s which sometimes took place,
when by chance an old newspaper fell into their hands from some passing
traveler. How solemnly they would listen to the contents, as drawled out
by Derrick Van Bummel, the schoolmaster,--a dapper, learned little man,
who was not to be daunted by the most gigantic word in the dictionary!
and how sagely they would deliberate upon public events some months
after they had taken place!

The opinions of this [v]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 neighbors 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 to 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
vapor curl about his nose, would nod his head in approbation.

From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed by his
[v]termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the tranquility of
the assemblage, and call the members all to naught; nor was that august
personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred from the daring tongue of
this terrible virago, who charged him with encouraging her husband in
habits of idleness.

Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only
[v]alternative, to escape from the labor of the farm and clamor of his
wife, was to take gun in hand and stroll away into the woods. Here he
would sometimes seat himself 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 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 [v]reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart.

In a long ramble of the