Kaatskill

The country through which the road meandered, was rich and beautiful; the weather very fine; and for many miles the Kaatskill mountains, where Rip Van Winkle and the ghostly Dutchmen played at ninepins one memorable gusty afternoon, towered in the blue distance, like stately clouds.

American Notes for General Circulation 2007

Close in their rear marched the Van Vlotens, of Kaatskill, horrible quaffers of new cider, and arrant braggarts in their liquor. —

Washington Irving 2004

Even to this day they never hear a thunderstorm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they say Hendrick Hudson and his crew are at their game of nine-pins; and it is a common wish of all hen-pecked husbands in the neighborhood, when life hangs heavy on their hands, that they might have a quieting draught out of Rip Van

The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon 2002

There stood the Kaatskill mountains — there ran the silver Hudson at a distance — there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always been — Rip was sorely perplexed — “That flagon last night,” thought he, “has addled my poor head sadly!”

The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon 2002

He assured the company that it was a fact, handed down from his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill mountains had always been haunted by strange beings.

The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon 2002

Even to this day they never hear a thunderstorm of a summer afternoon about the Kaatskill, but they say

The Short-story William Patterson Atkinson

He assured the company that it was a fact, handed down from his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill mountains had always been haunted by strange beings.

The Short-story William Patterson Atkinson

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.

The Short-story William Patterson Atkinson

Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Kaatskill mountains.

The Short-story William Patterson Atkinson

There stood the Kaatskill mountains -- there ran the silver Hudson at a distance -- there was every hill and dale precisely as it had always been -- Rip was sorely perplexed -- "That flagon last night," thought he,

The Short-story William Patterson Atkinson