Well, I reckon the election’s about bustin’ up. If that temperance feller gets in I’m bound to sell out; for a rum-seller will stand no more chance with him than a bob-tail cow in fly time.—[_Laugh._]—Hollo! who is this outlandish critter? he looks as if he had been dead for fifty years and was dug up to vote against the temperance ticket.— _Music.—Enter_ MALE _and_ FEMALE VILLAGERS, _laughing._(_145_)_—Enter_ RIP,—_they gather round him._ RIP. Where I was I wonder? my neiber frints, “knost you ty spricken?”(146) VILLAGERS. Ha, ha, ha! 1ST VILLAGER. I say, old feller, you ain’t seed nothing of no old butter firkin with no kiver on, no place about here? RIP. No butter firkin mit no kiver no place, no I ain’t seen him. VILLAGERS. Ha, ha, ha! 1ST VILLAGER. Who’s your barber?—[_Strokes his chin.—All laugh and exeunt._ RIP. I can’t understand dis: everything seems changed.—[_Strokes his chin._]—Why, I’m changed too; why, my beard’s as long as a goat’s. SETH. [_Coming down._] Look here, old sucker, I guess you had better go home and get shaved. RIP. My old woman will shave me when I gets home! Home, where is my home? I went to the place where it used to was, and it wasn’t dere. Do you live in Catskill? SETH. Well, I rather guess I dus— RIP. Do you know where I live? SETH. Well, to look at you, I should think you didn’t live nowhere in particular, but stayed round in spots. RIP. You live in Catskill? SETH. Certain. RIP. You don’t know dat I belong here? SETH. No, I’m darned if I do. I should say you belonged to Noah’s ark—- RIP. Did you never hear in Catskill of one Rip Van Winkle? SETH. What, Rip Van Winkle, the greatest rum-sucker in the country? RIP. Dat is a fact—dat is him! ha! ha! now we shall see. SETH. Oh, yes, I’ve heard of him; the old coon’s been dead these twenty years. RIP. Den I am dead and dat is a fact. Well, poor Rip is dead. I’m sorry for dat.—Rip was a goot fellow. SETH. I wish there was a whole grist just like him in Catskill. Why, they say he could drink rum enough in one day to swim in. RIP. Don’t talk so much about rum; you makes me so dry as never was. SETH. Hold on a spell then, and I’ll fetch you something to wet your whistle. [_Exit into house._ RIP. Why, here is another change! dis was Rory’s house last night, [SETH _re-enters._] mit de sign of George the Third. SETH. [The alteration of my sign is no bad sign for the country, I reckon.](147) RIP. [_Reading._] “George Washington,”—who is he? [I remember a shoot of dat name, dat served under Braddock, before I went to sleep. SETH. [_Giving him jug._] Well, if you’ve been asleep I guess he ar’n’t: his enemies always found him wide awake and kicking; and that shoot, as you call him, has planted the tree of liberty so everlasting tight in Yankeeland, that all the kingdoms of the earth can’t root it out.](148) RIP.