"Morning, noon, and night, her tongue was incessantly going, and everything he said or did was sure to produce a torrent of household eloquence."
"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 favorite sport of squirrel shooting and the still solitudes echoed and reechoed with the reports of his gun."
"On nearer approach he was still more surprised at the singularity of the strangers appearance. He was a short, square-built old fellow with thick bushy hair and a grizzled beard."
"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."
"He looked around 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."
"Wolf too had disappeared, but he might have strayed away after a squirrel or partridge."
"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."