The sketch-book of Geoffrey Crayon, gent[pseud.] together with Abbotsford and other selections from the writings of Washington Irving .. . rely this was hisnative village, which he had left but the day before. Therestood the Kaatskill mountains — there ran the silver Hudsonat a distance — there was every hill and dale precisely asit had always been. Rip was sorely perplexed. That flagonlast night, thought he, has addled my poor head sadly! 28. It was with some difficulty that he found the way tohis own house, which he approached with silent awe, expectingevery moment to hear the shrill voice o
The sketch-book of Geoffrey Crayon, gent[pseud.] together with Abbotsford and other selections from the writings of Washington Irving .. . rely this was hisnative village, which he had left but the day before. Therestood the Kaatskill mountains — there ran the silver Hudsonat a distance — there was every hill and dale precisely asit had always been. Rip was sorely perplexed. That flagonlast night, thought he, has addled my poor head sadly! 28. It was with some difficulty that he found the way tohis own house, which he approached with silent awe, expectingevery moment to hear the shrill voice of Dame Van found the house gone to decay — the roof fallen in, thewindows shattered, and the doors off the hinges. A half-starved dog that looked like Wolf was skulking about called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his EIP VAN WINKLE 279 teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed. Myvery dog/ sighed poor Rip, has forgotten me! 29. He entered the house, which, to tell the truth. DameVan Winkle had always kept in neat order. It was empty,forlorn, and apparently abandoned. This desolateness over-. My very Dog has forgottet^ Me! From a drawing by F. O. C. Darley came all his connubial fears — he called loudly for his wifeand children — the lonely chambers rang for a moment withhis voice, and then all again was silence. 30. He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort,the village inn — but it too was gone. A large ricketywooden building stood in its place, with great gaping windows,some of them broken and mended with old hats and petticoats,and over the door was painted, The Union Hotel, by Jona-than Doolittle. Instead of the great tree that used toshelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore, there now was reared 280 THE SKETCH-BOOK a tall naked pole, with something on the top that looked likea red night-cap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on whichwas a singular assemblage of stars and stripes; — all this wasstrange and inco
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