Download the Full Ebook and Access More Features - ebooknice.

com

(Ebook) Wordpress plugin Development by Williams,

Brad; Tadlock, Justin; James Jacoby, John; Justin
Tadlock; John James Jacoby

https://ebooknice.com/product/wordpress-plugin-
development-11710648

OR CLICK HERE

DOWLOAD EBOOK

Download more ebook instantly today at https://ebooknice.com

 Instant digital products (PDF, ePub, MOBI) ready for you
Download now and discover formats that fit your needs...

Start reading on any device today!

(Ebook) Professional WordPress Plugin Development by Williams, Brad, Richard, Ozh,

Tadlock, Justin ISBN 9780470916223, 0470916222

https://ebooknice.com/product/professional-wordpress-plugin-development-55460870

ebooknice.com

(Ebook) Piano adventures Performance 3b by Nancy and Randall Faber

https://ebooknice.com/product/piano-adventures-performance-3b-52393612

ebooknice.com

(Ebook) Biota Grow 2C gather 2C cook by Loucas, Jason; Viles, James ISBN
9781459699816, 9781743365571, 9781925268492, 1459699815, 1743365578, 1925268497

https://ebooknice.com/product/biota-grow-2c-gather-2c-cook-6661374

ebooknice.com

(Ebook) Matematik 5000+ Kurs 2c Lärobok by Lena Alfredsson, Hans Heikne, Sanna
Bodemyr ISBN 9789127456600, 9127456609

https://ebooknice.com/product/matematik-5000-kurs-2c-larobok-23848312

ebooknice.com
(Ebook) SAT II Success MATH 1C and 2C 2002 (Peterson's SAT II Success) by Peterson's
ISBN 9780768906677, 0768906679

https://ebooknice.com/product/sat-ii-success-math-1c-and-2c-2002-peterson-s-sat-
ii-success-1722018

ebooknice.com

(Ebook) Master SAT II Math 1c and 2c 4th ed (Arco Master the SAT Subject Test: Math
Levels 1 & 2) by Arco ISBN 9780768923049, 0768923042

https://ebooknice.com/product/master-sat-ii-math-1c-and-2c-4th-ed-arco-master-
the-sat-subject-test-math-levels-1-2-2326094

ebooknice.com

(Ebook) Cambridge IGCSE and O Level History Workbook 2C - Depth Study: the United
States, 1919-41 2nd Edition by Benjamin Harrison ISBN 9781398375147, 9781398375048,
1398375144, 1398375047

https://ebooknice.com/product/cambridge-igcse-and-o-level-history-
workbook-2c-depth-study-the-united-states-1919-41-2nd-edition-53538044

ebooknice.com

(Ebook) Crime, violence, and global warming by John P Crank; Linda S Jacoby ISBN
9780323265096, 032326509X

https://ebooknice.com/product/crime-violence-and-global-warming-4926620

ebooknice.com

(Ebook) Theory Construction and Model-Building Skills: A Practical Guide for Social
Scientists by James Jaccard, Jacob Jacoby ISBN 9781462542437, 1462542433

https://ebooknice.com/product/theory-construction-and-model-building-skills-a-
practical-guide-for-social-scientists-12309446

ebooknice.com
Table of Contents
COVER
FOREWORD
INTRODUCTION
WHO THIS BOOK IS FOR
WHAT YOU NEED TO USE THIS BOOK
WHAT THIS BOOK COVERS
HOW THIS BOOK IS STRUCTURED
CONVENTIONS
SOURCE CODE
ERRATA
1 An Introduction to Plugins
WHAT IS A PLUGIN?
AVAILABLE PLUGINS
ADVANTAGES OF PLUGINS
INSTALLING AND MANAGING PLUGINS
SUMMARY
2 Plugin Framework
REQUIREMENTS FOR PLUGINS
BEST PRACTICES
PLUGIN HEADER
DETERMINING PATHS
ACTIVATE/DEACTIVATE FUNCTIONS
UNINSTALL METHODS
CODING STANDARDS
SUMMARY
3 Dashboard and Settings
ADDING MENUS AND SUBMENUS
PLUGIN SETTINGS
THE OPTIONS API
THE SETTINGS API
KEEPING IT CONSISTENT
SUMMARY
4 Security and Performance
SECURITY OVERVIEW
USER PERMISSIONS
NONCES
DATA VALIDATION AND SANITIZATION
FORMATTING SQL STATEMENTS
SECURITY GOOD HABITS
PERFORMANCE OVERVIEW
CACHING
TRANSIENTS
SUMMARY
5 Hooks
UNDERSTANDING HOOKS
ACTIONS
FILTERS
USING HOOKS FROM WITHIN A CLASS
USING HOOKS WITH ANONYMOUS FUNCTIONS
CREATING CUSTOM HOOKS
FINDING HOOKS
SUMMARY
6 JavaScript
 REGISTERING SCRIPTS
ENQUEUEING SCRIPTS
LIMITING SCOPE
LOCALIZING SCRIPTS
INLINE SCRIPTS
OVERVIEW OF BUNDLED SCRIPTS
POLYFILLS
YOUR CUSTOM SCRIPTS
jQuery
BACKBONE/UNDERSCORE
REACT
SUMMARY
7 Blocks and Gutenberg
WHAT IS GUTENBERG?
TOURING GUTENBERG
PRACTICAL EXAMPLES
TECHNOLOGY STACK OF GUTENBERG
“HELLO WORLD!” BLOCK
WP‐CLI SCAFFOLDING
CREATE‐GUTEN‐BLOCK TOOLKIT
BLOCK DIRECTORY
SUMMARY
8 Content
CREATING CUSTOM POST TYPES
POST METADATA
META BOXES
CREATING CUSTOM TAXONOMIES
USING CUSTOM TAXONOMIES
 A POST TYPE, POST METADATA, AND TAXONOMY
PLUGIN
SUMMARY
9 Users and User Data
WORKING WITH USERS
ROLES AND CAPABILITIES
LIMITING ACCESS
CUSTOMIZING ROLES
SUMMARY
10 Scheduled Tasks
WHAT IS CRON?
SCHEDULING CRON EVENTS
TRUE CRON
PRACTICAL USE
SUMMARY
11 Internationalization
INTERNATIONALIZATION AND LOCALIZATION
CREATING TRANSLATION FILES
SUMMARY
12 REST API
WHAT THE REST API IS
WHAT YOU CAN DO WITH THE REST API
ACCESSING THE WORDPRESS REST API
THE HTTP API
WORDPRESS’ HTTP FUNCTIONS
BRINGING IT ALL TOGETHER
SUMMARY
13 Multisite
 TERMINOLOGY
ADVANTAGES OF MULTISITE
ENABLING MULTISITE IN WORDPRESS
MULTISITE FUNCTIONS
DATABASE SCHEMA
QUERY CLASSES
OBJECT CLASSES
SUMMARY
14 The Kitchen Sink
QUERYING AND DISPLAYING POSTS
SHORTCODES
WIDGETS
DASHBOARD WIDGETS
REWRITE RULES
THE HEARTBEAT API
SUMMARY
15 Debugging
COMPATIBILITY
DEBUGGING
ERROR LOGGING
QUERY MONITOR
SUMMARY
16 The Developer Toolbox
CORE AS REFERENCE
PLUGIN DEVELOPER HANDBOOK
CODEX
TOOL WEBSITES
COMMUNITY RESOURCES
 TOOLS
SUMMARY
INDEX
END USER LICENSE AGREEMENT

List of Tables
Chapter 3
TABLE 3-1: List of Core Sections and Fields
Chapter 12
TABLE 12-1: Main HTTP Status Codes
TABLE 12-2: HTTP Status Code Classes
TABLE 12-3: Default Settings of wp_remote_ Functions
Optional Parameters

