" It was some time before he could get into the
regular track of gossip, or could be made to comprehend the
strange events that had taken place during his torpor. How that
there had been a revolutionary war--that the country had thrown
off the yoke of old England--and that, instead of being a subject
to his Majesty George the Third, he was now a free citizen of the
United States. Rip, in fact, was no politician; the changes of
states and empires made but little impression on him; but there
was one species of despotism under which he had long groaned, and
that was--petticoat government. Happily, that was at an end; he
had got his neck out of the yoke of matrimony, and could go in
and out whenever he pleased, without dreading the tyranny of Dame
Van Winkle. Whenever her name was mentioned, however, he shook
his head, shrugged his shoulders, and cast up his eyes; which
might pass either for an expression of resignation to his fate,
or joy at his deliverance.
He used to tell his story to every stranger that arrived at Mr.
Doolittle's hotel. He was observed, at first, to vary on some
points every time he told it, which was, doubtless, owing to his
having so recently awaked. 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.
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