The Birmingham age-herald., 1907-07-07
RETURN OF RIP VAN TWINKLE

1 him, but that's rotten and gone, too" | "Where's Brom Dutcher?" O. he went off to the army at the beginning of the wars some say he was killed at the storming of Stony Point I others say he was drowned in a squall l at the foot of Anthony's Nose. I don't | know-he never came back again" "Wheres Van Bummel, the schoolmas- ter?'
 "He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general and is now in Con- gress."
 Rips heart died away at hearing of these sad changes in his home and friends, and finding himself thus alone in the world. Every answer puzzled him, too, by treating of such enormous lapses of time, and of matters which he could not understand; war-Congress-Stony Point-he had no more courage to ask after any more friends, but cried out in despair: Does nobody here know Rip Van Winlkle?'
 70, Rip Van Winklei" exclaimed two or three, 70, to be sure; that's Rip Van Wrinkle wonder, leaning against the tree"
 Rip looked and beheld precise coun- terpart of himself, as he went up the mountain; apparently as lazy and cer- tainly as ragged The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own identity and whether he was himself or another man. In the midst of his bewilderment, the man in the cooked hat demanded who he was, and what was his name.
 God knows" exclaimed he at his wits end; I'm not myself-Pm somebody else that's me yonder-no-thats somebody else got into my shoes-I was myself last night, but fell asleep on the noun tain, and they've changed my gun, and everythings changed, and I'm changed, and can't tell what's my name, or who l amr'
 At this critical moment fresh, come 1y woman pressed through the throng to get a peep at the gray bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to cry. Flush, Rip," cried she, hush, you little fool; the old man won't hurt you" The name of the child, the air of the ened train of recollections in his mind.
 Whats your name my good woman?" as .ed he.
 ".udith Gardenier."
 And your fathers name?"
 "Ah, poor man, Rip Van Wrinkle was his name, but it's twenty years since he went away from~home with his gun, and never has been heard of since-his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl.'
 Rip had but one question to ask; but he put 1t with a faltering voice:
 Where's your mother?"
 70, she. too, had died but short time since; she broke a blood vessel in a l. of passion at a New England ped dler."
 Thers was a drop of comfort at least in this intelligence. The honest man could contain himself no longer He caught his daughter and her child in his arms. T am your father!" cried he, young Rip Van Wrinkle once-old Rip Van Wrinkle now!--Does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle?'
 All stood amazed until an old woman, tottering out from among the crowd, p-,t her hand to her brow, and peering under 1t at his face for a moment, ex- claimed: Sure enough 1t is Rip Van Winkle-it Is himselfl Welcome home again, old neighbor. Why, where have you been these twenty long years?"
 Rips daughter took him home to live with her; she had snug. well furnish ed house, and stout, cheery farmer for a husband, whom Rip recollected for one of the urchins that used to climb upon his back As for Rips son and heir, who was the ditto of himself seen 1ean- ing against the tree, he was employed to work on the farm; but evinced an hereditary disposition to attend to any thing else but his business.