List of Illustrations
Chapter 1
FIGURE 1-1: Loading a page in WordPress
FIGURE 1-2: Plugins menu
FIGURE 1-3: Install Now button
FIGURE 1-4: Types and statuses for plugins
Chapter 3
FIGURE 3-1: Custom registered menu
FIGURE 3-2: Submenus
FIGURE 3-3: Submenu labeled PDEV Settings
FIGURE 3-4: Plugin management page
FIGURE 3-5: Error message
 FIGURE 3-6: Section appended
FIGURE 3-7: Singular field
FIGURE 3-8: Heading levels
FIGURE 3-9: Dashicons
FIGURE 3-10: Dismissable notices
FIGURE 3-11: WordPress-styled button
FIGURE 3-12: Link styled to look like a button
FIGURE 3-13: WordPress-like options
FIGURE 3-14: Table style
FIGURE 3-15: Pagination style
Chapter 4
FIGURE 4-1: Insufficient privileges
FIGURE 4-2: Expired link message
FIGURE 4-3: Rogue JavaScript running
FIGURE 4-4: Related Posts list
Chapter 7
FIGURE 7-1: Classic Editor, not covered in this chapter
FIGURE 7-2: Gutenberg
FIGURE 7-3: Block Library menu
FIGURE 7-4: Categories of blocks
FIGURE 7-5: View options
FIGURE 7-6: Sidebar's Document menu
FIGURE 7-7: Sidebar's Block menu and formatting toolbar
FIGURE 7-8: WooCommerce blocks
FIGURE 7-9: Newest Products block
 FIGURE 7-10: Event Calendar blocks
FIGURE 7-11: Post Type Switcher plugin
FIGURE 7-12: webpack finishing successfully
FIGURE 7-13: Our “Hello world!” block in the Block
Library
FIGURE 7-14: Selecting our new block
FIGURE 7-15: Editing a post
FIGURE 7-16: WP-CLI scaffold generated
FIGURE 7-17: Build Step 1
FIGURE 7-18: Build Step 2
FIGURE 7-19: Build Step 3
FIGURE 7-20: My Block in Block Library
FIGURE 7-21: My Block in Content Area
Chapter 8
FIGURE 8-1: Books admin menu and screen
FIGURE 8-2: Tags submenu item
FIGURE 8-3: Genres submenu
Chapter 9
FIGURE 9-1: New form on the user edit page
FIGURE 9-2: New roles
Chapter 10
FIGURE 10-1: Scheduled Events page
FIGURE 10-2: Number output
Chapter 11
FIGURE 11-1: Settings box
Chapter 12
 FIGURE 12-1: Unformatted JSON
FIGURE 12-2: Formatted JSON
FIGURE 12-3: Post results
FIGURE 12-4: Error message
FIGURE 12-5: Authentication worked
FIGURE 12-6: “My Time at Crystal Lake” post
Chapter 13
FIGURE 13-1: Tools ➪ Network menu options
Chapter 14
FIGURE 14-1: Simple post list
FIGURE 14-2: Widgets admin screen
FIGURE 14-3: Favorites list
FIGURE 14-4: Custom dashboard widget
FIGURE 14-5: Custom dashboard widget
Chapter 15
FIGURE 15-1: Admin Toolbar menu item
FIGURE 15-2: Query Monitor interface
FIGURE 15-3: Database queries
Chapter 16
FIGURE 16-1: Function with parameters
FIGURE 16-2: Codex search options
FIGURE 16-3: WordPress PHPXref
FIGURE 16-4: Function list
PROFESSIONAL
WORDPRESS® PLUGIN
DEVELOPMENT

Second Edition

Brad Williams

Justin Tadlock

John James Jacoby

FOREWORD
This book will teach you how to develop for WordPress. WordPress
has, over the past two decades, grown into the CMS that powers
more than one‐third of all websites. If you're proficient at
WordPress development, you'll never be out of a job again.
Starting out as a simple blogging system, over the last few years
WordPress has morphed into a fully featured and widely used
content management system. It offers individuals and companies
worldwide a free and open source alternative to closed source and
often very expensive systems.
When I say fully featured, that's really only true because of the
ability to add any functionality needed in the form of a plugin. The
core of WordPress is simple: you add in functionality with plugins
as you need it. Developing plugins allows you to stand on the
shoulders of a giant: you can showcase your specific area of
expertise and help users benefit while not having to deal with parts
of WordPress you don't care or know about.
When I wrote the foreword of this book's first edition, nine years
ago, I'd just started my own company. That company has since
grown to consist of 100+ people, and our plugins are used on more
than 10 million sites—all through the power of open source and
plugins.
I wished that when I started developing plugins for WordPress as a
hobby, almost 15 years back, this book had been around. I used it as
a reference countless times since, and I still regularly hand this
book to new colleagues.
The authors of this book have always been a source of good
information and wonderful forces in the WordPress community.
Each of them is an expert in his own right; together they are one of
the best teams that could have been gathered to write this book, and
I'm glad they're here for a second edition.
WordPress makes it easy for people to have their say through
words, sound, and visuals. For those who write code, WordPress
allows you to express yourself in code. And it's simple. Anyone can
write a WordPress plugin. With this guide in hand, you can write a
plugin that is true to WordPress’ original vision: code is poetry.
Happy coding!
Joost de Valk
Yoast.com
INTRODUCTION
Dear reader, thank you for picking up this book! You have probably
heard about WordPress already, the most popular self‐hosted
content management system (CMS) and blogging software in use
today. WordPress powers literally millions of websites on the
Internet, including high‐profile sites such as TechCrunch and
multiple Microsoft websites. What makes WordPress so popular is
that it's free, open source, and extendable beyond limits. Thanks to
a powerful, architecturally sound, and easy‐to‐use plugin system,
you can customize how WordPress works and extend its
functionalities. There are already more than 55,000 plugins freely
available in the official plugin repository, but they won't suit all
your needs or client requests. That's where this book comes in
handy!
As of this writing, we (Brad, Justin, and John) have publicly
released more than 100 plugins, which have been downloaded
millions of times, and that's not counting private client work. This is
a precious combined experience that we are going to leverage to
teach you how to code your own plugins for WordPress by taking a
hands‐on approach with practical examples and real‐life situations
you will encounter with your clients.
The primary reason we wanted to write this book is to create a
preeminent resource for WordPress plugin developers. When
creating plugins for WordPress, it can be a challenge to find the
resources needed in a single place. Many of the online tutorials and
guides are outdated and recommend incorrect methods for plugin
development. This book is one of the most extensive collections of
plugin development information to date and should be considered
required reading for anyone wanting to explore WordPress plugin
development from the ground up.
WHO THIS BOOK IS FOR
This book is for professional web developers who want to make
WordPress work exactly how they and their clients want. WordPress
has already proven an exceptional platform for building any type of
site from simple static pages to networks of full‐featured
communities. Learning how to code plugins will help you get the
most out of WordPress and have a cost‐effective approach to
developing per‐client features.
This book is also for the code freelancers who want to broaden their
skill portfolio, understand the inner workings of WordPress
functionality, and take on WordPress gigs. Since WordPress is the
most popular software to code and power websites, it is crucial that
you understand how things run under the hood and how you can
make the engine work your way. Learning how to code plugins will
be a priceless asset to add to your résumé and business card.
Finally, this book is for hobbyist PHP programmers who want to
tinker with how their WordPress blog works, discover the infinite
potential of lean and flexible source code, and learn how they can
interact with the flow of events. The beauty of open source is that
it's easy to learn from and easy to give back in turn. This book will
help you take your first step into a community that will welcome
your creativity and contribution.
Simply put, this book is for anyone who wants to extend the way
WordPress works, whether it is for fun or profit.

WHAT YOU NEED TO USE THIS BOOK

This book assumes you already have a web server and WordPress
running. For your convenience, it is preferred that your web server
runs on your localhost, as it will be easier to modify plugin files as
you read through the book, but an online server is also fine.
Code snippets written in PHP are the backbone of this book. You
should be comfortable with reading and writing basic PHP code or
referring to PHP's documentation to fill any gaps in knowledge
about fundamental functions. Advanced PHP code tricks are
explained, so you don't need to be a PHP expert.
You will need to have rudimentary HTML knowledge to fully
understand all the code. A basic acquaintance with database and
MySQL syntax will help with grasping advanced subjects. To make
the most of the chapter dedicated to JavaScript and Ajax,
comprehension of JavaScript code will be a plus.
WHAT THIS BOOK COVERS
As of this writing, WordPress 5.5 is around the corner, and this book
has been developed alongside this version. Following the best
coding practices outlined in this book and using built‐in APIs are
keys to future‐proof code that will not be deprecated when a newer
version of WordPress is released. We believe that every code snippet
in this book will still be accurate and up‐to‐date for several years,
just as several plugins we coded many years ago are still completely
functional today.
HOW THIS BOOK IS STRUCTURED
This book is, to date, one of the most powerful and comprehensive
resources you can find about WordPress plugins. Advanced areas of
the many WordPress APIs are covered, such as the REST API, cron
jobs, and custom post types. This book is divided into three major
parts. Reading the first five chapters is required if you are taking
your first steps in the wonders of WordPress plugins. Chapters 6
through 9 will cover most common topics in coding plugins, and
understanding them will be useful when reading subsequent
chapters. The remaining chapters cover advanced APIs and
functions, can be read in any order, and will sometimes refer to
other chapters for details on a particular function.

CONVENTIONS
To help you get the most from the text and keep track of what's
happening, we've used a number of conventions throughout the
book.

WARNING Boxes with a warning label like this one hold

important, not‐to‐be‐forgotten information that is directly
relevant to the surrounding text.

NOTE The note label indicates notes, tips, hints, tricks, and
asides to the current discussion.

As for styles in the text:

We italicize new terms and important words when we

introduce them.
We show keyboard strokes like this: Ctrl+A.
 We show filenames, URLs, and code within the text like so:
persistence.properties.

We present code in two different ways:

We use a monofont type with no highlighting for most code

examples.
We use bold to emphasize code that is particularly
important in the present context or to show changes from
a previous code snippet.

SOURCE CODE
As you work through the examples in this book, you may choose
either to type in all the code manually or to use the source code files
that accompany the book. All the source code used in this book is
available for download at www.wiley.com/go/prowordpressdev2e on
the Downloads tab.

NOTE Because many books have similar titles, you may find it
easiest to search by ISBN; this book's ISBN is 978‐1‐119‐66694‐3.

