Page 24 - Four Famous American Writers: Washington Irving, Edgar Allan Poe, James Russell Lowell, Bayard Taylor
P. 24

Rip is just the sort of fellow to have some sort of adventure, and we are not
               at all astonished when we find him helping the dwarf carry his keg of liquor

               up the mountain. The description of "the odd-looking personages playing at
               nine-pins" whom he finds on entering the amphitheater, is a perfect picture

               in words; for the truly great writer is a painter of pictures quite as much as
               the great artist.



                "They were dressed in a quaint outlandish fashion; some wore short
               doublets, others jerkins, with long knives in their belts. Their visages, too,

               were peculiar: one had a large head, broad face, and small piggish eyes; the
               face of another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was surmounted by
               a white sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red cock’s tail. They all had

               beards of various shapes and colors. There was one who seemed to be the
               commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with a weather-beaten

               countenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and hanger, high-crowned
               hat and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled shoes, with roses in them...
               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 of the
                scene but the noise of the balls, which, whenever they were rolled, echoed
               along the mountains like rumbling peals of thunder."



               But now comes a surprise. Rip indulges too freely in the contents of the keg

               and falls asleep. When he wakes he finds a rusty old gun beside him, and he
               whistles in vain for his dog. He goes back to the village; but every thing
               and everybody is strange and changed. Putting his hand to his chin he finds

               that his beard has grown a foot. He has been sleeping twenty years.



               But you must read the story for yourselves. It will bear reading many times,
               and each time you will find in it something to smile at and enjoy.
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