No More Learning

It was ornamented with a gorgeous brass knocker
curiously wrought, sometimes in the device of a dog and some-
times of a lion's head, and was daily burnished with such reli-
gious zeal that it was ofttimes worn out by the very precautions
taken for its preservation. The whole house was constantly in a
state of inundation, under the discipline of mops and brooms and
scrubbing-brushes; and the good housewives of those days were
a kind of amphibious animal, delighting exceedingly to be dab-
bling in water: insomuch that a historian of the day gravely tells
us that many of his townswomen grew to have webbed fingers
like unto a duck; and some of them, he had little doubt, could
the matter be examined into, would be found to have the tails of
mermaids — but this I look upon to be a mere sport of fancy, or
what is worse, a willful misrepresentation.
The grand parlor was the sanctum sanctorum, where the pas-
sion for cleaning was indulged without control. In this sacred
apartment no one was permitted to enter excepting the mistress
and her confidential maid, who visited it once a week for the
purpose of giving it a thorough cleaning and putting things to
rights,- always taking the precaution of leaving their shoes at
the door, and entering devoutly in their stocking feet. After
scrubbing the floor, sprinkling it with fine white sand, which was
curiously stroked into angles and curves and rhomboids with a
broom,- after washing the windows, rubbing and polishing the
furniture, and putting a new bunch of evergreens in the fire-
place,- the window shutters were again closed to keep out the
YIV-501


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flies, and the room carefully locked up until the revolution of
time brought round the weekly cleaning-day.
As to the family, they always entered in at the gate, and
most generally lived in the kitchen. To have seen a numerous
household assembled around the fire, one would have imagined
that he was transported back to those happy days of primeval
simplicity which float before our imaginations like golden visions.
The fireplaces were of a truly patriarchal magnitude, where the
whole family, old and young, master and servant, black and
white, - nay, even the very cat and dog,- enjoyed a community
of privilege, and had each a right to a corner. Here the old
burgher would sit in perfect silence, puffing his pipe, looking in
the fire with half-shut eyes, and thinking of nothing, for hours
together; the goede vrouw on the opposite side would employ
herself diligently in spinning yarn or knitting stockings. The
young folks would crowd around the hearth, listening with breath-
less attention to some old crone of a negro, who was the oracle
of the family, and who, perched like a raven in a corner of the
chimney, would croak forth for a long winter afternoon a string
of incredible stories about New England witches, grisly ghosts,
horses without heads, and hairbreadth escapes and bloody en-
counters among the Indians.
In those happy days a well-regulated family always rose with
the dawn, dined at eleven, and went to bed at sundown. Din-
ner was invariably a private meal, and the fat old burghers
showed incontestable symptoms of disapprobation and uneasiness
at being surprised by a visit from a neighbor on such occasions.
But though our worthy ancestors were thus singularly averse to
giving dinners, yet they kept up the social bands of intimacy by
occasional banquetings, called tea parties.
These fashionable parties were generally confined to the
higher classes or noblesse; that is to say, such as kept their own
cows and drove their own wagons. The company commonly
assembled at three o'clock and went away about six, unless it
was in winter-time, when the fashionable hours were
earlier, that the ladies might get home before dark. The tea-
table was crowned with a huge earthen dish, well stored with
slices of fat pork fried brown, cut up into morsels and swimming
in gravy. The company, being seated around the genial board
and each furnished with a fork, evinced their dexterity in launch-
ing at the fattest pieces in this mighty dish; in much the same
a little


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manner as sailors harpoon porpoises at sea, or our Indians spear
salmon in the lakes. Sometimes the table was graced with im-
mense apple pies, or saucers full of preserved peaches and pears;
but it was always sure to boast an enormous dish of balls of
sweetened dough, fried in hog's fat, and called doughnuts or
olykoeks,-a delicious kind of cake, at present scarce known in
this city excepting in genuine Dutch families.
The tea was served out of a majestic delft teapot, ornamented
with paintings of fat little Dutch shepherds and shepherdesses
tending pigs, with boats sailing in the air, and houses built in
the clouds, and sundry other ingenious Dutch fantasies. The
beaux distinguished themselves by their adroitness in replenish-
ing this pot from a huge copper tea-kettle, which would have
made the pigmy macaronies of these degenerate days sweat
merely to look at it. To sweeten the beverage, a lump of sugar
was laid beside each cup: and the company alternately nibbled
and sipped with great decorum, until an improvement was intro-
duced by a shrewd and economic old lady, which was to suspend
a large lump directly over the tea-table by a string from the
ceiling, so that it could be swung from mouth to mouth; an
ingenious expedient which is still kept up by some families in
Albany, but which prevails without exception in Communipaw,
Bergen, Flatbush, and all our uncontaminated Dutch villages.
At these primitive tea parties the utmost propriety and dig-
nity of deportment prevailed. No flirting nor coquetting, no
.
gambling of old ladies nor hoyden chattering and romping of
young ones, no self-satisfied struttings of wealthy gentlemen with
their brains in their pockets, nor amusing conceits and monkey
divertisements of smart young gentlemen with no brains at all.
On the contrary, the young ladies seated themselves demurely
in their rush-bottomed chairs, and knit their own woolen stock-
ings; nor ever opened their lips excepting to say Yah Mynheer,
or Yah yah Vrouw, to any question that was asked them: behay-
ing in all things like decent, well-educated damsels. As to the
gentlemen, each of them tranquilly smoked his pipe, and seemed
lost in contemplation of the blue and white tiles with which the
fireplaces were decorated, wherein sundry passages of Scripture
were piously portrayed. Tobit and his dog figured to great ad-
vantage; Haman swung conspicuously on his gibbet; and Jonah
appeared most manfully bouncing out of the whale, like Harle-
quin through a barrel of fire.


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The parties broke up without noise and without confusion.
They were carried home by their own carriages; that is to say,
by the vehicles Nature had provided them, excepting such of the
wealthy as could afford to keep a wagon. The gentlemen gal-
.
lantly attended their fair ones to their respective abodes, and took
leave of them with a hearty smack at the door; which, as it was
an established piece of etiquette, done in perfect simplicity and
honesty of heart, occasioned no scandal at that time, nor should
it at the present. If our great-grandfathers approved of the cus-
tom, it would argue a great want of reverence in their descend-
ants to say a word against it.
In this dulcet period of my history, when the beauteous island
of Manna-hata presented a scene the very counterpart of those
glowing pictures drawn of the golden reign of Saturn, there
was, as I have before observed, a happy ignorance, an honest sim-
plicity, prevalent among its inhabitants, which were I even able
to depict, would be but little understood by the degenerate age
for which I am doomed to write.
Even the female sex, those arch innovators upon the tranquil-
lity, the honesty and gray-beard customs of society, seemed for a
while to conduct themselves with incredible sobriety and come-
liness. Their hair, untortured by the abominations of art, was
scrupulously pomatumed back from their foreheads with a candle,
and covered with a little cap of quilted calico, which fitted exactly
to their heads. Their petticoats of linsey-Woolsey were striped
with a variety of gorgeous dyes—though I must confess these
gallant garments were rather short, scarce reaching below the
knee: but then they made up in the number, which generally
equaled that of the gentlemen's small-clothes; and what is still
more praiseworthy, they were all of their own manufacture-of
which circumstance, as may well be supposed, they were not a
little vain.
These were the honest days in which every woman stayed at
home, read the Bible, and wore pockets — ay, and that too of a
goodly size, fashioned with patchwork into many curious devices,
and ostentatiously worn on the outside. These in fact were con-
venient receptacles, where all good housewives carefully stowed
away such things as they wished to have at hand - by which
means they often came to be incredibly crammed: and I remem-
ber there was a story current when I was a boy, that the lady of