ERRATA
We make every effort to ensure that there are no errors in the text
or in the code. However, no one is perfect, and mistakes do occur. If
you find an error in one of our books, such as a spelling mistake or
faulty piece of code, we would be grateful for your feedback. By
sending in errata, you may save another reader hours of frustration,
and at the same time, you will be helping us provide even higher‐
quality information.
To find the errata page for this book, go to www.wiley.com and locate
the title using the Search box. Then, on the book details page, click
the Errata link. On this page, you can view all errata that have been
submitted for this book and posted by editors. If you don't spot
“your” error on the Errata page, go to support.wiley.com and follow
the directions to contact technical support and open a ticket to
submit the error. We'll check the information and, if appropriate,
post a message to the book's errata page and fix the problem in
subsequent printings of the book.
1
An Introduction to Plugins
WHAT'S IN THIS CHAPTER?
Understanding what a plugin is
Using available WordPress APIs
Finding examples of popular plugins
Separating plugin and theme functionality
Managing and installing plugins
Understanding types of WordPress plugins

WordPress is the most popular open source content management

system available today. One of the primary reasons WordPress is so
popular is the ease with which you can customize and extend
WordPress through plugins. WordPress has an amazing framework
in place that gives plugin developers the tools needed to extend
WordPress in any way imaginable.
Understanding how plugins work, and the tools available in
WordPress, is critical knowledge when developing professional
WordPress plugins.

WHAT IS A PLUGIN?
A plugin in WordPress is a PHP‐based script that extends or alters
the core functionality of WordPress. Quite simply, plugins are files
installed in WordPress to add a feature, or set of features, to
WordPress. Plugins can range in complexity from a simple social
networking plugin to an extremely elaborate eCommerce package.
There is no limit to what a plugin can do in WordPress; because of
this, there is no shortage of plugins available for download.

How Plugins Interact with WordPress

WordPress features many different APIs for use in your plugin.
Each API, or application programming interface, helps interact with
WordPress in a different way. The following are the main available
APIs in WordPress and their function:

Plugin: Provides a set of hooks that enable plugins access to

specific parts of WordPress. WordPress contains two different
types of hooks: Actions and Filters. The Action hook enables
you to trigger custom plugin code at specific points during
execution. For example, you can trigger a custom function to
run after a user registers a user account in WordPress. The
Filter hook modifies text before adding it to or after retrieving it
from the database.
Widgets: Allows you to create and manage widgets in your
plugin. Widgets appear under the Appearance ➪ Widgets
screen and are available to add to any registered sidebar in your
theme. The API enables multiple instances of the same widget
to be used throughout your sidebars.
Shortcode: Adds shortcode support to your plugin. A
shortcode is a simple hook that enables you to call a PHP
function by adding something such as [shortcode] to a post or
page.
HTTP: Sends HTTP requests from your plugin. This API
retrieves content from an external URL or for submitting
content to a URL. Currently you have five different ways to
send an HTTP request. This API standardizes that process and
tests each method prior to executing. Based on your server
configuration, the API will use the appropriate method and
make the request.
 REST API: Allows developers to interact with your WordPress
website remotely by sending and receiving JavaScript Object
Notation (JSON) objects. You can create, read, update, and
delete (CRUD) content within WordPress. The REST API is
covered extensively in Chapter 12, “REST API.”
Settings: Inserts settings or a settings section for your plugin.
The primary advantage to using the Settings API is security. All
settings data is scrubbed, so you do not need to worry about
cross‐site request forgery (CSRF) and cross‐site scripting (XSS)
attacks when saving plugin settings.
Options: Stores and retrieves options in your plugin. This API
features the capability to create new options, update existing
options, delete options, and retrieve any option already defined.
Dashboard Widgets: Creates Dashboard widgets. Widgets
automatically appear on the WordPress Dashboard and contain
all standard customization features including minimize,
drag/drop, and screen options for hiding.
Rewrite: Creates custom rewrite rules in your plugin. This API
enables you to add static endpoints ( /custom‐page/), structure
tags ( %postname%), and feed links ( /feed/json/).
Transients: Creates temporary options (cached data) in your
plugins. This API is similar to the Options API, but all options
are saved with an expiration time.
Database: Accesses the WordPress database. This includes
creating, updating, deleting, and retrieving database records for
use in your plugins.
Theme Customization (Customize) API: Adds custom
website and theme options to the WordPress Customizer.
Theme customizations are displayed in a real‐time preview
prior to publishing to the live website.

There are additional, lesser known APIs that exist within the
WordPress Core software. To view a full list, visit the Core
Developer Handbook:
https://make.wordpress.org/core/handbook/best-practices/core-
apis

WordPress also features pluggable functions. These functions

enable you to override specific core functions in a plugin. For
example, the wp_mail() function is a pluggable function. You can
easily define this function in your plugin and send email using the
Simple Mail Transfer Protocol (SMTP) rather than the default
method. All pluggable functions are defined in the /wp‐
includes/pluggable.php WordPress Core file.

As an example, let's look at the wp_mail() pluggable function, which

starts with this line of code:
if ( ! function_exists( 'wp_mail' ) ) :

You can see that the code first checks to see whether a wp_mail()
function already exists using the function_exists() PHP function.
If you created your own custom wp_mail() function, that will be
used; if not, the WordPress Core version of wp_mail() will be used.

WARNING Pluggable functions are no longer being added to

WordPress Core. Newer functions utilize hooks for overriding
their functionality.

You can use some predefined functions during specific plugin tasks,
such as when a plugin is activated or deactivated and even when a
plugin is uninstalled. Chapter 2, “Plugin Framework,” covers these
functions in detail.

When Are Plugins Loaded?

Plugins are loaded early in the process when a WordPress‐powered
web page is called. Figure 1‐1 shows a high‐level diagram of the
standard loading process when loading a page in WordPress.
FIGURE 1‐1: Loading a page in WordPress
The flow changes slightly when loading an admin page. The
differences are minor and primarily concern what theme is loaded:
admin theme versus your website theme.
AVAILABLE PLUGINS
When researching available plugins, you need to know where to find
WordPress plugins. You can download plugins from many places on
the Internet, but this isn't always a good idea.

WARNING As with any software, downloading plugins from

an untrusted source could lead to malware‐injected and
compromised plugin files. It's best to download plugins only
from trusted websites and official sources such as the official
Plugin Directory.

Official Plugin Directory

The first place to start when researching available WordPress
plugins is the official Plugin Directory at WordPress.org. The Plugin
Directory is located at https://wordpress.org/plugins. With more
than 55,000 plugins available and millions of plugin downloads, it's
easy to see the vital role plugins play in every WordPress website.
All plugins available in the Plugin Directory are 100 percent GPL
and free to use for personal or commercial use.

Popular Plugin Examples

Take a look at some of the more popular WordPress plugins
available to get a sense of their diversity:

Yoast SEO: Advanced search engine optimization

functionality for WordPress. Features include custom metadata
for all content, canonical URLs, custom post type support, XML
sitemaps, and more!
https://wordpress.org/plugins/yoast-seo

WPForms: A powerful drag‐and‐drop form builder. Create

simple contact forms and powerful subscription payment
forms, all without writing a single line of code.
 https://wordpress.org/plugins/wpforms-lite

BuddyPress: A suite of components used to bring common

social networking features to your website. Features for online
communities include member profiles, activity streams, user
groups, messaging, and more!
https://wordpress.org/plugins/buddypress

WooCommerce: Advanced eCommerce solution built on

WordPress. This is an extremely powerful plugin allowing
anyone to sell physical and digital goods online.
https://wordpress.org/plugins/woocommerce

Custom Post Type UI: Easy‐to‐use interface for registering

and managing custom post types and taxonomies in WordPress.
https://wordpress.org/plugins/custom-post-type-ui

As you can see, the preceding plugins can handle a variety of

complex tasks. The features added by these plugins are universal
and features that many websites on the Internet could have.

Popular Plugin Tags

Now you will look at some popular tags for plugins. Plugin tags are
just like blog post tags, simple keywords that describe a plugin in
the Plugin Directory. This makes it easy to search for existing
plugins by tag. The following are popular examples:

Twitter: Everyone loves Twitter for micro‐blogging and

sharing links. You can find an abundance of Twitter‐related
plugins for WordPress.
https://wordpress.org/plugins/tags/twitter

Google: With so many different services and APIs, Google is a

popular plugin tag. Everything from Google ads to Google maps
have been integrated into a WordPress plugin.
 https://wordpress.org/plugins/tags/google

Blocks: Most plugins that include block editor integration also

use the blocks tag. This is great for viewing the many different
types of blocks available for WordPress.
https://wordpress.org/plugins/tags/blocks

Viewing popular plugin tags can provide inspiration when

developing new plugins for WordPress.

ADVANTAGES OF PLUGINS
WordPress offers many advantages when using plugins. It's
important to understand the advantages of building plugins to truly
understand why you should spend time building them. This can also
help when determining the need for a specific plugin in WordPress.

