never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edge-tool that grows keener by constant use. For a long while he used to console himself, when driven from home, by frequenting a kind of perpetual club of the sages, philosophers, and other idle personages of the village, that held its sessions on a bench before a small inn, designated by a rubicund portrait of his majesty George III. 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.

The opinions of this 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 anything 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 stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by his justly indignant wife. 'The poor easy fool,' as she called him, found it necessary to wander farther from home to be secure from his wife's intrusion.

VAN WINKLE ON THE MOUNTAIN.

Poor Rip, to escape from the labour of the farm and the clamour of his wife, would often take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods with his four-footed companion. In a long ramble on a fine autumnal day, Rip had unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill Mountains. As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance hallooing, '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 felt a vague apprehension stealing over him; he looked down 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. stranger made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the load, which turned out to be a stout keg full of liquor. 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, and 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 there was something

The

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 company of odd-looking personages playing at ninepins. As Rip and his companion approached them they suddenly desisted from their play, and stared at him with such a 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 signs 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 overpowered, his eyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined, and he fell into a deep sleep.

VAN WINKLE ON AWAKING.

On awaking, our hero 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 must have slept here all night.' With an anxious heart Rip

turned his steps homeward, wondering what excuse he should make to Dame Van Winkle.

As he approached the village he met a number of people, but none whom he knew. They all stared at him with surprise, and invariably stroked their chins. The constant recurrence of this gesture induced Rip involuntarily to do the same, when to his astonishment he found his beard had grown a foot. He had now entered the outskirts 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 whole village was altered; strange names were over the doors, strange faces at the windows,-everything was strange. 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. He found the house gone to decay-the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about. 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, 'has forgotten me.'

A crowd collected round the strange old man, curious to know who he was, and whence he came. His story was soon told, for though he had been asleep for twenty years, the whole time seemed to him but as one night. All stood amazed and incredulous.

At this moment Peter Vanderdonk was seen slowly advancing up the road. He was the most ancient inhabitant of the village. He recollected

Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the most satisfactory manner. He assured the company that it was well known the Kaatskill Mountains had always been haunted by strange beings, and that, in particular, the great Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and country, kept a kind of festival there every twenty years, with his crew of the Half-moon.

WASHINGTON IRVING (abridged).

At the time when fairies and genii possessed the powers which they have now lost, there lived in the country of the Brachmans a man named Indur, who was distinguished, not only for that gentleness of

1 In India the Brahmins teach the doctrine of the transmigration of souls-that when a man dies his soul passes into some other body, perhaps of an animal or a bird. The poor Hindoos are sometimes afraid of killing a fly lest it should contain the soul of a relative.