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.
Wouter Van Twiller once had occasion to empty her right pocket
in search of a wooden ladle, and the utensil was discovered lying
among some rubbish in one corner; but we must not give too
much faith to all these stories, the anecdotes of those remote
periods being very subject to exaggeration.
Besides these notable pockets, they likewise wore scissors and
pin-cushions suspended from their girdles by red ribands, or
among the more opulent and showy classes, by brass and even
silver chains,- indubitable tokens of thrifty housewives and indus-
trious spinsters. I cannot say much in vindication of the short-
ness of the petticoats: it doubtless was introduced for the purpose
of giving the stockings a chance to be seen, which were gener-
ally of blue worsted, with magnificent red clocks - or perhaps to
display a well-turned ankle, and a neat though serviceable foot,
set off by a high-heeled leathern shoe, with a large and splendid
silver buckle. Thus we find that the gentle sex in all ages have
shown the same disposition to infringe a little upon the laws of
decorum, in order to betray a lurking beauty or gratify an inno-
cent love of finery.
From the sketch here given, it will be seen that our good
grandmothers differed considerably in their ideas of a fine figure
from their scantily dressed descendants of the present day. A A
fine lady in those times waddled under more clothes, even on a
fair summer's day, than would have clad the whole bevy of a
modern ball-room. Nor were they the less admired by the gen-
tlemen in consequence thereof. On the contrary, the greatness of
a lover's passion seemed to increase in proportion to the magni-
tude of its object; and a voluminous damsel arrayed in a dozen of
petticoats was declared by a Low Dutch sonneteer of the prov-
ince to be radiant as a sunflower, and luxuriant as a full-blown
cabbage. Certain it is, that in those days the heart of a lover
could not contain more than one lady at a time; whereas the
heart of a modern gallant has often room enough to accommodate
half a dozen. The reason of which I conclude to be, that either
the hearts of the gentlemen have grown larger, or the persons of
the ladies smaller; this, however, is a question for physiologists
to determine.
But there was a secret charm in these petticoats, which no
doubt entered into the consideration of the prudent gallants.
The wardrobe of a lady was in those days her only fortune; and
she who had a good stock of petticoats and stockings was as


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absolutely an heiress as is a Kamtschatka damsel with a store
of bearskins, or a Lapland belle with a plenty of reindeer. The
ladies therefore were very anxious to display these powerful
attractions to the greatest advantage; and the best rooms in the
house, instead of being adorned with caricatures of Dame Nature
in water-colors and needlework, were always hung round with
abundance of homespun garments, the manufacture and the prop-
erty of the females,- a piece of laudable ostentation that still
prevails among the heiresses of our Dutch villages.
The gentlemen, in fact, who figured in the circles of the gay
world in these ancient times, corresponded in most particulars
with the beauteous damsels whose smiles they were ambitious
to deserve. True it is, their merits would make but a very
inconsiderable impression upon the heart of a modern fair: they
neither drove their curricles nor sported their tandems, for as yet
those gaudy vehicles were not even dreamt of; neither did they
distinguish themselves by their brilliancy at the table and their
consequent rencontres with watchmen, for our forefathers were
of too pacific a disposition to need those guardians of the night,
every soul throughout the town being sound asleep before nine
o'clock.
Neither did they establish their claims to gentility at
the expense of their tailors, for as yet those offenders against the
pockets of society and the tranquillity of all aspiring young gen-
tlemen were unknown in New Amsterdam: every good housewife
made the clothes of her husband and family, and even the goede
vrouw of Van Twiller himself thought it no disparagement to cut
out her husband's linsey-woolsey galligaskins.
Not but what there were some two or three youngsters who
manifested the first dawnings of what is called fire and spirit;
who held all labor in contempt; skulked about docks and market-
places; loitered in the sunshine; squandered what little money
they could procure at hustle-cap and chuck-farthing; swore, boxed,
fought cocks, and raced their neighbors' horses,- in short, who
promised to be the wonder, the talk, and abomination of the
town, had not their stylish career been unfortunately cut short by
an affair of honor with a whipping-post.
Far other, however, was the truly fashionable gentleman of
those days. His dress, which served for both morning and even-
ing, street and drawing-room, was a linsey-Woolsey coat, made
perhaps by the fair hands of the mistress of his affections, and
gallantly bedecked with abundance of large brass buttons; half


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a score of breeches heightened the proportions of his figure, his
shoes were decorated by enormous copper buckles, a low-crowned,
broad-brimmed hat overshadowed his burly visage, and his hair
dangled down his back in a prodigious queue of eelskin.
Thus equipped, he would manfully sally forth with pipe in
mouth to besiege some fair damsel's obdurate heart: not such a
pipe, good reader, as that which Acis did sweetly tune in praise
of his Galatea, but one of true Delft manufacture, and furnished
with a charge of fragrant tobacco. With this would he resolutely
set himself down before the fortress; and rarely failed in the
process of time to smoke the fair enemy into a surrender, upon
honorable terms.
Such was the happy reign of Wouter Van Twiller, celebrated
in many a long-forgotten song as the real golden age, the rest
being nothing but counterfeit copper-washed coin. In that de-
lightful period a sweet and holy calm reigned over the whole
province. The burgomaster smoked his pipe in peace; the sub-
stantial solace of his domestic cares, after her daily toils were
done, sat soberly at the door with her arms crossed over her
apron of snowy white, without being insulted by ribald street-
walkers or vagabond boys, - those unlucky urchins who do so
infest our streets, displaying under the roses of youth the thorns
and briers of iniquity. Then it was that the lover with ten
breeches, and the damsel with petticoats of half a score, indulged
in all the innocent endearments of virtuous love, without fear
and without reproach; for what had that virtue to fear which was
defended by a shield of good linsey-woolseys, equal at least to
the seven bull-hides of the invincible Ajax ?
Ah! blissful and never-to-be-forgotten age! when everything
was better than it has ever been since, or ever will be again:
when Buttermilk Channel was quite dry at low water; when the
shad in the Hudson were all salmon; and when the moon shone
with a pure and resplendent whiteness, instead of that melan-
choly yellow light which is the consequence of her sickening at
the abominations she every night witnesses in this degenerate
city!
Happy would it have been for New Amsterdam, could it
always have existed in this state of blissful ignorance and lowly
simplicity; but alas! the days of childhood are too sweet to last!
Cities, like men, grow out of them in time, and are doomed alike
to grow into the bustle, the cares, and miseries of the world. Let