Not Modifying Core

One of the main advantages to plugins is the ability to modify the
behavior of WordPress without modifying any core files. Core files
refer to any file that is part of the default WordPress installation.
Hacking core files can make it difficult to update WordPress when a
new version is released. If you made any modifications to a core file,
that modification would be overwritten when the update occurs.
Keeping WordPress up‐to‐date with the latest version is essential in
keeping your website secure.
Modifying core files can also lead to an unstable website. Different
areas of WordPress rely on other areas to function as expected. If
you modify a core file and it no longer works as expected, it can
cause instability and quite possibly break a completely unrelated
feature in WordPress.
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
and culminating swiftness of action for a direct stroke of terror and
retribution. By 1836 Poe knew his art; he had only to refine it.
Continuing to apply his method of gradation in both modes, he
gained his own peculiar triumphs in the static,—in a situation
developed by exquisite gradation of such infinitesimal incidents as
compose Berenice to an intense climax of emotional suggestion,
rather than in a situation developed by gradation of events to a
climax of action. But in both he disclosed the fine art of the short
story in drawing down everything to a point.
For all this was comprehended in Poe’s conception of unity. All
these points of technical skill are derived from what he showed to be
the vital principle of the short story, its defining mark,—unity of
impression through strict unity of form. “Totality of interest,” an idea
caught from Schlegel, he laid down first as the principle of the short
21 22
poem, and then as the principle of the tale. And what this
theory of narrative should imply in practice is seen best in Poe. For
Hawthorne, though he too achieves totality of interest, is not so
surely a master of it precisely because he is not so sure of the
technic. His symbolism is often unified, as it were, by logical
summary; for Poe’s symbolism summary would be an impertinence.
Poe’s harmonisation, not otherwise, perhaps, superior to
Hawthorne’s, is more instructive as being more strictly the accord of
every word with one constantly dominant impression. His
simplification of narrative mechanism went in sheer technical skill
beyond the skill of any previous writer in opening a direct course to
a single revealing climax. His gradation, too, was a progressive
heightening and a nice drawing to scale. All this means that he
divined, realised, formulated the short story as a distinct form of art.
Before him was the tale, which, though by chance it might attain
self-consistency, was usually and typically incomplete, either a part
or an outline sketch; from his brain was born the short story as a
complete, finished, and self-sufficing whole.
 III. A GLANCE AT DERIVATION
ANCIENT TALES, MEDIÆVAL TALES, THE
MODERN FRENCH SHORT STORY
Milesian The nice questions of literary derivation cannot be
Tales. finally answered for the tale, any more than for other
literary forms, without large citation and analysis in particular. But,
pending fuller discussion, a general survey of the typical late Greek,
late Latin, and mediæval forms is full of suggestion. Stories being
primarily for pleasure and the pleasures of decadent Greece being
largely carnal, it can give no long amazement to find that the tales
popular along the Mediterranean of the Seleucids and the Ptolemies
23
were erotic and often frankly obscene. Known as Milesian tales,
doubtless from the bad eminence of some collection in the Ionian
city of pleasure, they set a fashion for those Roman studies in the
24
naturally and the unnaturally sexual of which the Satyricon of
Petronius may stand as a type. The famous tale of the Matron of
Ephesus, which has more consistency than most of this collection,
reveals at once how far such pieces went in narrative form. Clearly a
capital plot for a short story, it is just as clearly not a short story, but
only a plot. It is as it were a narrative sketch or study, like the
scenario for a play. And in this it is like many other tales of its class.
25
The rest, the majority, are simply anecdote. They are such stories
as men of free life and free speech have in all ages told after dinner.
That is their character of subject; that is their capacity of form.
Speaking broadly, then, the short tales of antiquity are never short
stories in our modern sense. They are either anecdote or scenario.
Daphnis and Of the longer tale of antiquity a convenient type is
Chloe,
Aucassin the Daphnis and Chloe ascribed to Longus. A plot no
and less ancient than that of the foundling reared in simple
Nicolette.
life and ultimately reclaimed by noble parents receives from the
26
Greek author the form of a pastoral romance, with episodes,
complications, and a fairy-tale ending. Its form, then, is essentially
the same as the form of Aucassin and Nicolette, Florus and Jehane,
Amis and Amile, and other typical short romances of the middle age.
Between such short romances and the modern short story there is
the same difference of form as between Chaucer’s tale of the Man of
Law, which is one of the former, and his tale of the Pardoner, which
foreshadows how such material may be handled in the way of the
latter. For Chaucer, as in his Troilus and Criseyde he anticipates the
modern novel, so in his Pardoner anticipates the modern short story.
27
The middle age and the Renaissance, even antiquity, show
isolated, sporadic instances of short story, whether in prose or in
verse; but these are apart from the drift of the time. Aside from such
sporadic cases, the longer mediæval tale or short romance, though
often in length within the limits of short story, is typically loose as to
time and place, and as to incident accumulative of marvels. It is to
the long mediæval romance what the modern tale—not the modern
short story—is to the modern novel. And it is a constant form from
28
Greece—even from India and Egypt, down to the present. In form
the Alexandrian Daphnis and Chloe, the mediæval Aucassin and
Nicolette, and the whole herd of modern tales, such as Miss
Edgeworth’s, are essentially alike. The modern time has
differentiated two forms: first, the novel, in which character is
progressively developed, incidents progressively complicated and
resolved; second, the short story, in which character and action are
so compressed as to suggest by a single situation without
development. The former is as it were an expansion of the tale; the
latter, a compression. In both cases the modern art of fiction seems
to have learned from the drama. Meantime the original, naïve tale
has endured, and doubtless will endure. To employ the figure of
speech by which M. Brunetière is enabled to speak of literature in
terms of evolution, the tale is the original jackal. From it have been
developed two distinct species; but their parent stock persists.
Indeed, for aught we can see from the past, posterity may behold a
reversion to type.
The The significance of a division of ancient and early
Decameron.
mediæval tales into anecdote and scenario or summary
romance becomes at once clearer by reference to the greatest
mediæval collection, the Decameron (1353) of Boccaccio. More than
half the tales of the Decameron may readily be grouped as anecdote
—all of the sixth day, for instance, most of the first and eighth, half
of the ninth. Of these some approach consistency of form. Having
long introductions, unnecessary lapse of time, or other looseness of
structure, they still work out a main situation in one day or one
night; they sometimes show dramatic ingenuity of incident; less
frequently they reach distinct climax. Where the climax, as in the
majority of cases, is merely an ingenious escape or a triumphant
retort, of course the tale remains simple anecdote; but in some few
the climax is the result of the action, is more nearly a culmination.
This is the character of the seventh day. Another class in the
Decameron rapidly summarises a large plot, the action ranging
widely in time and place. A narrative sketch, usually of a romance, it
29
corresponds essentially to the Aucassin and Nicolette type, and
includes nearly one half. Here was an open mine for the romantic
drama of later centuries. The Decameron, then, is almost all either
anecdote or scenario.
But not quite all. Besides those tales which seem to show a
working for consistency, there are a few that definitely achieve it.
The fourth of the first day (The Monk, the Woman, and the Abbot) is
compact within one place and a few hours. All it lacks for short story
is definite climax. Very like in compactness is the first of the second
day (The Three Florentines and the Body of the New Saint). Firmer
still is the eighth of the eighth day (Two Husbands and Two Wives).
Here the climax is not only definite, but is a solution, and includes all
four characters. If it is not convincing, that is because the
Decameron is hardly concerned with characterisation. The action
covers two days. It might almost as easily have been kept within
one. Finally there are two tales that cannot, without hair-splitting, be
distinguished from modern short story. The second tale of the
second day (Rinaldo, for his prayer to St. Julian, well lodged in spite
of mishap) is compressed within a single afternoon and night and a
few miles of a single road. The climax is definitely a solution. The
movement is largely by dialogue. In a word, the tale is a self-
consistent whole. Equally self-consistent, and quite similar in
method, is that farce comedy of errors, the sixth tale of the ninth
day (Two Travellers in a Room of Three Beds), which Chaucer has
among his Canterbury Tales. Both these are short stories. If the
30
other three be counted with them, we have five out of a hundred.
Les Cent The middle age, then, had the short story, but did
Nouvelles,
Bandello, not recognise, or did not value, that opportunity. Not
The only does Boccaccio employ the form seldom and, as it
Heptameron were, quite casually, but subsequent writers do not carry
.
it forward. In fact, they practically ignore it. Les cent
nouvelles nouvelles (1450–1460), most famous of French collections,
shows no discernment of Boccaccio’s nicer art. In form, as in
subject, there is no essential change from the habit of antiquity.
True, here and there among the everlasting histoires grivoises is a
piece of greater consistency and artistic promise. That delicious story
(the sixth nouvelle) of the drunken man who insisted on making his
confession on the highway to a priest unfortunately passing, who
had absolution at the point of the knife, and then resolved to die
before he lapsed from the state of grace, is not only a short-story
plot; it goes so far toward short-story form as to focus upon a few
hours. Yet even this hints the short story to us because we look back
from the achieved form. After all it remains anecdote; and it has few
peers in all the huge collection. Bandello (1480–1562), in this
regard, shows even a retrogression from Boccaccio. His brief
romances are looser, often indeed utterly extravagant of time and
space. His anecdotes, though they often have a stir of action, show
less sense of bringing people together on the stage. So the
Heptameron (1558–1559) of the Queen of Navarre fails—so in
general subsequent tale-mongers fail—to appreciate the distinctive
value of the terser form. Up to the nineteenth century the short
story was merely sporadic. It was achieved now and again by writers
of too much artistic sense to be quite unaware of its value; but it
never took its place as an accepted form.
Nodier. Thus the modern development of the short story in
France has both its own artistic interest and the further historical
interest of background. When Charles Nodier (1783–1844), in the
time of our own Irving, harked back from the novel to the tale, he
but followed consciously what others had followed unconsciously, a
31
tradition of his race. Some of Nodier’s legends are as mediæval in
form as in subject. But when he wrote La combe à l’homme mort he
made of the same material something which, emerging here and
there in the middle age, waited for definite acceptance till Nodier’s
own time—a short story. The hypothesis that Nodier was a master to
Hawthorne is not supported by any close likeness. Yet there are
resemblances. Both loved to write tales for children; both lapse
toward the overt moral and fall easily into essay; both use the more
compact short-story form as it were by the way and not from
preference. Smarra (66 pages, 1821), acknowledging a suggestion
from Apuleius, is an essentially original fantasy, creating the effect of
a waking dream. The nearest English parallel is, not Hawthorne, but
De Quincey, or, in more elaborate and restrained eloquence, Landor.
Smarra, as Nodier says in his preface, is an exercise in style to
produce a certain phantasmagorical impression. The clue to the
effect he sought is given by the frequent quotations from the
Tempest. It is “such stuff as dreams are made on.” Jean François-
les-bas-bleus (1836) and Lidivine, on the other hand, are almost
documentary studies of character. La filleule du Seigneur (1806),
legendary anecdote like Irving’s, shows where Nodier’s art began. He
carried his art much further; but his pieces of compactness, like La
combe à l’homme mort, are so rare that one may doubt their direct
influence on the modern development of form.
For the bulk of Nodier’s work is not conte, but nouvelle. These
two terms have never been sharply differentiated in French use. Les
cent nouvelles nouvelles are not only shorter, in average, than the
novelle of Boccaccio; they are substantially like the Contes de la
Reine de Navarre. Some of the nouvelles of Nodier, Mérimée, and
Gautier are indistinguishable in form from the contes of Flaubert,
Daudet, and Maupassant. But though even to-day a collection of
French tales might bear either name, the short story as it grew in
distinctness and popularity seems to have taken more peculiarly to
32
itself the name conte. Correspondingly nouvelle is a convenient
name for those more extended tales, written sometimes in chapters,
which in English are occasionally called novelettes, and which have
their type in Aucassin and Nicolette. In this sense Nodier’s writing is
mainly, and from preference, nouvelle. Taking as his type for modern
adaptation the longer mediæval tale, he did not work in the direction
of short story.
Mérimée. Nor, oddly enough, did Mérimée. People who assign
to him the rôle of pioneer in the short story, on account of his
extraordinary narrative conciseness, appear to forget that his typical
33
tales—Carmen, Colomba, Arsène Guillot, are too long for the
form; and that many of his shorter pieces—L’enlèvement de la
redoute, Tamango, La vision de Charles XI., are deliberately
composed as descriptive anecdotes. Mérimée’s compactness consists
rather in reducing to a nouvelle what most writers would have made
a roman than in focusing on a single situation in a conte. Carmen,
though compact in its main structure, has a long prelude. Beyond
question the method is well adapted; but it shows no tendency to
short story. And the habit is equally marked in Le vase étrusque,
with its superfluous characters. Evidently his artistic bent, like
Hawthorne’s, like Nodier’s, was not in that direction. All the more
striking, therefore, is his single experiment. La Vénus d’Ille (1837) is
definitely and perfectly a short story. Giving the antecedent action
and the key in skilful opening dialogue, it proceeds by a series of
increasingly stronger premonitions to a seizing climax. Like Poe,
Mérimée intensifies a mood till it can receive whatever he chooses,
but not at all in Poe’s way. Instead, the mystery and horror are
accentuated by a tone of worldly-wise skepticism. Less compressed,
too, than Poe, he can be more “natural.” Withal he keeps the same
perfection of grading. Strange that a man who did this once should
never have done it again. But the single achievement was marked
enough to compel imitation.
Balzac. That the propagation of the short story in France
owes much to Balzac might readily be presumed from the enormous
influence of Balzac’s work in general, but can hardly be held after
scrutiny of his short pieces in particular. Of these, two will serve to
recall the limitations of the great observer. El Verdugo (1829),
though it is reduced to two days and substantially one scene, hardly
realises the gain from such compression. Instead of intensifying
progressively, Balzac has at last to append his conclusion, and for
lack of gradation to leave his tale barely credible. Les Proscrits
(1831), more unified in imaginative conception, and again limited in
time-lapse, again fails of that progressive intensity which is the very
essence of Poe’s force and Mérimée’s. It is not even held steady, but
lapses into intrusive erudition and falls into three quite separate
scenes. Others of Balzac’s short pieces, La messe de l’athée (1836),
for example, and Z. Marcas (1840), are obviously in form, like many
of Hawthorne’s, essays woven on anecdote or character. Some of his
tales may, indeed, have suggested the opportunity of different
handling. Some of them, at any rate, seem from our point of view
almost to call for that. But his own handling does not seem, as Poe’s
does, directive. And in general, much as Balzac had to teach his
successors, had he much to teach them of form?
Gautier. The tales of Musset, which are but incidental in his
development, and are confined, most of them, within the years
1837–1838, show no grasp of form. Gautier, even more evidently
than Mérimée, preferred the nouvelle, partly from indolent fluency,
partly from a slight sense of narrative conclusion. Few even of his
most compact contes, such as Le nid de rossignols, compress the
34
time. He was garrulous; he had read Sterne ; above all, he was
bent, like Sterne, on description. But Gautier too shows a striking
exception. La morte amoureuse, though it has not Poe’s mechanism
of compression, is otherwise so startlingly like Poe that one turns
involuntarily to the dates. La morte amoureuse appeared in 1836;
Berenice, in 1835. The Southern Literary Messenger could not have
reached the boulevards in a year. Indeed, the debt of either country
to the other can hardly be proved. Remarkable as is the coincident
appearance in Paris and in Richmond of a new literary form, it
remains a coincidence. And whereas by 1837 Poe was in full career
on his hobby, Gautier and Mérimée did not repeat the excursion.
France and The history of the tale in England, however
America.
important otherwise, is hardly distinct enough as a
development of form to demand separate discussion here. For
England, apparently trying the short-story form later than France
and the United States, apparently also learned it from them. Perhaps
the foremost short-story writers of our time in English—though that
must still be a moot point—are Kipling and Stevenson. But
Stevenson’s short story looks to France; and Kipling probably owes
much to the American magazine. Without venturing on the more
35
complicated question of the relations of Germany, Russia, and
Scandinavia to France, it is safe to put forward as a working
hypothesis that the new form was invented by France and America,
and by each independently for itself. Our priority, if it be
substantiated, can be but of a year or two. The important fact is that
after due incubation the new form, in each country, has germinated
and spread with extraordinary vigor. Daudet, Richepin, Maupassant—
to make a list of French short-story writers in the time just past, is to
include almost all writers of eminence in fiction. What is true of
France is even more obviously true of the United States. Our most
familiar names in recent fiction were made familiar largely through
distinction in the short story. The native American yarn, still thriving
in spontaneous oral vigour, has been turned to various art in The
Jumping Frog and Marjorie Daw and The Wreck of the Thomas
Hyke. The capacity of the short story for focusing interest
dramatically on a strictly limited scene and a few hours, no less than
its capacity for fixing local color, is exhibited most strikingly in the
human significance of Posson Jone. Mr. James, though his
preoccupation with scientific analysis demands typically, as it
demanded of Mérimée, a somewhat larger scope, vindicates his skill
more obviously in such intense pieces of compression as The Great
Good Place. To instance further would but lead into catalogue. In a
word, the two nations that have in our time shown keenest
consciousness of form in fiction have most fostered the short story.
For ourselves, we may find in this development of a literary form one
warrant for asserting that we have a literary history.
 PART I

