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ing under); and a list of twelve, with ante or pre (meaning before), or with post (meaning after).

IV. Lows, deems, lists, argument, creed, enamel, hermitage, covet, inhaled, soared, enchantment, noisome.

V. The thought of "each and all" is that of the relation of dependence of the part upon the whole-a relation extending far beyond the knowledge of the individual; and the difference in degrees of insight or wisdom that people possess, lies just in their different powers of seeing things in their relation to the whole, and of seeing the whole itself. Standing on a hill, you see clown and heifer, unconscious that they add a charm to the landscape seen by you, as the sexton was unconscious of the delight given to Napoleon. A good life is a silent argument to strengthen your neighbor's good principles. Each lives for all and all live for each, whether we see the connecting links of it or not. As all the parts of the landscape contribute to the beauty of the whole (6 and 7), but no one is beautiful by itself, so it is with the individuals of society. The bird's song is just in place in the field or forest; the shell is prettier on the shore." The savage sea greeted ”-as though the sea bellowed when it saw the shells escaping from its waves into my hands. "Woven still by the snow-white choir"—she looked more beautiful among the other maidens. "I covet truth "-i. e., in preference to all this seeming or appearance which is lent to things by their surroundings, and does not belong to them in reality; truth is their reality, in contrast to their seeming. But then (14) the question arose in the poet's mind, "Are these things true and real in their separate existence, or only in this very relation to other things which makes them seem? The pine, the moss, the violet, oaks, firs, rivers, birds-all are necessary to the landscape, and each is dependent on something external to itself-dependent on its surroundings: the plants depend on the ground, and the water, and the air; the animals depend on the plants, water, and air; and the poet depends on them all, and likewise poetically enjoys the whole landscape, which would not be the delightful thing it is if you took away a single one of its elements: Each is for all.

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XCIII. RIP VAN WINKLE'S SLEEP.

1. In a long ramble, on a fine autumnal day, Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill Mountains. He was after his favorite sport of squirrel-shooting, and the still solitudes had echoed and reëchoed with the reports of his gun.

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Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon, on a green knoll covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the brow of the 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 in 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.

2. 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 sun. 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.

3. 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 mountains. 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! Rip Van Winkle!" At the same time, Wolf bristled up his back, and, giving a loud growl, skulked to his master's side, looking fearfully down the glen.

4. 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 neighborhood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield it.

5. 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 grizzled 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 full of liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the load.

6. 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.

7. 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 labored on in silence; for though the former marveled greatly what

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