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no man congratulate himself when he beholds the child of his
bosom or the city of his birth increasing in magnitude and im-
portance: let the history of his own life teach him the dangers
of the one, and this excellent little history of Manna-hata con-
vince him of the calamities of the other.
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW
FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER
From The Sketch Book)
A pleasing land of drowsihead it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
For ever Aushing round a summer sky.
– CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.
I
N THE bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the
eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the
river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tap-
paan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail and
implored the protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there
lies a small market town or rural port which by some is called
Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly known
by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given it, we are
told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent
country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger
about the village tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I
do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it for the sake
of being precise and authentic. Not far from this village, per-
haps about three miles, there is a little valley or rather lap of
land among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the
whole world. A small brook glides through it with just murmur
enough to lull one to re se; and the occasional whistle of a
quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound that
ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.
I recollect that when a stripling, my first exploit in squirrel-
shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one
side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noontime, when
all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of
my own gun as it broke the Sabbath stillness around, and was


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prolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes. If ever I
should wish for a retreat whither I might steal from the world
and its distractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a
troubled life, I know of none more promising than this little
valley.
From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar char-
acter of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the original
Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has long been known by the
name of Sleepy Hollow, and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy
Hollow Boys throughout all the neighboring country. A drowsy,
dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade
the very atmosphere. Some say that the place was bewitched by
a High German doctor during the early days of the settlement;
others that an old Indian chief, the prophet or wizard of his
tribe, held his powwows there before the country was discovered
by Master Hendrick Hudson. Certain it is that the place still
continues under the sway of some witching power that holds a
spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk
in a continual revery. They are given to all kinds of marvelous
beliefs; are subject to trances and visions, and frequently see
strange sights and hear music and voices in the air. The whole
neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight
superstitions; stars shoot. and meteors glare oftener across the
valley than in any other part of the country; and the night-mare,
with her whole nine fold, seems to make it the favorite scene of
her gambols.
The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted re-
gion, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of
the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback without a head.
It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose
head had been carried away by a cannon-ball in some nameless
battle during the Revolutionary War, and who is ever and anon
seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night,
as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to
the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and espe-
cially to the vicinity of a church that is at no great distance.
Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts,
who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating
facts concerning this spectre, allege that, the body of the trooper
having been buried in the church-yard, the ghost rides forth to
the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head; and that the


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rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the hollow,
like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a
hurry to get back to the church-yard before daybreak.
Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition,
which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that
region of shadows; and the spectre is known at all the country
firesides by the name of The Headless Horseman of Sleepy
Hollow.
It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have men-
tioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the valley,
but is unconsciously imbibed by everyone who resides there
for a time. However wide awake they may have been before
they entered that sleepy region, they are sure in a little time
to inhale the witching influence of the air, and begin to grow
imaginative,- to dream dreams and see apparitions.
I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud; for it is in
such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there embosomed
in the great State of New York, that population, manners, and
customs remain fixed, while the great torrent of migration and
improvement, which is making such incessant changes in other
parts of this restless country, sweeps by them unobserved. They
are like those little nooks of still water which border a rapid
stream, where we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly
at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor, undisturbed
by the rush of the passing current. Though many years have
elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet I
question whether I should not still find the same trees and the
same families vegetating in its sheltered bosom.
In this by-place of nature there abode, in a remote period
of American history, - that is to say, some thirty years since, -
a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned, or
as he expressed it, “tarried,” in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose
of instructing the children of the vicinity. He was a native of
Connecticut, a State which supplies the Union with pioneers for
the mind as well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its
legions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters. The
cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person.
tall but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and
legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that
might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely
hung together. His head was small and flat at top, with huge
He was


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8οΙΙ
ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose; so that it
looked like a weathercock perched upon his spindle neck, to tell
which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile
of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and flutter-
ing about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of
famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from
a cornfield.
His schoolhouse was a low building of one large room, rudely
constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched
with leaves of copy-books, It was most ingeniously secured at
vacant hours by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, and
stakes set against the window shutters; so that though a thief
might get in with perfect ease, he would find some embarrass-
ment in getting out: an idea most probably borrowed by the
architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an eel-pot.
The schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation,
just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by,
and a formidable birch-tree growing at one end of it. From
hence the low murmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their
lessons, might be heard of a drowsy summer's day like the hum
of a beehive: interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice
of the master in the tone of menace or command; or peradvent-
ure by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy
loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth to say, he
a conscientious man, that ever bore in mind the golden
maxim, "Spare the rod and spoil the child. ” Ichabod Crane's
scholars certainly were not spoiled.
I would not have it imagined, however, that he was one of
those cruel potentates of the school who joy in the smart of their
subjects: on the contrary, he administered justice with discrimi-
nation rather than severity; taking the burthen off the backs of
the weak and laying it on those of the strong.
Your mere puny
stripling that winced at the least flourish of the rod was passed
by with indulgence; but the claims of justice were satisfied by
inflicting a double portion on some little, tough, wrong-headed,
broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled and grew
dogged and sullen beneath the birch. All this he called “doing
his duty by their parents”; and he never inflicted a chastisement
without following it by the assurance, so consolatory to the smart-
ing urchin, that he would remember it and thank him for it the
longest day he had to live. "
was


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When school hours were over, he was even the companion
and playmate of the larger boys; and on holiday afternoons would
convoy some of the smaller ones home, who happened to have
pretty sisters, or good housewives for mothers, noted for the
comforts of the cupboard. Indeed, it behoved him to keep on
good terms with his pupils. The revenue arising from his school
was small, and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish
him with daily bread,- for he was a huge feeder, and though
lank, had the dilating powers of an anaconda; but to help out his
maintenance he was, according to country custom in those parts,
boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers whose children
he instructed. With these he lived successively a week at a time,
thus going the rounds of the neighborhood, with all his worldly
effects tied up in a cotton handkerchief.
That all this might not be too onerous on the purses of his
rustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of schooling a
grievous burthen and schoolmasters as mere drones, he had vari-
ous ways of rendering himself both useful and agreeable. He
assisted the farmers occasionally in the lighter labors of their
farms: helped to make hay; mended the fences; took the horses
to water; drove the cows from the pasture; and cut wood for
the winter fire. He laid aside, too, all the dominant dignity
and absolute sway with which he lorded it in his little empire,
the school, and became wonderfully gentle and ingratiating. He
found favor in the eyes of the mothers by petting the children,
particularly the youngest; and like the lion bold, which whilome
so magnanimously the lamb did hold, he would sit with a child
on one knee, and rock a cradle with his foot, for whole hours
together.
In addition to his other vocations he was the singing-master
of the neighborhood, and picked up many bright shillings by
instructing the young folks in psalmody. It was a matter of no
little vanity to him on Sundays to take his station in front of
the church gallery, with a band of chosen singers; where in his
own mind he completely carried away the palm from the parson.
Certain it is, his voice resounded far above all the rest of the
congregation; and there are peculiar quavers still to be heard in
that church, and which may even be heard half a mile off, quite
to the opposite side of the mill-pond, on a still Sunday morning,
which are said to be legitimately descended from the nose of Ich-
abod Crane. Thus by divers little makeshifts, in that ingenious