THE TENTATIVE PERIOD

WASHINGTON IRVING
1783–1859

For a discussion of Irving in general, and of Rip Van Winkle in

particular, see pages 6–9 of the Introduction. The pseudo-
documentary notes before and after the tale show incidentally the
strong contemporary influence of Scott. The text is that of the first
edition (1819).
(The following tale was found among the papers of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker,
an old gentleman of New York, who was very curious in the Dutch history of the
province, and the manners of the descendants from its primitive settlers. His
historical researches, however, did not lie so much among books as among men;
for the former are lamentably scanty on his favourite topics; whereas he found the
old burghers, and still more their wives, rich in that legendary lore so invaluable to
true history. Whenever, therefore, he happened upon a genuine Dutch family,
snugly shut up in its low-roofed farmhouse, under a spreading sycamore, he
looked upon it as a little clasped volume of black-letter, and studied it with the zeal
of a book-worm.
The result of all these researches was a history of the province during the
reign of the Dutch governors, which he published some years since. There have
been various opinions as to the literary character of his work, and, to tell the truth,
it is not a whit better than it should be. Its chief merit is its scrupulous accuracy,
which indeed was a little questioned on its first appearance, but has since been
completely established; and it is now admitted into all historical collections as a
book of unquestionable authority.
The old gentleman died shortly after the publication of his work, and now, that
he is dead and gone, it cannot do much harm to his memory, to say, that his time
might have been much better employed in weightier labours. He, however, was
apt to ride his hobby in his own way; and though it did now and then kick up the
dust a little in the eyes of his neighbours, and grieve the spirit of some friends, for
whom he felt the truest deference and affection; yet his errors and follies are
36
remembered “more in sorrow than in anger, ” and it begins to be suspected that
he never intended to injure or offend. But however his memory may be
appreciated by critics, it is still held dear among many folk, whose good opinion is
well worth having; particularly by certain biscuit bakers, who have gone so far as
to imprint his likeness on their New Year cakes, and have thus given him a chance
for immortality, almost equal to the being stamped on a Waterloo medal, or a
Queen Anne’s farthing.)
 RIP VAN WINKLE
A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH
KNICKERBOCKER

[From the “Sketch Book,” 1819–1820]

By Woden, God of Saxons,

From whence comes Wensday, that is Wodensday,
Truth is a thing that ever I will keep
Unto thylke day in which I creep into
My sepulchre——
Cartwright.

