these stories, for a time, put an end to all my fine fancies. The storm increased with the night. The sea was lashed into tremendous confusion. There was 25 a fearful, sullen sound of rushing waves and broken surges. Deep called unto deep. At times the black column of clouds overhead seemed rent asunder by flashes of lightning which quivered along the foaming billows and made the succeeding darkness doubly terrible. The 30 thunders bellowed over the wild waste of waters, and were echoed and prolonged by the mountain waves. As I saw the ship staggering and plunging among these roaring caverns. It seemed miraculous that she regained 20 The Sketch Book . her balance or preserved her buoyancy. Her yards would dip Into the water: her bow was almost buried beneath the waves. Sometimes an impending surge appeared ready to overwhelm her, and nothing but a dexterous 5 movement of the helm preserved her from the shock. When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still fol- lowed me. The whistling of the wind through the rig- ging sounded like funereal wailings. The creaking of the masts, the straining and groaning of bulk-heads, as 10 the ship labored in the weltering sea, were frightful. As I heard the waves rushing along the sides of the ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as if Death were raging round this floating prison, seeking for his prey: the mere starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam, might 15 give him entrance. A fine day, however, with a tranquil sea and favoring breeze, soon put all these dismal reflections to flight. It is impossible to resist the gladdening influence of fine weather and fair wind at sea. When the ship is decked 20 out in all her canvas, every sail swelled, and careering gayly over the curling waves, how lofty, how gallant she appears — how she seems to lord it over the deep! I might fill a volume with the reveries of a sea voyage, for with me it is almost a continual reverie — but it is 25 time to get to shore. It was a fine sunny morning when the thrilling cry of "land! " was given from the mast head.^None but those who have experienced It can form an idea of the delicious throng of sensations which rush Into an American's 30 bosom when he first comes In sight of Europe. There is a volume of associations with the very name. It is the land of promise, teeming with everything of which his childhood has heard, or on which his studious years have pondered. The Voyage 21 From that time until the moment of arrival, it was all feverish excitement. The ships of war that prowled like guardian giants along the coast, the headlands of Ire- land stretching out into the channel, the Welsh moun- tains towering into the clouds, — all were objects of in- 5 tense interest. As we sailed up the Merse}', I recon- noitered the shores with a telescope. My eye dwelt with delight on neat cottages, with their trim shubberies and green grass plots. I saw the mouldering ruin of an abbey overrun with ivy, and the taper spire of a village 10 church rising from the brow of a neighboring hill, — all WTre characteristic of England. The tide and wind were so favorable that the ship was enabled to come at once to the pier. It was thronged w^ith people; some, idle lookers-on, others, eager expectants of 15 friends or relatives. I could distinguish the merchant to whom the ship was consigned. I knew him by his cal- culating brow and restless air. His hands were thrust into his pockets; he was whistling thoughtfully and w^alking to and fro, a small space having been accorded 20 him by the crowd in deference to his temporary impor- tance. There were repeated cheerings and salutations interchanged between the shore and the ship, as friends happened to recognize each other. I particularly noticed one j'oung woman of humble dress but interesting de- 25 meanor. She was leaning forward from among the crowd ; her e}^ hurried over the ship as it neared the shore, to catch some wished-for countenance. She seemed disap- pointed and agitated ; when I heard a faint voice call her name. It was from a poor sailor who had been ill all the 30 voyage, and had excited the sympathy of every one on board. When the weather was fine, his messmates had spread a mattress for him on deck in the shade, but of late his illness had so increased that he had taken to his ham- 2 2 The Sketch Book mock, ana only breathed a wish that he might see his wife before he died. He had been helped on deck as we came up the river, and was now leaning against the shrouds, with a countenance so wasted, so pale, so ghastly, 5 that it was no wonder even the eye of affection did not recognize him. But at the sound of his voice, her eye darted on his features; it read at once a whole volume of sorrow; she clasped her hands, uttered a faint shriek, and stood wringing them in silent agony. 10 All now was hurry and bustle. The meetings of ac- quaintances — the greetings of friends — the consultations of men of business. I alone was solitary and idle. I had no friend to meet, no cheering to receive. I stepped upon the land of my forefathers — but felt that I was a stranger in the land. Rip Van Winkle's House, in the Catskills Reproduced from " Picturesque America," by permission of D. Appleton and Company. RIP VAN WINKLE . A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER By Woden, God of Saxons, From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday, Truth is a thing that ever I will keep Unto thylke day in which I creep into My sepulchre Cartwright. [The following Tale was found among the papers of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker, an old gentleman of New York who was very curious In the Dutch history of the province and the manners of the descendants from Its primitive settlers. His historical researches, however, 5 did not He so much among books as among men ; for the former are lamentably scanty on his favorite topics; whereas he found the old burghers, and still more their wives, rich in that legendary lore so invaluable to true history. Whenever, therefore, he happened upon a genu- 10 ine Dutch family, snugly shut up In Its low-roofed farm- house, under a spreading sycamore, he looked upon It as a little clasped volume of black-letter, and studied It with the zeal of a book-worm. The result of all these researches was a history of the 15 province during the reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years since. There have been various opinions as to the literary character of his work, and, to tell the truth, It is not a whit better than It should be. Its 23 24 The Sketch Book chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy, which indeed was a little questioned on its first appearance, but has since been completely established; and it is now admitted into all historical collections as a book of unquestionable authority. 5 The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work, and now that he is dead and gone it cannot do much harm to his memory to say that his time might have been much better employed in weightier labors. He, however, was apt to ride his hobby his own way; and 10 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 sor- row than in anger," and it begins to be suspected that he 15 never intended to injure or offend. But however his memory may be appreciated by critics, it is still held dear by many folks whose good opinion is well worth having; particularly by certain biscuit-bakers, who have gone so far as to imprint his likeness on their new-year cakes ; and 20 have thus given him a chance for immortality almost equal to the being stamped on a Waterloo Medal or a Queen Anne's Farthing.] Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must re- member the Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismem- 25 bered branch of the Appalachian family, and are seen away to the wTst 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 30 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 Rip Van Winkle 25 blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear evening sky; but sometimes when the rest of the land- scape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors about their summits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory. 5 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 nearer landscape. It is a little village of great 10 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 original settlers standing within a few years, built 15 of small yellow bricks brought from Holland, having lat- ticed windows and gable fronts, surmounted with weather- cocks. In that same village, and in one of these very houses (which, to tell the precise truth, was sadly time-worn 20 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. He was a descendant of the Van Winkles who figured so gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and 25 accompanied him to the siege of Fort Christina. He in- herited, however, but little of the martial character of his ancestors. I have observed that he was a simple good natured man ; he was, moreover, a kind neighbor and an obedient hen-pecked husband. Indeed, to the latter cir- 30 cumstance 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 ^re under the discipline of shrews at home. Their tern- 2 6 The Sketch Book pers, 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 5 wife may, therefore, in some respects, be considered a tol- erable blessing; and if so. Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed. Certain it is, that he was a great favorite among all the good wives of the village, who as usual with the ami- 10 able sex, took his part in all family squabbles; and never failed whenever they talked those matters over in their evening gossipings 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 15 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, hang- ing on his skirts, clambering on his back, and playing 20 a thousand tricks on him with impunity; and not a dog would bark at him throughout the neighborhood. The great error in Rip's composition was an insuper- able aversion to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be from the want of assiduity or perseverance; for he 25 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 nib- ble. He would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder for hours together, trudging through woods and swamps, and 30 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 employ him Rip Van Winkle 27 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 anybody's business but his own ; but as to doing family duty and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible. 5 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 con- tinually falling to pieces; his cow would either go astray 10 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 out-door work to do; so that though his patrimonial estate had dwindled away under his management, acre by acre, 15 until there was little more left than a mere patch of Indian corn and 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 Rip, an urchin begotten 20 in his own likeness, promised to inherit the habits, with the old clothes of his father. He was generally seen troop- ing 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 25 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 30 on a penny than work for a pound. If left to himself, he would have whistled 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 2 8 The Sketch Book 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. Rip had but one way of replying to all lectures of the kind, and 5 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 10 which, In truth, belongs to a hen-pecked husband. Rip's sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much hen-pecked 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 15 master's going so often astray. 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? The moment Wolf entered the house 20 his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground or curled be- tween his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, cast- ing 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. 25 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 edged tool that . grows keener with constant use. For a long while he used to console himself, when driven from home, by frequent- 30 ing 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 through a long lazy summer's day, Rip Van Winkle 29 talking listlessly 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 5 traveler. How solemnly they would listen to the con- tents as drawled out by Derrick Van Bummel, the school- master, a dapper learned little man, who was not to be daunted by the mo^t gigantic word in the dictionary; and how sagely they w^ould deliberate upon public events some 10 months after they had taken place. The opinions of this junto were completely controlled by Nicholas Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and land- lord of the inn, at the door of which he took his seat from morning till night, just moving sufficiently to avoid 15 the sun and keep in the shade of a large tree ; so that the neighbors could tell the hour by his movements as ac- curately 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), per- 20 fectly understood him, and knew how to gather his opin- ions. 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 tranquilly, 25 and emit 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 30 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 30 The Sketch Book 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 labor of the farm 5 and clamor of his wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods. Here he would sometimes seat him- self 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. " Poor Wolf," he would say, " thy 10 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 sentiment with all his heart. 15 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 favor- ite sport of squirrel shooting, and the still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with the reports of his gun. Pant- 20 ing 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 be- tween the trees he could overlook all the lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He saw at a distance the 25 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 high- lands. 30 On the other side he looked down into a deep moun- tain glen, wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from the impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the setting sun. For some time Rip lay musing on this scene ; evening was gradually Rip Van Winkle 31 advancing; the mountains began to throw their long blue shadows over the valley ; 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. 