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»
way which is commonly denominated by hook and by crook,"
the worthy pedagogue got on tolerably enough; and was thought,
by all who understood nothing of the labor of head-work, to have
a wonderful easy life of it.
The schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance in
the female circle of a rural neighborhood: being considered a
kind of idle gentlemanlike personage, of vastly superior taste and
accomplishments to the rough country swains, and indeed inferior
in learning only to the parson. His appearance therefore is apt
to occasion some little stir at the tea-table of a farm-house, and
the addition of a supernumerary dish of cakes or sweetmeats, or
peradventure the parade of a silver teapot. Our man of letters,
therefore, was peculiarly happy in the smiles of all the country
damsels. How he would figure among them in the church-yard
between services on Sundays! - gathering grapes for them from
the wild vines that overrun the surrounding trees; reciting for
their amusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones; or saunter-
ing with a whole bevy of them along the banks of the adjacent
mill-pond: while the more bashful country bumpkins hung sheep-
ishly back, envying his superior elegance and address.
From his half itinerant life also he was a kind of traveling
gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house
to house; so that his appearance was always greeted with satis-
faction. He was moreover esteemed by the women as a man of
great erudition; for he had read several books quite through, and
was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's History of New Eng-
land Witchcraft,' in which by the way he most firmly and potently
believed.
He was in fact an odd mixture of small shrewdness and sim-
ple credulity. His appetite for the marvelous, and his powers
of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and both had been
increased by his residence in this spell-bound region. No tale
was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow. It was
often his delight, after his school was dismissed in the afternoon,
to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover bordering the little
brook that whimpered by his school-house, and there con over old
Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of evening made
the printed page a mere mist before his eyes.
. Then, as he
wended his way by swamp and stream and awful woodland to
the farm-house where he happened to be quartered, every sound
of nature at that witching hour fluttered his excited imagination:
(


## p. 8014 (#210) ###########################################

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WASHINGTON IRVING
the moan of the whippoorwill from the hillside; the boding cry
of the tree-toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the
screech-owl; or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds fright-
ened from their roost. The fireflies, too, which sparkled most
vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled him, as one
of uncommon brightness would stream across his path; and if by
chance a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging his blunder-
ing flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the
ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's token.
His only resource on such occasions, either to drown thought or
drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes; and the good
people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors of an even-
ing, were often filled with awe at hearing his nasal melody, "in
linked sweetness long drawn out,” floating from the distant hill,
or along the dusky road.
Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was to pass long
winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning
by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and sputtering along
the hearth, and listen to their marvelous tales of ghosts and gob-
lins, and haunted fields and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges
and haunted houses; and particularly of the headless horseman,
or galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called
him. He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witch-
craft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds
in the air which prevailed in the earlier times of Connecticut;
and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon comets
and shooting-stars, and with the alarming fact that the world did
absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-
turvy!
But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly cuddling
in the chimney corner of a chamber that was all of a ruddy glow
from the crackling wood fire, and where of course no spectre
dared to show its face, it was dearly purchased by the terrors
of his subsequent walk homewards. What fearful shapes and
shadows beset his path amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a
snowy night! With what wistful look did he eye every trem-
bling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from some
distant window! How often was he appalled by some shrub cov-
ered with snow, which like a sheeted spectre beset his very path!
How often did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his
own steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look


## p. 8015 (#211) ###########################################

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8015
over his shoulder lest he should behold some uncouth being
tramping close behind him! And how often was he thrown into
complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees,
in the idea that it was the galloping Hessian on one of his
nightly scourings!
All these however were mere terrors of the night, phantoms
of the mind that walk in darkness; and though he had seen
many spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by
Satan in divers shapes in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight
put an end to all these evils: and he would have passed a pleas-
ant life of it, in despite of the Devil and all his works, if his
path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity
to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches
put together; and that was — a woman.
Among the musical disciples who assembled one evening in
each week to receive his instructions in psalmody, was Katrina
Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch
farmer. She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as
a partridge, ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked as one of her
father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her beauty
but her vast expectations. She was withal a little of a coquette,
as might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture of
ancient and modern fashions as most suited to set off her charms.
She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold which her great-
great-grandmother had brought over from Saardam; the tempt-
ing stomacher of the olden time, and withal a provokingly short
petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country
round.
Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart toward the sex;
and it is not to be wondered at that so tempting a morsel soon
found favor in his eyes, more especially after he had visited her
in her paternal mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect
picture of a thriving, contented, liberal-hearted farmer. He sel-
dom, it is true, sent either his eyes or his thoughts beyond the
boundaries of his own farm; but within these, everything was
snug, happy, and well-conditioned. He was satisfied with his
wealth, but not proud of it; and piqued himself upon the hearty
abundance rather than the style in which he lived. His strong-
hold was situated on the banks of the Hudson, in one of those
green, sheltered, fertile nooks in which the Dutch farmers are
so fond of nestling. A great elm-tree spread its broad branches


## p. 8016 (#212) ###########################################

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WASHINGTON IRVING
over it, at the foot of which bubbled up a spring of the softest
and sweetest water, in a little well formed of a barrel; and then
stole sparkling away through the grass to a neighboring brook,
that babbled along among alders and dwarf willows. Hard by
the farm-house was a vast barn, that might have served for a
church, every window and crevice of which seemed bursting
forth with the treasures of the farm; the fail was busily resound-
ing within it from morning to night; swallows and martins
skimmed twittering about the eaves; and rows of pigeons, some
with one eye turned up as if watching the weather, some with
their heads under their wings or buried in their bosoms, and
others swelling and cooing, and bowing about their dames, were
enjoying the sunshine on the roof. Sleek, unwieldy porkers were
grunting in the repose and abundance of their pens, from whence
sallied forth now and then troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff
the air. A stately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an
adjoining pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of
turkeys were gobbling through the farm-yard, and guinea-fowls
fretting about it like ill-tempered housewives, with their peev-
ish, discontented cry. Before the barn door strutted the gallant
cock, that pattern of a husband, a warrior, and a fine gentle-
man; clapping his burnished wings and crowing in the pride
and gladness of his heart, — sometimes tearing up the earth with
his feet, and then generously calling his ever hungry family of
wives and children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had dis-
covered.
The pedagogue's mouth watered he looked upon this
sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his devouring
mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roasting pig running
about with a pudding in its belly and an apple in its mouth;
the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfortable pie, and
tucked in with a coverlet of crust; the geese were swimming in
their own gravy; and the ducks pairing cozily in dishes like snug
married couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce.
In
the porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon and
juicy relishing ham; not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed
up, with its gizzard under its wing, and peradventure a neck-
lace of savory sausages; and even bright chanticleer himself lay
sprawling on his back in a side dish, with uplifted claws, as if
craving that quarter which his chivalrous spirit disdained to ask
while living
as