WHOEVER has made a voyage up the Hudson, must remember the

Kaatskill mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great
Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west of the river,
swelling up to a noble height, and lording it over the surrounding
country. Every change of season, every change of weather, indeed,
every hour of the day, produces some change in the magical hues
and shapes of these mountains, and they are regarded by all the
good wives, far and near, as perfect barometers. When the weather
is fair and settled, they are clothed in blue and purple, and print
their bold outlines on the clear evening sky; but sometimes, when
the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray
vapours about their summits, which, in the last rays of the setting
sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory.
At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have
descried the light smoke curling up from a village, whose shingle
roofs gleam among the trees, just where the blue tints of the upland
melt away into the fresh green of the nearer landscape. It is a little
village of great antiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch
colonists, in the early times of the province, just about the beginning
of the government of the good Peter Stuyvesant (may he rest in
peace!), and there were some of the houses of the original settlers
standing within a few years with lattice windows, gable fronts
surmounted with weathercocks, and built of small yellow bricks
brought from Holland.
In that same village, and in one of these very houses, (which, to
tell the precise truth, was sadly timeworn and weather-beaten,)
there lived many years since, while the country was yet a province of
Great Britain, a simple goodnatured fellow, of the name of Rip Van
Winkle. He was a descendant of the Van Winkles who figured so
gallantly in the chivalrous days of Peter Stuyvesant, and
accompanied him to the siege of Fort Christina. He inherited,
however, but little of the martial character of his ancestors. I have
observed that he was a simple good-natured man; he was moreover
a kind neighbour, and an obedient, henpecked husband. Indeed, to
the latter circumstance might be owing that meekness of spirit which
gained him such universal popularity; for those men are most apt to
be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under the discipline
of shrews at home. Their tempers, doubtless, are rendered pliant
and malleable in the fiery furnace of domestic tribulation, and a
curtain lecture is worth all the sermons in the world for teaching the
virtues of patience and long suffering. A termagant wife may,
therefore, in some respects, be considered a tolerable blessing; and
if so, Rip Van Winkle was thrice blessed.
Certain it is, that he was a great favourite among all the good
wives of the village, who, as usual with the amiable sex, took his
part in all family squabbles, and never failed, whenever they talked
those matters over in their evening gossippings, to lay all the blame
on Dame Van Winkle. The children of the village, too, would shout
with joy whenever he approached. He assisted at their sports, made
their playthings, taught them to fly kites and shoot marbles, and told
them long stories of ghosts, witches, and Indians. Whenever he
went dodging about the village, he was surrounded by a troop of
them, hanging on his skirts, clambering on his back, and playing a
thousand tricks on him with impunity; and not a dog would bark at
him throughout the neighbourhood.
The great error in Rip’s composition was an insuperable aversion
to all kinds of profitable labour. It could not be from the want of
assiduity or perseverance; for he would sit on a wet rock, with a rod
as long and heavy as a Tartar’s lance, and fish all day without a
murmur, even though he should not be encouraged by a single
nibble. He would carry a fowling-piece on his shoulder, for hours
together, trudging through woods and swamps, and up hill and down
dale, to shoot a few squirrels or wild pigeons. He would never even
refuse to assist a neighbour in the roughest toil, and was a foremost
man at all country frolicks for husking Indian corn, or building stone
fences. The women of the village, too, used to employ him to run
their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging
husbands would not do for them;—in a word, Rip was ready to
attend to anybody’s business but his own; but as to doing family
duty, and keeping his farm in order, it was impossible.
In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on his farm; it was
the most pestilent little piece of ground in the whole country;
everything about it went wrong, and would go wrong, in spite of
him. His fences were continually falling to pieces; his cow would
either go astray, or get among the cabbages; weeds were sure to
grow quicker in his fields than anywhere else; the rain always made
a point of setting in just as he had some out-door work to do; so
that though his patrimonial estate had dwindled away under his
management, acre by acre, until there was little more left than a
mere patch of Indian corn and potatoes, yet it was the worst
conditioned farm in the neighbourhood.
His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to
nobody. His son Rip, an urchin begotten in his own likeness,
promised to inherit the habits, with the old clothes of his father. He
was generally seen trooping like a colt at his mother’s heels,
equipped in a pair of his father’s cast-off galligaskins, which he had
much ado to hold up with one hand, as a fine lady does her train in
bad weather.
Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of
foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white
bread or brown, whichever can be got with least thought or trouble,
and would rather starve on a penny than work for a pound. If left to
himself, he would have whistled life away, in perfect contentment;
but his wife kept continually dinning in his ears about his idleness,
his carelessness, and the ruin he was bringing on his family.
Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly going, and
everything he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household
eloquence. Rip had but one way of replying to all lectures of the
kind, and that, by frequent use, had grown into a habit. He
shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, cast up his eyes, but said
nothing. This, however, always provoked a fresh volley from his wife,
so that he was fain to draw off his forces, and take to the outside of
the house—the only side which, in truth, belongs to a henpecked
husband.
Rip’s sole domestic adherent was his dog Wolf, who was as much
henpecked as his master; for Dame Van Winkle regarded them as
companions in idleness, and even looked upon Wolf with an evil eye,
as the cause of his master’s so often going astray. True it is, in all
points of spirit befitting an honourable dog, he was as courageous
an animal as ever scoured the woods—but what courage can
withstand the ever-during and all-besetting terrors of a woman’s
tongue? The moment Wolf entered the house, his crest fell, his tail
drooped to the ground, or curled between his legs, he sneaked
about with a gallows air, casting many a sidelong glance at Dame
Van Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broomstick or ladle, would
fly to the door with yelping precipitation.
Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as years of
matrimony rolled on; a tart temper never mellows with age, and a
sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener by constant
use. For a long while he used to console himself, when driven from
home, by frequenting a kind of perpetual club of the sages,
philosophers, and other idle personages of the village, which held its
sessions on a bench before a small inn, designated by a rubicund
portrait of his majesty George the Third. Here they used to sit in the
shade, of a long lazy summer’s day, talking listlessly over village
gossip, or telling endless sleepy stories about nothing. But it would
have been worth any statesman’s money to have heard the profound
discussions which sometimes took place, when by chance an old
newspaper fell into their hands, from some passing traveller. How
solemnly they would listen to the contents, as drawled out by
Derrick Van Bummel, the schoolmaster, a dapper learned little man,
who was not to be daunted by the most gigantic word in the
dictionary; and how sagely they would deliberate upon public events
some months after they had taken place.
The opinions of this junto were completely controlled by Nicholas
Vedder, a patriarch of the village, and landlord of the inn, at the door
of which he took his seat from morning till night, just moving
sufficiently to avoid the sun, and keep in the shade of a large tree;
so that the neighbours could tell the hour by his movements as
accurately as by a sun dial. It is true, he was rarely heard to speak,
but smoked his pipe incessantly. His adherents, however, (for every
great man has his adherents,) perfectly understood him, and knew
how to gather his opinions. When anything that was read or related
displeased him, he was observed to smoke his pipe vehemently, and
send forth short, frequent, and angry puffs; but when pleased, he
would inhale the smoke slowly and tranquilly, and emit it in light and
placid clouds, and sometimes taking the pipe from his mouth, and
letting the fragrant vapour curl about his nose, would gravely nod his
head in token of perfect approbation.
From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length routed
by his termagant wife, who would suddenly break in upon the
tranquillity of the assemblage, and call the members all to nought;
nor was that august personage, Nicholas Vedder himself, sacred
from the daring tongue of this terrible virago, who charged him
outright with encouraging her husband in habits of idleness.
Poor Rip was at last reduced almost to despair; and his only
alternative to escape from the labour of the farm and clamour of his
wife, was to take gun in hand, and stroll away into the woods. Here
he would sometimes seat himself at the foot of a tree, and share the
contents of his wallet with Wolf, with whom he sympathized as a
fellow sufferer in persecution. “Poor Wolf,” he would say, “thy
mistress leads thee a dog’s life of it; but never mind, my lad, while I
live thou shalt never want a friend to stand by thee!” Wolf would
wag his tail, look wistfully in his master’s face, and if dogs can feel
pity, I verily believe he reciprocated the sentiment with all his heart.
In a long ramble of the kind on a fine autumnal day, Rip had
unconsciously scrambled to one of the highest parts of the Kaatskill
mountains. He was after his favourite sport of squirrel shooting, and
the still solitudes had echoed and re-echoed with the reports of his
gun. Panting and fatigued, he threw himself, late in the afternoon,
on a green knoll, covered with mountain herbage, that crowned the
brow of a precipice. From an opening between the trees, he could
overlook all the lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. He
saw at a distance the lordly Hudson, far, far below him, moving on
its silent but majestic course, the reflection of a purple cloud, or the
sail of a lagging bark, here and there sleeping on its glassy bosom,
and at last losing itself in the blue highlands.
On the other side he looked down into a deep mountain glen,
