He recognized on the sign, however, the ruby face of
King George, under which he had smoked so many a peaceful pipe; but
even this was singularly metamorphosed. The red coat was changed for
one of blue and buff, a sword was held in the hand instead of a
sceptre, the head was decorated with a cocked hat, and underneath
was painted in large characters, GENERAL WASHINGTON.
There was, as usual, a crowd of folk about the door, but none that
Rip recollected. The very character of the people seemed changed.
There was a busy, bustling, disputatious tone about it, instead of the
accustomed phlegm and drowsy tranquillity. He looked in vain for the
sage Nicholas Vedder, with his broad face, double chin, and fair
long pipe, uttering clouds of tobacco-smoke instead of idle
speeches; or Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, doling forth the contents
of an ancient newspaper. In place of these, a lean, bilious-looking
fellow, with his pockets full of handbills, was haranguing
vehemently about rights of citizens- elections- members of congress-
liberty- Bunker's Hill- heroes of seventy-six- and other words,
which were a perfect Babylonish jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle.
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