## p. 8017 (#213) ###########################################

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8017
As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled
his great green eyes over the fat meadow lands, the rich fields
of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchards
burthened with ruddy fruit, which surrounded the warm tene-
ment of Van Tassel, his heart yearned after the damsel who
was to inherit these domains, and his imagination expanded with
the idea how they might be readily turned into cash, and the
money invested in immense tracts of wild land and shingle pal-
aces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized his
hopes, and presented to him the blooming Katrina, with a whole
family of children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded with
household trumpery, with pots and kettles dangling beneath; and
he beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her
heels, setting out for Kentucky, Tennessee -- or the Lord knows
where!
When he entered the house the conquest of his heart was
complete. It was one of those spacious farm-nouses, with high-
ridged but lowly sloping roofs, built in the style handed down
from the first Dutch settlers, the low projecting eaves forming a
piazza along the front capable of being closed up in bad weather.
Under this were hung fails, harness, various utensils of hus-
bandry, and nets for fishing in the neighboring river. Benches
were built along the sides for summer use; and a great spinning-
wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed the various
uses to which this important porch might be devoted. From this
piazza the wondering Ichabod entered the hall, which formed the
centre of the mansion and the place of usual residence. Here
rows of resplendent pewter ranged on a long dresser dazzled his
eyes. In one corner stood a huge bag of wool, ready to be spun;
in another a quantity of linsey-woolsey, just from the loom; ears
of Indian corn and strings of dried apples and peaches hung in
gay festoons along the walls, mingled with the gaud of red pep-
pers: and a door left ajar gave him a peep into the best parlor,
where the claw-footed chairs and dark mahogany tables shone
like mirrors; andirons, with their accompanying shovel and tongs,
glistened from their covert of asparagus tops; mock-oranges and
conch shells decorated the mantelpiece; strings of various colored
birds' eggs were suspended above it; a great ostrich egg was
hung from the centre of the room; and a corner cupboard, know-
ingly left open, displayed immense treasures of old silver and
well-mended china.
XIV-502


## p. 8018 (#214) ###########################################

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WASHINGTON IRVING
From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions
of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end, and his only
study was how to gain the affections of the peerless daughter of
Van Tassel. In this enterprise, however, he had more real diffi-
culties than generally fell to the lot of a knight-errant of yore,
who seldom had anything but giants, enchanters, fiery dragons,
and such like easily conquered adversaries, to contend with; and
had to make his way merely through gates of iron and brass and
walls of adamant to the castle-keep where the lady of his heart
was confined: all which he achieved as easily as a man would
carve his way to the centre of a Christmas pie, and then the
lady gave him her hand as a matter of course. Ichabod, on the
contrary, had to win his way to the heart of a country coquette
beset with a labyrinth of whims and caprices, which were forever
presenting new difficulties and impediments: and he had to en-
counter a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood, the
numerous rustic admirers who beset every portal to her heart;
keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other, but ready to
fly out in the common cause against any new competitor.
Among these the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roy-
stering blade of the name of Abraham-or according to the
Dutch abbreviation, Brom-Van Brunt, the hero of the country
round, which rung with his feats of strength and hardihood. He
was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly black
hair, and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance, having a
mingled air of fun and arrogance.
From his Herculean frame
and great powers of limb he had received the nickname of Brom
Bones, by which he was universally known. He was famed for
great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous
on horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at all races and
cock-fights, and with the ascendency which bodily strength always
acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his
hat on one side, and giving his decisions with an air and tone
that admitted of no gainsay or appeal. He was always ready for
either a fight or a frolic; had more mischief than ill-will in his
composition; and with all his overbearing roughness there was a
strong dash of waggish good-humor at bottom. He had three or
four boon companions of his own stamp, who regarded him as
their model, and at the head of whom he scoured the country,
attending every scene of feud or merriment for miles round.
In
cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with


## p. 8019 (#215) ###########################################

WASHINGTON IRVING
8019
a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a country gather-
ing descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking about
among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall.
Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the
farm-houses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of
Don Cossacks; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep,
would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered by,
and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones and his gang! ”
The neighbors looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admira-
tion, and good-will; and when any madcap prank or rustic brawl
occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads and warranted
Brom Bones was at the bottom of it.
This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the bloom-
ing Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries; and though
his amorous toyings were something like the gentle caresses
and endearments of a bear, yet it was whispered that she did not
altogether discourage his hopes. Certain it is, his advances were
signals for rival candidates to retire, who felt no inclination to
cross a lion in his amours; insomuch that when his horse was
seen tied to Van Tassel's paling on a Sunday night,- a sure sign
that his master was courting, or as it is termed, “sparking,”
within, - all other suitors passed by in despair, and carried the
war into other quarters.
Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had
to contend; and considering all things, a stouter man than he
would have shrunk from the competition, and a wiser man would
have despaired. He had however a happy mixture of pliability
and perseverance in his nature; he was in form and spirit like a
supple-jack - yielding but tough: though he bent, he never broke;
and though he bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet the
moment it was away — jerk! — he was as erect and carried his
head as high as ever.
To have taken the field openly against his rival would have
been madness; for he was not a man to be thwarted in his amours,
any more than that stormy lover Achilles. Ichabod therefore
made his advances in a quiet and gently insinuating manner.
Under cover of his character of singing-master he made frequent
visits at the farm-house; not that he had anything to apprehend
from the meddlesome interference of parents, which is so often a
stumbling-block in the path of lovers. Balt Van Tassel was an
easy, indulgent soul; he loved his daughter better even than his