5 As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance, hallooing, "Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle! " He 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 10 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, look- ing fearfully down into the glen. Rip now felt a vague 15 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, 20 but supposing it to be some one 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 stranger's appearance. He was a short square-built old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a griz- 25 zled beard. His dress was of the antique Dutch fashion — a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist — several pairs 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 30 full of liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the load. Though rather shy and dis- trustful of this new acquaintance, Rip complied with his usual alacrity; and mutually relieving one another, they 32 The Sketch Book 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, 5 between lofty rocks, toward which their rugged path con- ducted. 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 10 hollow, like a small amphitheater, surrounded by per- pendicular precipices, over the brinks of which impend- ing 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 labored 15 on in silence; for though the former marveled greatly what could be the object of carrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was something strange and incom- prehensible about the unknown that inspired awe and checked familiarity. 20 On entering the amphitheater, new objects of wonder presented themselves. On the level spot in the center w^as a company of odd-looking personages playing at nine- pins. They were dressed in a quaint outlandish fashion ; some wore short doublets, others jerkins, with long knives 25 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 beard, broad face, and small piggish eyes; the face of another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by a white sugar- 30 loaf hat set off with a little red cock's tail. They all had beards of various shapes and colors. There w^as one who seemed to be the commander. He was a stout old gentle- man with a weather-beaten countenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned hat and Rip Van Winkle 33 feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes with roses In them. The whole group reminded Rip of the figures in an old Flemish painting in the parlor of Dominie Van Shaick, the village parson, and which had been brought over from Holland at the time of the settlement. 5 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 melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing interrupted the stillness 10 of the scene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever they were rolled, echoed along the mountains like rum- bling peals of thunder. As Rip and his companion approached them, they sud- denly desisted from their play, and stared at him with 15 such fixed statue-like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lack-luster 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 20 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 the flavor of 25 excellent Hollands. He was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to repeat the draught. One taste pro- voked another; and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often that at length his senses were overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined, and 30 he fell into a deep sleep. On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seen the old man of the glen. He rubbed his eyes — it was a bright sunny morning. The birds were 34 The Sketch Book hopping and twittering among the bushes, and the eagle was wheeh'ng aloft, and breasting the pure mountain breeze. '' Surely," thought Rip, " I have not slept here all night." He recalled the occurrences before he fell 5 asleep. The strange man with a keg of liquor — the moun- tain ravine — the 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! " 10. He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten. He now suspected that the grave roysters of the mountain had put a trick upon him, 15 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 partridge. He whistled after him and shouted his name, but all in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but no dog w^as to 20 be seen. 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. As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his usual activity. 25 " These mountain beds do not agree with me," thought Rip, " and if this frolic should lay me up with a fit of the rheumatism, I shall have a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle." With some diflSculty he got down into the glen: he found the gully up which he and his companion 30 had ascended the preceding evening; but to his astonish- ment a mountain stream was now foaming down it, leap- ing from rock to rock, and filling the glen with babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble up its sides, working his toilsome way through thickets of birch, Rip Van Winkle 35 sassafras, and witch-hazel, and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild grapevines that twisted their coils or tendrils from tree to tree, and spread a kind of net- work in his path. At length he reached to where the ravine had opened 5 through the cliffs to the amphitheater; but no traces of such opening remained. The rocks presented a high im- penetrable 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, 10 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 scofiE 15 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 gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve among the mountains. He shook his head, shoul- 20 dered 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 peo- ple, but none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, for he had thought himself acquainted with every 25 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 invariably stroked their chins. The constant recurrence of this gesture in- 30 duced 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, 36 The Sketch Book and pointing at his gray beard. The dogs, too, not one of which he recognized 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 5 w^hich 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 10 were not bewitched. Surely this was his native village, which he had left but the day before. There stood the Kaatskill mountains — there ran the silver Hudson at a distance — there was every hill and dale precisely as it had alwaj^s been — Rip was sorely perplexed — " That flagon 15 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, expect- ing every moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone to decay — the roof 20 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 name, but the cur snarled, showed his teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed — " My very dog," sighed poor Rip, 25 "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 desolateness overcame all his connubial fears — he called loudly for 30 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 Rip Van Winkle 37 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 now was reared a tall naked pole, with 5 something on the top that looked like a red night-cap, 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 10 so many a peaceful pipe; but even this was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed