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astonished to find the face was that of the cruel monster who had so barbarously murdered her husband years before, and who had thus reaped the reward of his actions.

And now, at last, their great enemy being dead, mother and son could live in peace and comfort. They had wealth enough, having recovered a great part of what the giant had stolen ; and it was greatly to the poor widow's satisfaction that

l; the bean-stalk did not grow up again, but withered away few days. You will be glad to hear, moreover, that Jack was cured of his heedlessness by what had occurred. When he reflected on what his mother had suffered, he would have been ashamed to make her suffer more. Love for the dear aged parent did what all scolding and precept had failed to do; and cherished by her son, and beyond the reach of want, the widow lived to a good old age.

Dear children, there is a moral in every tale. Learn from Jack and the Bean-stalk” that ill-gotten wealth will never prosper, and that every deed of cruelty, whether it be great or

, whether it be trifling, brings its own punishment upon the evildoer.

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HOEVER has made a voyage up

the North American River 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. 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 grey vapours about their summits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will :glow and light up like a crown of glory.

NOTE.—In this abridged version of Washington Irving's charming story, the words of the author have been preserved; the story being merely shortened and simplified by the omission of political and other allusions, that are beyond the comprehension of children. The whole story is founded on the old German superstition concerning the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, and the Kyffhauser mountain.

At the foot of these fairy mountains, the voyager may have descried the light smoke curling up from a little village of great antiquity, having been founded by some of the Dutch colonists in the early times of the province.

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, good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. 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. 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 took his part in all family squabbles; and never failed, whenever they talked those matters over in their evening gossipings, 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

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aversion to all kinds of profitable labour. Rip was ready to attend to anybody's business but his own ; but as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in order, he found it impossible.

In fact, he declared it was of no use to work on bis 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.

His children, too, were as ragged and wild as if they belonged to nobody. His son Rip promised to inherit the habits, with the old clothes of his father.

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. 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.

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 going so often astray.

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

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