## p. 8020 (#216) ###########################################

8020
WASHINGTON IRVING
pipe, and like a reasonable man and an excellent father, let her
have her way in everything. His notable little wife, too, had
enough to do to attend to her housekeeping and manage the
poultry; for as she sagely observed, ducks and geese are foolish
things and must be looked after, but girls can take care of them-
selves. Thus while the busy dame bustled about the house or
plied her spinning-wheel at one end of the piazza, honest Balt
would sit smoking his evening pipe at the other, watching the
achievements of a little wooden warrior who, armed with a sword
in each hand, was most valiantly fighting the wind on the pin-
nacle of the barn. In the mean time, Ichabod would carry on
his suit with the daughter by the side of the spring under the
great elm, or sauntering along in the twilight, that hour so favor-
able to the lover's eloquence.
I profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and
won. To me they have always been matters of riddle and ad-
miration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable point, or door
of access; while others have a thousand avenues, and may be cap-
tured in a thousand different ways. It is a great triumph of skill
to gain the former, but a still greater proof of generalship to
maintain possession of the latter, for a man must battle for his
fortress at every door and window. He that wins a thousand
common hearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who
keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a
hero. Certain it is, this was not the case with the redoubtable
Brom Bones: and from the moment Ichabod Crane made his
advances, the interests of the former evidently declined; his horse
was no longer seen tied at the palings on Sunday nights, and a
deadly feud gradually arose between him and the preceptor of
Sleepy Hollow.
Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his nature, would
fain have carried matters to open warfare, and settled their pre-
tensions to the lady according to the mode of those most concise
and simple reasoners, the knights-errant of yore,- by single com-
bat; but Ichabod was too conscious of the superior might of his
adversary to enter the lists against him. He had overheard the
boast of Bones, that he would “double the schoolmaster up, and
put him on a shelf ”; and he was too wary to give him an oppor-
tunity. There was something extremely provoking in this obsti-
nately pacific system: it left Brom no alternative but to draw
upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play


## p. 8021 (#217) ###########################################

WASHINGTON IRVING
8021
off boorish practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod became the
object of whimsical persecution to Bones and his gang of rough-
riders. They harried his hitherto peaceful domains; smoked out
his singing-school by stopping up the chimney; broke into the
schoolhouse at night, in spite of his formidable fastenings of
withe and window stakes, and turned everything topsy-turvy: so
that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the witches in the
country held their meetings there. But what was still more an-
noying, Brom took all opportunities of turning him into ridicule
in presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom he
taught to whine in the most ludicrous manner, and introduced as
a rival of Ichabod's to instruct her in psalmody.
In this way matters went on for some time, without producing
any material effect on the relative situations of the contending
powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod in pensive mood
sat enthroned on the lofty stool from whence he usually watched
all the concerns of his little literary realm. In his hand he
swayed a ferule, that sceptre of despotic power; the birch of just-
ice reposed on three nails behind the throne, a constant terror to
evil-doers; while on the desk before him might be seen sundry con-
traband articles and prohibited weapons detected upon the persons
of idle urchins, such as half-munched apples, popguns, whirli-
gigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant little paper game-
cocks. Apparently there had been some appalling act of justice
recently inflicted; for his scholars were all busily intent upon their
books, or slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept upon
the master, and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout
the school-room. It was suddenly interrupted by the appearance
of a negro in tow-cloth jacket and trousers, a round-crowned frag-
ment of a hat like the cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back
of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which he managed with a rope
by way of halter. He came clattering up to the school door with
an invitation to Ichabod to attend a merry-making, or "quilting
frolic,” to be held that evening at Mynheer Van Tassel's; and hav-
ing delivered his message with that air of importance and effort
at fine language which a negro is apt to display on petty embas-
sies of the kind, he dashed over the brook and was seen scam-
pering away up the hollow, full of the importance and hurry of
his mission.
All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet school-room.
The scholars were hurried through their lessons without stopping


## p. 8022 (#218) ###########################################

8022
WASHINGTON IRVING
at trifles; those who were nimble skipped over half with impu-
nity, and those who were tardy had a smart application now and
then in the rear, to quicken their speed or help them over a tall
word. Books were flung aside without being put away on the
shelves; inkstands were overturned, benches thrown down, and
the whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual time,
— bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racket-
ing about the green, in joy at their early emancipation.
The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half-hour at
his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best — and indeed only
- suit of rusty black, and arranging his locks by a bit of broken
looking-glass that hung up in the schoolhouse. That he might
make his appearance before his mistress in the true style of a
cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was
domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman of the name of Hans Van
Ripper; and thus gallantly mounted, issued forth like a knight-
errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet I should, in the
true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks and
equipments of my hero and his steed.
The animal he bestrode was a broken-down plow-horse, that
had outlived almost everything but his viciousness.
He was
gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck and a head like a hammer;
his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs; one
eye had lost its pupil and was glaring and spectral, but the other
had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had
fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from his name,
which was Gunpowder. He had in fact been a favorite steed of
his master's, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider,
and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into the
animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there was more
of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the
country.
Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode with
short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pommel
of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers'; he
carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand like a sceptre, and
as the horse jogged on, the motion of his arms was not unlike
the flapping of a pair of wings. A small wool hat rested on the
top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of forehead might be
called, and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out almost to the
horse's tail. Such was the appearance of Ichabod and his steed


## p. 8023 (#219) ###########################################

WASHINGTON IRVING
8023
as they shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it
was altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in
broad daylight.
It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear
and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which
we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had
put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the
tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of
orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks began
to make their appearance high in the air; the bark of the squir-
rel might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory nuts,
and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the neigh-
boring stubble-field.
The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In the
fullness of their revelry they fluttered, chirping and frolicking,
from bush to bush and tree to tree, capricious from the very
profusion and variety around them. There was the honest cock-
robin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen, with its loud
querulous note; and the twittering blackbirds flying in sable
clouds; and the golden-winged woodpecker, with his crimson
crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage; and the
cedar-bird with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail, and its
little monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue-jay, that noisy cox-
comb, in his gay light-blue coat and white underclothes, screaming
and chattering, nodding and bobbing and bowing, and pretending
to be on good terms with every songster of the grove.
As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open to
every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with delight over
the treasures of jolly autumn. On all sides he beheld vast store
of apples, some hanging in oppressive opulence on the trees;
some gathered into baskets and barrels for the market; others
heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press. Farther on he beheld
great fields of Indian corn, with its golden ears peeping from
their leafy coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes and
hasty-pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them,
turning up their fair round bellies to the sun, and giving ample
prospects of the most luxurious of pies; and anon he passed the
fragrant buckwheat fields, breathing the odor of the bee-hive, and
as he beheld them, soft anticipations stole over his mind of dainty
slapjacks, well buttered and garnished with honey or treacle by
the delicate little dimpled hand of Katrina Van Tassel.