wild, lonely, and shagged, the bottom filled with fragments from the
impending cliffs, and scarcely lighted by the reflected rays of the
setting sun. For some time Rip lay musing on this scene; evening
was gradually advancing, the mountains began to throw their long,
blue shadows over the valleys, he saw that it would be dark long
before he could reach the village, and he heaved a heavy sigh when
he thought of encountering the terrors of Dame Van Winkle.
As he was about to descend, he heard a voice from a distance,
hallooing, “Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!” He looked around, but
could see nothing but a crow winging its solitary flight across the
mountain. He thought his fancy must have deceived him, and turned
again to descend, when he heard the same cry ring through the still
evening air; “Rip Van Winkle! Rip Van Winkle!”—at the same time
Wolf bristled up his back, and giving a low growl, skulked to his
master’s side, looking fearfully down into the glen. Rip now felt a
vague apprehension stealing over him; he looked anxiously in the
same direction, and perceived a strange figure slowly toiling up the
rocks, and bending under the weight of something he carried on his
back. He was surprised to see any human being in this lonely and
unfrequented place, but supposing it to be some one of the
neighbourhood in need of his assistance, he hastened down to yield
it.
On nearer approach, he was still more surprised at the
singularity of the stranger’s appearance. He was a short square built
old fellow, with thick bushy hair, and a grizzled beard. His dress was
of the antique Dutch fashion—a cloth jerkin strapped round the waist
—several pair of breeches, the outer one of ample volume,
decorated with rows of buttons down the sides, and bunches at the
knees. He bore on his shoulders a stout keg, that seemed full of
liquor, and made signs for Rip to approach and assist him with the
load. Though rather shy and distrustful of this new acquaintance, Rip
complied with his usual alacrity, and mutually relieving one another,
they clambered up a narrow gully, apparently the dry bed of a
mountain torrent. As they ascended, Rip every now and then heard
long rolling peals, like distant thunder, that seemed to issue out of a
deep ravine, or rather cleft between lofty rocks, toward which their
rugged path conducted. He paused for an instant, but supposing it
to be the muttering of one of those transient thunder showers which
often take place in mountain heights, he proceeded. Passing through
the ravine, they came to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre,
surrounded by perpendicular precipices, over the brinks of which
impending trees shot their branches, so that you only caught
glimpses of the azure sky, and the bright evening cloud. During the
whole time, Rip and his companion had laboured on in silence; for
though the former marvelled greatly what could be the object of
carrying a keg of liquor up this wild mountain, yet there was
something strange and incomprehensible about the unknown, that
inspired awe, and checked familiarity.
On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presented
themselves. On a level spot in the centre was a company of odd-
looking personages playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in a
quaint, outlandish fashion: some wore short doublets, others jerkins,
with long knives in their belts, and most had enormous breeches, of
similar style with that of the guide’s. Their visages, too, were
peculiar: one had a large head, broad face, and small piggish eyes;
the face of another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was
surmounted by a white sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red cock’s
tail. They all had beards, of various shapes and colours. There was
one who seemed to be the commander. He was a stout old
gentleman, with a weather-beaten countenance; he wore a laced
doublet, broad belt and hanger, high crowned hat and feather, red
stockings, and high heeled shoes, with roses in them. The whole
group reminded Rip of the figures in an old Flemish painting, in the
parlour of Dominie Van Schaick, the village parson, and which had
been brought over from Holland at the time of the settlement.
What seemed particularly odd to Rip, was that though these
folks were evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the
gravest faces, the most mysterious silence, and were, withal, the
most melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed. Nothing
interrupted the stillness of the scene, but the noise of the balls,
which, whenever they were rolled, echoed along the mountains like
rumbling peals of thunder.
As Rip and his companion approached them, they suddenly
desisted from their play, and stared at him with such fixed statue-
like gaze, and such strange, uncouth, lacklustre countenances, that
his heart turned within him, and his knees smote together. His
companion now emptied the contents of the keg into large flagons,
and made signs to him to wait upon the company. He obeyed with
fear and trembling; they quaffed the liquor in profound silence, and
then returned to their game.
By degrees, Rip’s awe and apprehension subsided. He even
ventured, when no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage,
which he found had much of the flavour of excellent Hollands. He
was naturally a thirsty soul, and was soon tempted to repeat the
draught. One taste provoked another, and he reiterated his visits to
the flagon so often, that at length his senses were overpowered, his
eyes swam in his head, his head gradually declined, and he fell into
a deep sleep.
On awaking, he found himself on the green knoll from 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 woe-begone party at nine-pins—the
flagon—“Oh! that flagon! that wicked flagon!” thought Rip—“what
excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle?”
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
encrusted with rust, the lock falling off, and the stock worm-eaten.
He now suspected that the grave roysters 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, 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 with a fit of the
rheumatism, I shall have a blessed time with Dame Van Winkle.”
With some difficulty he got down into the glen; he found the gully
up which he and his companion had ascended the preceding
evening; but to his astonishment a mountain stream was now
foaming down it, leaping from rock to rock, and filling the glen with
babbling murmurs. He, however, made shift to scramble up its sides,
working his toilsome way through thickets of birch, sassafras, and
witch hazle, and sometimes tripped up or entangled by the wild
grape vines that twisted their coils and tendrils from tree to tree,
and spread a kind of network in his path.
At length he reached to where the ravine had opened through
the cliffs, to the amphitheatre; but no traces of such opening
remained. The rocks presented a high impenetrable wall, over which
the torrent came tumbling in a sheet of feathery foam, and fell into
a broad deep basin, black from the shadows of the surrounding
forest. Here, then, poor Rip was brought to a stand. He again called
and whistled after his dog; he was only answered by the cawing of a
flock of idle crows, sporting high in air about a dry tree that
overhung a sunny precipice; and who, secure in their elevation,
seemed to look down and scoff at the poor man’s perplexities. What
was to be done? the morning was passing away, and Rip felt
famished for want of his breakfast. He grieved to give up his dog
and gun; he dreaded to meet his wife; but it would not do to starve
among the mountains. He shook his head, shouldered the rusty
firelock, and, with a heart full of trouble and anxiety, turned his
steps homeward.
As he approached the village, he met a number of people, but
none whom he knew, which somewhat surprised him, for he had
thought himself acquainted with every one in the country round.
Their dress, too, was of a different fashion from that to which he
was accustomed. They all stared at him with equal marks of
surprise, and whenever they cast their eyes upon him, invariably
stroked their chins. The constant recurrence of this gesture induced
Rip, involuntarily, to do the same, when, to his astonishment, he
found his beard had grown a foot long!
 He had now entered the skirts of the village. A troop of strange
children ran at his heels, hooting after him, and pointing at his gray
beard. The dogs, too, none of which he recognized for his old
acquaintances, barked at him as he passed. The very village was
altered: it was larger and more populous. There were rows of
houses which he had never seen before, and those which had been
his familiar haunts had disappeared. Strange names were over the
doors—strange faces at the windows—everything was strange. His
mind now began to misgive him; he doubted whether both he and
the world around him were not bewitched. Surely this was his native
village, which he had left but the day before. There stood the
Kaatskill mountains—there ran the silver Hudson at a distance—
there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always been—Rip
was sorely perplexed—“That flagon last night,” thought he, “has
addled my poor head sadly!”
It was with some difficulty he found the way to his own house,
which he approached with silent awe, expecting every moment to
hear the shrill voice of Dame Van Winkle. He found the house gone
to decay—the roof fallen in, the windows shattered, and the doors
off the hinges. A half-starved dog, that looked like Wolf, was skulking
about it. Rip called him by name, but the cur snarled, showed his
teeth, and passed on. This was an unkind cut indeed—“My very
dog,” sighed poor Rip, “has forgotten me!”
He entered the house, which, to tell the truth, Dame Van Winkle
had always kept in neat order. It was empty, forlorn, and apparently
abandoned. This desolateness overcame all his connubial fears—he
called loudly for his wife and children—the lonely chambers rung for
a moment with his voice, and then all again was silence.
He now hurried forth, and hastened to his old resort, the little
village inn—but it too was gone. A large ricketty wooden building
stood in its place, with great gaping windows, some of them broken,
and mended with old hats and petticoats, and over the door was
painted, “The Union Hotel, by Jonathan Doolittle.” Instead of the
great tree which used to shelter the quiet little Dutch inn of yore,
there now was reared a tall naked pole, with something on the top
that looked like a red nightcap, and from it was fluttering a flag, on
which was a singular assemblage of stars and stripes—all this was
strange and incomprehensible. He recognised 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 stuck 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
whom 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 hand-bills, was haranguing
vehemently about rights of citizens—election—members of Congress
—liberty—Bunker’s Hill—heroes of ’76—and other words, that were a
perfect Babylonish jargon to the bewildered Van Winkle.
The appearance of Rip, with his long grizzled beard, his rusty
fowling piece, his uncouth dress, and the army of women and
children that had gathered at his heels, soon attracted the attention
of the tavern politicians. They crowded around him, eying him from
