resolution displayed on all
occasions by their new governor, that they universally called him
Hard-Koppig Piet; or Peter the Headstrong--a great compliment to the
strength of his understanding.

If, from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy reader,
that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiant, weather-beaten,
mettlesome, obstinate, leather-sided, lion-hearted, generous-spirited
old governor, either I have written to but little purpose, or thou art
very dull at drawing conclusions.

II

THE AWAKENING OF RIP VAN WINKLE[52]

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll 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 have not slept here all
night." He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange
man with a keg of liquor--the mountain ravine--the wild retreat among
the rocks--the wo-begone party at nine-pins--the flagon--"Oh! that
flagon! that wicked flagon!" thought Rip--"what excuse shall I make to
Dame Van Winkle!"

[Footnote 52: From the "Sketch Book," originally published in parts in
1819-20, "Rip Van Winkle" being included in the first number. Irving's
story has furnished the material for eight or ten plays, the most
successful of which was written by Dion Boucicault. Boucicault's work
was materially altered by Joseph Jefferson into the play now closely
associated with Jefferson's fame.]

He looked round for his gun, but in place of the clean well-oiled
fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by him, the barrel
incrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten.
He now suspected that the grave roysterers of the mountain had put a
trick upon him, and, having dosed him with liquor, had robbed him of
his gun. Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away
after a squirrel or partridge. He whistled after him and shouted his
name, but all in vain; the echoes repeated his whistle and shout, but
no dog was to be seen.

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol, and
if he met with any of the party, to demand his dog and gun. As he rose
to walk, he found himself stiff in the joints, and wanting in his
usual activity. "These mountain beds do not agree with me," thought
Rip, "and if this frolic should lay me up wi