## p. 8024 (#220) ###########################################

8024
WASHINGTON IRVING
Thus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and "sugared
suppositions,” he journeyed along the sides of a range of hills
which look out upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mighty
Hudson. The sun gradually wheeled his broad disk down into
the west. The wide bosom of the Tappaan Zee lay motionless
and glassy, excepting that here and there a gentle undulation
waved and prolonged the blue shadow of the distant mountain.
A few amber clouds floated in the sky, without a breath of air to
move them.
The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing
gradually into a pure apple green, and from that into the deep
blue of the mid-heaven. slanting ray lingered on the woody
crests of the precipices that overhung some parts of the river,
giving greater depth to the dark gray and purple of their rocky
sides. A sloop was loitering in the distance, dropping slowly
down with the tide, her sail hanging uselessly against the mast;
and as the reflection of the sky gleamed along the still water, it
seemed as if the vessel was suspended in the air.
It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle of
the Heer Van Tassel, which he found thronged with the pride and
flower of the adjacent country. Old farmers, a spare leathern-
faced race, in homespun coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge
shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles. Their brisk, withered
little dames, in close crimped caps, long-waisted gowns, homespun
petticoats, with scissors and pin-cushions, and gay calico pockets
hanging on the outside. Buxom lasses almost as antiquated as
their mothers, excepting where a straw hat, a fine riband, or per-
haps a white frock, gave symptoms of city innovations. The
sons in short square-skirted coats, with rows of stupendous brass
buttons, and their hair generally queued in the fashion of the
times, especially if they could procure an eеlskin for the purpose,
it being esteemed throughout the country as a potent nourisher
and strengthener of the hair.
Brom Bones however was the hero of the scene, having come
to the gathering on his favorite steed Daredevil; a creature like
himself full of mettle and mischief, and which no one but him-
self could manage. He was in fact noted for preferring vicious
animals, given to all kinds of tricks which kept the rider in con-
stant risk of his neck; for he held a tractable, well-broken horse
as unworthy of a lad of spirit.
Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms that
burst upon the enraptured gaze of my hero, as he entered the


## p. 8025 (#221) ###########################################

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8025
state parlor of Van Tassel's mansion. Not those of the bevy of
buxom lasses, with their luxurious display of red and white; but
the ample charms of a genuine Dutch country tea-table, in the
sumptuous time of autumn. Such heaped-up platters of cakes
of various and almost indescribable kinds, known only to experi-
enced Dutch housewives! There was the doughty doughnut, the
tender olykoek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet-cakes
and short-cakes, ginger-cakes and honey-cakes, and the whole
family of cakes. And then there were apple pies, and peach
pies, and pumpkin pies; besides slices of ham and smoked beef;
and moreover, delectable dishes of preserved plums and peaches
and pears and quinces; not to mention broiled shad and roasted
chickens; together with bowls of milk and cream: all mingled
higgledy-piggledy, pretty much as I have enumerated them, with
the motherly teapot sending up its clouds of vapor from the
midst — Heaven bless the mark! I want breath and time to dis-
cuss this banquet as it deserves, and am too eager to get on
with my story.
Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his
historian, but did ample justice to every dainty. He was a kind
and thankful creature, whose heart dilated in proportion as his
skin was filled with good cheer, and whose spirits rose with eat-
ing as some men's do with drink. He could not help, too, rolling
his large eyes round him as he ate, and chuckling with the pos-
sibility that he might one day be lord of all this scene of almost
unimaginable luxury and splendor. Then, he thought, how soon
he'd turn his back upon the old schoolhouse; snap his fingers
in the face of Hans Van Ripper, and every other niggardly pat-
ron; and kick any itinerant pedagogue out of doors that should
dare to call him comrade!
Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests with a
face dilated with content and good-humor, round and jolly as the
harvest moon. His hospitable attentions were brief but express-
ive, being confined to a shake of the hand, a slap on the shoulder,
a loud laugh, and a pressing invitation to “fall to and help them-
selves. ”
And now the sound of the music from the common room, or
hall, summoned to the dance. The musician was an old gray-
headed negro, who had been the itinerant orchestra of the neigh-
borhood for more than half a century.
His instrument was
as old and battered as himself. The greater part of the time
he scraped away on two or three strings, accompanying every


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movement of the bow with a motion of the head; bowing almost
to the ground and stamping with his foot whenever a fresh couple
were to start.
Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon his
vocal powers.
Not a limb, not a fibre about him was idle; and
to have seen his loosely hung frame in full motion, and clattering
about the room, you would have thought St. Vitus himself, that
blessed patron of the dance, was figuring before you in person.
He was the admiration of all the negroes; who, having gathered,
of all ages and sizes, from the farm and the neighborhood, stood
forming a pyramid of shining black faces at every door and
window: gazing with delight at the scene; rolling their white
eyeballs, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear.
How could the flogger of urchins be otherwise than animated and
joyous ? the lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and
smiling graciously in reply to all his amorous oglings; while
Brom Bones, sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding
by himself in one corner.
When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to a
knot of the sager folks, who with old Van Tassel sat smoking at
one end of the piazza, gossiping over former times, and drawling
out long stories about the war.
This neighborhood, at the time of which I am speaking, was
one of those highly favored places which abound with chronicle
and great men. The British and American line had run near it
during the war; it had therefore been the scene of marauding,
and infested with refugees, cow-boys, and all kinds of border
chivalry. Just sufficient time had elapsed to enable each story-
teller to dress up his tale with a little becoming fiction, and in
the indistinctness of his recollection to make himself the hero of
every exploit.
There was the story of Doffue Martling, a large blue-bearded
Dutchman, who had nearly taken a British frigate with an old
iron nine-pounder from a mud breastwork, only that his gun
burst at the sixth discharge. And there was an old gentleman
who shall be nameless, being too rich a mynheer to be lightly
mentioned, who in the battle of White Plains, being an excellent
master of defense, parried a musket-ball with a small-sword, inso-
much that he absolutely felt it whiz round the blade and glance
off at the hilt; in proof of which he was ready at any time to
show the sword, with the hilt a little bent. There were several
more that had been equally great in the field, not one of whom


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but was persuaded that he had a considerable hand in bringing
the war to a happy termination.
But all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and appa-
ritions that succeeded. The neighborhood is rich in legendary
treasures of the kind. Local tales and superstitions thrive best
in these sheltered, long-settled retreats; but are trampled under
foot by the shifting throng that forms the population of most
of our country places. Besides, there is no encouragement for
ghosts in most of our villages; for they have scarcely had time
to finish their first nap and turn themselves in their graves,
before their surviving friends have traveled away from the neigh-
borhood; so that when they turn out at night to walk their
rounds, they have no acquaintance left to call upon. This is
perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts except in
our long-established Dutch communities.
The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of super-
natural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing to the vicinity
of Sleepy Hollow. There was a contagion in the very air that
blew from that haunted region: it breathed forth an atmosphere
of dreams and fancies infecting all the land. Several of the
Sleepy Hollow people were present at Van Tassel's, and as usual
were doling out their wild and wonderful legends. Many dismal
tales were told about funeral trains, and mourning cries and
wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the unfortu-
nate Major André was taken, and which stood in the neighbor-
hood.
Some mention was made also of the woman in white, that
haunted the dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often heard to
shriek on winter nights before a storm, having perished there in
the snow. The chief part of the stories, however, turned upon
the favorite spectre of Sleepy Hollow, the headless horseman,
who had been heard several times of late patrolling the country:
and it is said, tethered his horse nightly among the graves in
the church-yard.
The sequestered situation of this church seems always to have
made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll,
surrounded by locust-trees and lofty elms, from among which its
decent whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like Christian
purity beaming through the shades of retirement.
A gentle
slope descends from it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by
high trees, between which peeps may be caught at the blue hills
of the Hudson. To look upon this grass-grown yard, where the


