By this time everybody has seen Rip Van Winkle, and everybody has expressed the same unbounded admiration of Mr. JEFFERSON’S matchless genius.  But the world never has been, and doubtless never will be, without the pestiferous presence of Reformers, Men of Progress, Earnest Men, who insist upon improving everything after their own fashion, and who are unhappy because they did not have the opportunity of making the solar year consist of an even number of days, and because they were not present at the building of the Ark, in order to urge upon NOAH the propriety of attaching a screw propeller to that primitive Great Eastern.  These horribly energetic nuisances never find anything that precisely suits them, and are always insisting that everything stands in need of the improvements which they gratuitously suggest.  Latterly they have ventured to attack Rip Van Winkle,—­not the actor, but the play,—­and to insist that the closing scene should be so modified as to make the play a temperance lecture of the most unmistakable character.

If you recollect—­as of course you do—­the last scene in that exquisite drama, you can still hear “RIP’S” tremulous voice as he says, “I will take my pipe and my glass, and will tell my strange story to all my friends.  And I will drink your good health, and your family’s, and may you live long and prosper.”  And now come the Progressive Nuisances, and ask Mr. JEFFERSON to change this ending so that it will read as follows:—­

GRETCHEN.—­“Here is your glass, RIP.”

RIP.—­“But I swore off.”

GRETCHEN.—­“Bless you, my husband.  Promise me never more to touch the intoxicating beer-mug.”

RIP.—­“I promise.  Hereafter I will take my TUPPER’S Proverbial Philosophy and my glass of water, and I will daily address all my friends on the subject of total abstinence from everything that cheers, whether it inebriates or not.  And I will now close this evening’s lecture by an appeal to the audience now present, to take warning by me, and never drink a drop of lager-beer.  Think, my friends, what would be the feelings of your respective wives, should you return home, after a drunken sleep of twenty or thirty years, and find them all married to richer husbands!  Think how they would revile the weakness of the beer which could not keep you asleep forever.  Think how you would complicate the real estate business, when you came to turn out the mistaken people who had occupied, improved, and sold your property during your brief absence.  Think of the difficulties that would arise from the increase in the size of your families, which would probably have taken place while you were sleeping out in the open air, and for which you would have to provide, although you had not been consulted in the matter.  Think, too, of the extent to which you would be interviewed by the reporters of the Sun, and the atrocious libels concerning yourselves and your families which that unclean sheet would publish.  Think of all these things, my friends, and then step into the box-office on your way out and sign the total abstinence pledge.  The ushers will now make a collection for the support of the temperance cause.  Mr. MOLLENHAUER will please lead the audience in singing that beautiful temperance anthem—­”