It at last settled down precisely to the tale I
have related, and not a man, woman, or child in the neighborhood,
but knew it by heart. Some always pretended to doubt the reality of
it, and insisted that Rip had been out of his head, and that this
was one point on which he always remained flighty. The old Dutch
inhabitants, however, almost universally gave it full credit. Even
to this day they never hear a thunderstorm of a summer afternoon about
the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at
their game of nine-pins; and it is a common wish of all hen-pecked
husbands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands,
that they might have a quieting draught out of Rip Van Winkle's
flagon.
NOTE.
The foregoing Tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to Mr.
Knickerbocker by a little German superstition about the Emperor
Frederick der Rothbart, and the Kyffhauser mountain: the subjoined
note, however, which he had appended to the tale, shows that it is
an absolute fact, narrated with his usual fidelity:
"The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, but
nevertheless I give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity of
our old Dutch settlements to have been very subject to marvellous
events and appearances.
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