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sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at
least the dead might rest in peace. On one side of the church
extends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook
among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep
black part of the stream, not far from the church, was formerly
thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge
itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a
gloom about it even in the daytime, but occasioned a fearful
darkness at night. Such was one of the favorite haunts of the
headless horseman, and the place where he was most frequently
encountered.
The tale was told of old Brouwer, a most heretical disbeliever
in ghosts, how he met the horseman returning from his foray
into Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him; how
they galloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until
they reached the bridge; when the horseman suddenly turned
into a skeleton, threw old Brouwer into the brook, and sprang
away over the tree-tops with a clap of thunder.
This story was immediately matched by a thrice marvel-
ous adventure of Brom Bones, who made light of the galloping
Hessian as an arrant jockey. He affirmed that on returning one
night from the neighboring village of Sing Sing, he had been
overtaken by this midnight trooper ; that he offered to race with
him for a bowl of punch, and should have won it too, for Dare-
devil beat the goblin horse all hollow, but just as they came to
the church bridge the Hessian bolted and vanished in a flash of
fire.
All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with which men
talk in the dark, — the countenances of the listeners only now
and then receiving a casual gleam from the glare of a pipe, -
sunk deep in the mind of Ichabod. He repaid them in kind
with large extracts from his invaluable author Cotton Mather,
and added many marvelous events that had taken place in his
native State of Connecticut, and fearful sights which he had seen
in his nightly walks about Sleepy Hollow.
The revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers gathered
together their families in their wagons, and were heard for some
time rattling along the hollow roads and over the distant hills.
Some of the damsels mounted on pillions behind their favorite
swains; and their light-hearted laughter, mingling with the clat-
ter of hoofs, echoed along the silent woodlands, sounding fainter


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and fainter until they gradually died away, and the late scene
of noise and frolic was all silent and deserted. Ichabod only
lingered behind, according to the custom of country lovers, to
have a tête-à-tête with the heiress, fully convinced that he was
now on the high-road to success. What passed at this interview
I will not pretend to say, for in fact I do not know. Something,
however, I fear me, must have gone wrong; for he certainly sal-
lied forth, after no very great interval, with an air quite desolate
and chapfallen. - Oh these women! these women! Could that
girl have been playing off any of her coquettish tricks? Was her
encouragement of the poor pedagogue all a mere sham to secure
her conquest of his rival ? — Heaven only knows, not I! Let it
suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of one who had
been sacking a hen-roost rather than a fair lady's heart. With-
out looking to the right or left to notice the scene of rural
wealth on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to the
stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his steed
most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which he
was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats,
and whole valleys of timothy and clover.
It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-
hearted and crestfallen, pursued his travel homewards along the
sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarry Town, and which
he had traversed so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as
dismal as himself. Far below him the Tappaan Zee spread its
dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the
tall mast of a sloop riding quietly at anchor under the land.
In
the dead hush of midnight he could even hear the barking of the
watch-dog from the opposite shore of the Hudson; but it was so
vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this
faithful companion of man. Now and then too the long-drawn
crowing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far
off, from some farm-house away among the hills but it was
like a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of life occurred near
him but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or per-
haps the guttural twang of a bull-frog from a neighboring marsh,
as if sleeping uncomfortably, and turning suddenly in his bed.
All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in
the afternoon now came crowding upon his recollection. The
night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in
the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight.


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He was
He had never felt so lonely and dismal.
moreover
approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the
ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of the road stood an
enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the
other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark.
Its limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks
for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth and rising
again into the air. It was connected with the tragical story of
the unfortunate André, who had been taken prisoner hard by;
and was universally known by the name of Major André's tree,
The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and
superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred
namesake, and partly from the tales of strange sights and doleful
lamentations told concerning it.
As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle:
he thought his whistle was answered; it was but a blast sweeping
sharply through the dry branches. As he approached a little
nearer, he thought he saw something white hanging in the midst
of the tree: he paused, and ceased whistling; but on looking more
narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been
scathed by lightning and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly
he heard a groan
his teeth chattered and his knees smote
against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge bough
upon another as they were swayed about by the breeze, He
passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him.
About two hundred yards from the tree, a small brook crossed
the road and ran into a marshy and thickly wooded glen known
by the name of Wiley's Swamp. A few rough logs laid side by
side served for a bridge over this stream. On that side of the
road where the brook entered the wood, a group of oaks and
chestnuts, matted thick with wild grape-vines, threw a cavernous
gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It
was at this identical spot that the unfortunate André was cap-
tured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were
the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him.
This has ever
since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feel-
ings of a schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark.
As he approached the stream his heart began to thump: he
summoned up however all his resolution, gave his horse half a
score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across
the bridge; but instead of starting forward, the perverse old


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animal made a lateral movement, and ran broadside against the
fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the
reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary foot:
it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it was only
to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of bram-
bles and alder-bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip
and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed
forwards snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the
bridge with a suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawl-
ing over his head. Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the
side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the
dark shadow of the grove on the margin of the brook he beheld
something huge, misshapen, black, and towering.
It stirred not,
but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic mon-
ster ready to spring upon the traveler.
The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with
terror. What was to be done ? To turn and fly was now too
late; and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or
goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the
wind ? Summoning up therefore a show of courage, he demanded
in stammering accents, “Who are you? ” He received no reply.
He repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice. Still
there was no answer. Once more he cudgeled the sides of the
inflexible Gunpowder, and shutting his eyes, broke forth with
involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy
object of alarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a
bound stood at once in the middle of the road. Though the
night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might
now in some degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a horse-
man of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of pow-
erful frame. He made no offer of molestation or sociability, but
kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind
side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and
waywardness.
Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight compan-
ion, and bethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones with
the galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed, in hopes of leav-
ing him behind. The stranger however quickened his horse to
an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up and fell into a walk, thinking
to lag behind; the other did the same. His heart began to sink
within him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his


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parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not
utter a stave. There was something in the moody and dogged
silence of this pertinacious companion that was mysterious and
appalling It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a
rising ground which brought the figure of his fellow-traveler in
relief against the sky, gigantic in height and muffled in a cloak,
Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless!
but his horror was still more increased on observing that the
head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried
before him on the pommel of his saddle! His terror rose to
desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gun-
powder, hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion
the slip - but the spectre started full jump with him. Away
then they dashed through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks
flashing at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in
the air, as he stretched his long lank body away over his horse's
head, in the eagerness of his flight.
They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy
Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon,
instead of keeping up it made an opposite turn, and plunged
headlong down-hill to the left. This road leads through a sandy
hollow, shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it
crosses the bridge famous in goblin story; and just beyond, swells
the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church.