Shareware Overload/ShartewareOverload.cdr/wp/rubicon5.zip/SAMPLE_3

Text File | 1989-10-17 | 6KB | 129 lines

<PT10><LEADING LINE=12pt PARA=3pt><XR><QZ>
<MARGIN LEFT=0.75IN RIGHT=8.0IN TOP=1.25IN BOTTOM=10.25IN><QZ>
<MARGIN HEADER=0.833IN><COLUMN COUNT=2 GUTTER=2EM><QZ>
<HEADER>
<MARGIN LEFT=0.75IN RIGHT=8.0IN><QZ>
<PT8><BU9PT>RUBICON PUBLISHER<BD9PT><QZ>
SAMPLE NO. 3<QZ>
<AB><PT24>R<PT18>IP <PT24>V<PT18><K8>AN <PT24>W<PT18>INKLE<XB><PT10><QC>
<END>
<PT8><AI>[block paragraph]<XI><PT10><QC>
<IP><QZ>

In that same village, there lived many years since, a simple
good-natured fellow, of the name of Rip Van Winkle. He was a simple
good-hearted man; he was, moreover, a kind neighbor, and an obedient
henpecked husband. Certain it is, that he was a great favorite among
all the good-wives of the village. The children of the village, too,
would shout with joy whenever he approached. The great error in Rip's
composition was an aversion to all kinds of profitable labor. In a word
Rip was ready to attend to anybody's business but his own; but as to
doing family duty, and to keeping his farm in order, he found it
impossible.

<PT8><AI>[indented paragraph]<XI><PT10><QC>
<IB3EM><QZ>

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.

<PT8><AI>[hanging paragraph]<XI><PT10><QC>
<IB><IH3EM><QZ>

Times grew worse and worse with Rip Van Winkle as years of matrimony
rolled on. For a long while he used to console himself, when driven
from home, by frequenting a kind of perpetual club of the idle
personages of the village which held its sessions on a bench before a
small inn. From even this stronghold the unlucky Rip was at length
routed by his termagant wife. His only alternative was to take gun in
hand and stroll away into the woods.

<PT8><AI>[standard paragraphs]<XI><PT10><QC>
<IH><IP3EM><QZ>

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. From an opening between the trees he could overlook all the
lower country for many a mile of rich woodland. For some time Rip lay
musing on this scene; evening was gradually advancing; 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 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. 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. He bore on his shoulder a stout
keg, that seemed full of liquor, and made signs of Rip to approach and
assist him with the load. 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. Passing through a ravine,
they came to a hollow, like a small amphitheatre.

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. 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, lack-lustre
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.

<PT8><AI>[bullet mode]<XI><PT10><QC>
<BULLET CHAR=252><Qz>

By degrees Rip's awe and apprehension subsided. He even ventured, when
no eye was fixed upon him, to taste the beverage. One taste provoked
another, and he reiterated his visits to the flagon so often that at
length
<BULLETS>

his senses were overpowered,<QL>

his eyes swam in his head,<QL>

his head gradually declined, and<QL>

he fell into a deep sleep.<QL>
<END>

<PT8><AI>[list mode]<XI><PT10><QC>

On waking, he found himself on the green knoll whence he had first seen
the old man of the glen. He looked round for his gun, but in place of
the clean well-oiled fowling-piece, he found an old firelock lying by
him
<LIST>

the barrel encrusted with rust,<QL>

the lock falling off, and<QL>

the stock worm-eaten.<QL>
<END>
<APL>
<APL>
Wolf, too, had disappeared, but he might have strayed away after a
squirrel or partridge.

He determined to revisit the scene of the last evening's gambol, to
demand his dog and gun. At length he reached to where the ravine had
opened through the cliffs to the amphitheatre, but no traces of such
opening remained. 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. 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!

<M-><AI>Washington Irving<XI><QR>