head to foot, with great curiosity. The orator bustled up to him, and
drawing him partly aside, inquired “on which side he voted?” Rip
stared in vacant stupidity. Another short but busy little fellow pulled
him by the arm, and raising on tiptoe, inquired in his ear, “whether
he was Federal or Democrat.” Rip was equally at a loss to
comprehend the question; when a knowing, self-important old
gentleman, in a sharp cocked hat, made his way through the crowd,
putting them to the right and left with his elbows as he passed, and
planting himself before Van Winkle, with one arm akimbo, the other
resting on his cane, his keen eyes and sharp hat penetrating, as it
were, into his very soul, demanded, in an austere tone, “what
brought him to the election with a gun on his shoulder, and a mob at
his heels, and whether he meant to breed a riot in the village?”
“Alas! gentlemen,” cried Rip, somewhat dismayed, “I am a poor quiet
man, a native of the place, and a loyal subject of the King, God bless
him!”
Here a general shout burst from the bystanders—“A tory! a tory!
a spy! a refugee! hustle him! away with him!” It was with great
difficulty that the self-important man in the cocked hat restored
order; and having assumed a tenfold austerity of brow, demanded
again of the unknown culprit, what he came there for, and whom he
was seeking. The poor man humbly assured him that he meant no
harm; but merely came there in search of some of his neighbours,
who used to keep about the tavern.
“Well—who are they?—name them.”
Rip bethought himself a moment, and inquired, “where’s
Nicholas Vedder?”
There was a silence for a little while, when an old man replied,
in a thin piping voice, “Nicholas Vedder? why he is dead and gone
these eighteen years! There was a wooden tombstone in the
churchyard that used to tell all about him, but that’s rotted and gone
too.”
“Where’s Brom Dutcher?”
“Oh, he went off to the army in the beginning of the war; some
say he was killed at the battle of Stoney Point—others say he was
drowned in a squall, at the foot of Antony’s Nose. I don’t know—he
never came back again.”
“Where’s Van Bummel, the schoolmaster?”
“He went off to the wars too, was a great militia general, and is
now in Congress.”
 Rip’s 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
—Stoney Point!—he had no courage to ask after any more friends,
but cried out in despair, “Does nobody here know Rip Van Winkle?”
“Oh, Rip Van Winkle!” exclaimed two or three, “Oh, to be sure!
that’s Rip Van Winkle yonder, leaning against the tree.”
Rip looked, and beheld a precise counterpart of himself, as he
went up the mountain: apparently as lazy, and certainly 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 cocked hat demanded
who he was, and what was his name?
“God knows,” exclaimed he, at his wit’s end; “I’m not myself—
I’m somebody else—that’s me yonder—no—that’s somebody else,
got into my shoes—I was myself last night, but I fell asleep on the
mountain, and they’ve changed my gun, and everything’s changed,
and I’m changed, and I can’t tell what’s my name, or who I am!”
The bystanders began now to look at each other, nod, wink
significantly, and tap their fingers against their foreheads. There was
a whisper, also, about securing the gun, and keeping the old fellow
from doing mischief; at the very suggestion of which, the self-
important man in the cocked hat retired with some precipitation. At
this critical moment a fresh likely woman pressed through the throng
to get a peep at the graybearded man. She had a chubby child in
her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to cry. “Hush, Rip,”
cried she, “hush, you little fool, the old man won’t hurt you.” The
name of the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, all
awakened a train of recollections in his mind. “What is your name,
my good woman?” asked he.
“Judith Gardenier.”
“And your father’s name?”
 “Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van Winkle; 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 more to ask; but he put it with a
faltering voice:
“Where’s your mother?”
“Oh, she too had died but a short time since; she broke a blood
vessel in a fit of passion at a New-England peddler.”
There 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.—“I am your father!” cried he
—“Young Rip Van Winkle once—old Rip Van Winkle now!—Does
nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle!”
All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from among
the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under it in his face
for a moment, exclaimed, “Sure enough! it is Rip Van Winkle—it is
himself. Welcome home again, old neighbour.—Why, where have you
been these twenty long years?”
Rip’s story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been
to him but as one night. The neighbours stared when they heard it;
some were seen to wink at each other, and put their tongues in their
cheeks; and the self-important man in the cocked hat, who, when
the alarm was over, had returned to the field, screwed down the
corners of his mouth, and shook his head—upon which there was a
general shaking of the head throughout the assemblage.
It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter
Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the road. He was a
descendant of the historian of that name, who wrote one of the
earliest accounts of the province. Peter was the most ancient
inhabitant of the village, and well versed in all the wonderful events
and traditions of the neighbourhood. He recollected Rip at once, and
corroborated his story in the most satisfactory manner. He assured
the company that it was a fact, handed down from his ancestor the
historian, that the Kaatskill mountains had always been haunted by
strange beings. That it was affirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson,
the first discoverer of the river and country, kept a kind of vigil there
every twenty years, with his crew of the Half-moon, being permitted
in this way to revisit the scenes of his enterprize, and keep a
guardian eye upon the river, and the great city called by his name.
That his father had once seen them in their old Dutch dresses
playing at nine-pins in a hollow of the mountain; and that he himself
had heard, one summer afternoon, the sound of their balls, like long
peals of thunder.
To make a long story short, the company broke up, and returned
to the more important concerns of the election. Rip’s daughter took
him home to live with her; she had a snug, well-furnished house,
and a stout cheery farmer for a husband, whom Rip recollected for
one of the urchins that used to climb upon his back. As to Rip’s son
and heir, who was the ditto of himself, seen leaning against the tree,
he was employed to work on the farm; but evinced an hereditary
disposition to attend to anything else but his business.
Rip now resumed his old walks and habits; he soon found many
of his former cronies, though all rather the worse for the wear and
tear of time; and preferred making friends among the rising
generation, with whom he soon grew into great favour.
Having nothing to do at home, and being arrived at that happy
age when a man can do nothing with impunity, he took his place
once more on the bench, at the inn door, and was reverenced as one
of the patriarchs of the village, and a chronicle of the old times
“before the war.” 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 of his Majesty,
George III., 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 neighbourhood 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 thunder storm 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 henpecked
husbands in the neighbourhood, 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 and the Kypphauser
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. Indeed, I have heard
many stranger stories than this, in the villages along the Hudson; all of which
were too well authenticated to admit of a doubt. I have even talked with Rip Van
Winkle myself, who, when last I saw him, was a very venerable old man, and so
perfectly rational and consistent on every other point, that I think no conscientious
person could refuse to take this into the bargain; nay, I have seen a certificate on
the subject taken before a country justice and signed with a cross, in the justice’s
own handwriting. The story, therefore, is beyond the possibility of a doubt.
“D. K.”
37
POSTSCRIPT
The following are travelling notes from a memorandum book of Mr. Knickerbocker:
The Kaatsberg, or Catskill Mountains, have always been a region full of fable.
The Indians considered them the abode of spirits, who influenced the weather,
spreading sunshine or clouds over the landscape, and sending good or bad
hunting seasons. They were ruled by an old squaw spirit, said to be their mother.
She dwelt on the highest peak of the Catskills, and had charge of the doors of day
and night to open and shut them at the proper hour. She hung up the new moon
in the skies, and cut up the old ones into stars. In times of drought, if properly
propitiated, she would spin light summer clouds out of cobwebs and morning dew,
and send them off from the crest of the mountain, flake after flake, like flakes of
carded cotton, to float in the air; until, dissolved by the heat of the sun, they
would fall in gentle showers, causing the grass to spring, the fruits to ripen, and
the corn to grow an inch an hour. If displeased, however, she would brew up
clouds black as ink, sitting in the midst of them like a bottle-bellied spider in the
midst of its web; and when these clouds broke, woe betide the valleys!
In old times, say the Indian traditions, there was a kind of Manitou or Spirit,
who kept about the wildest recesses of the Catskill Mountains, and took a
mischievous pleasure in wreaking all kinds of evils and vexations upon the red
men. Sometimes he would assume the form of a bear, a panther, or a deer, lead
the bewildered hunter a weary chase through tangled forests and among ragged
rocks; and then spring off with a loud ho! ho! leaving him aghast on the brink of a
beetling precipice or raging torrent.
The favorite abode of this Manitou is still shown. It is a great rock or cliff on
the loneliest part of the mountains, and, from the flowering vines which clamber
about it, and the wild flowers which abound in its neighborhood, is known by the
name of the Garden Rock. Near the foot of it is a small lake, the haunt of the
solitary bittern, with water-snakes basking in the sun on the leaves of the pond-
lilies which lie on the surface. This place was held in great awe by the Indians,
insomuch that the boldest hunter would not pursue his game within its precincts.
Once upon a time, however, a hunter who had lost his way, penetrated to the
Garden Rock, where he beheld a number of gourds placed in the crotches of trees.
One of these he seized and made off with it, but in the hurry of his retreat he let it
fall among the rocks, when a great stream gushed forth, which washed him away
Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a
vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to
specialized publications, self-development books, and children's
literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding
knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade

Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Let us accompany you on the journey of exploring knowledge and

personal growth!

ebooknice.com