The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon

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Washington Irving. The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon

THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT

PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION

THE SKETCH BOOK

THE AUTHOR’S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF

THE VOYAGE

ROSCOE

THE WIFE

RIP VAN WINKLE

A POSTHUMOUS WRITING OF DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER

ENGLISH WRITERS ON AMERICA

RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND

THE BROKEN HEART

THE ART OF BOOK-MAKING

A ROYAL POET

THE COUNTRY CHURCH

THE WIDOW AND HER SON

A SUNDAY IN LONDON.13

THE BOAR’S HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP

A SHAKESPEARIAN RESEARCH

THE MUTABILITY OF LITERATURE

A COLLOQUY IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY

RURAL FUNERALS

THE INN KITCHEN

THE SPECTRE BRIDEGROOM

A TRAVELLER’S TALE.*

WESTMINSTER ABBEY

CHRISTMAS

THE STAGE-COACH

CHRISTMAS EVE

CHRISTMAS DAY

THE CHRISTMAS DINNER

LONDON ANTIQUES

LITTLE BRITAIN

STRATFORD-ON-AVON

TRAITS OF INDIAN CHARACTER

PHILIP OF POKANOKET

AN INDIAN MEMOIR

JOHN BULL

THE PRIDE OF THE VILLAGE

THE ANGLER

THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW

(FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER.)

L’ENVOY.54

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THE following papers, with two exceptions, were written in England, and formed but part of an intended series for which I had made notes and memorandums. Before I could mature a plan, however, circumstances compelled me to send them piecemeal to the United States, where they were published from time to time in portions or numbers. It was not my intention to publish them in England, being conscious that much of their contents could be interesting only to American readers, and, in truth, being deterred by the severity with which American productions had been treated by the British press.

By the time the contents of the first volume had appeared in this occasional manner, they began to find their way across the Atlantic, and to be inserted, with many kind encomiums, in the London Literary Gazette. It was said, also, that a London bookseller intended to publish them in a collective form. I determined, therefore, to bring them forward myself, that they might at least have the benefit of my superintendence and revision. I accordingly took the printed numbers which I had received from the United States, to Mr. John Murray, the eminent publisher, from whom I had already received friendly attentions, and left them with him for examination, informing him that should he be inclined to bring them before the public, I had materials enough on hand for a second volume. Several days having elapsed without any communication from Mr. Murray, I addressed a note to him, in which I construed his silence into a tacit rejection of my work, and begged that the numbers I had left with him might be returned to me. The following was his reply:

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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!”

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