No More Learning

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


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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


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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


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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


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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


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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


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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


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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


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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.


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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


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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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WASHINGTON IRVING
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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8027
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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WASHINGTON IRVING
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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8029
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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WASHINGTON IRVING
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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WASHINGTON IRVING
8031
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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8032
WASHINGTON IRVING
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.
As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskillful rider an
apparent advantage in the chase; but just as he had got half-
way through the hollow the girths of the saddle gave way, and
he felt it slipping from under him. He seized it by the pommel
and endeavored to hold it firm, but in vain; and had just time
to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder round the neck, when
the saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot
by his pursuer. For a moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper's
wrath passed across his mind — for it was his Sunday saddle:
but this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his
haunches; and (unskillful rider that he was! ) he had much ado
to maintain his seat, sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes
on another, and sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse's
backbone with a violence that he verily feared would cleave him
asunder.
An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that
the church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a


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WASHINGTON IRVING
8033
silver star in the busom of the brook told him that he was not
mistaken. He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under
the trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom Bones's
ghostly competitor had disappeared. If I can but reach that
bridge,” thought Ichabod, “I am safe. ” Just then he heard the
black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even
fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in
the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thun-
dered over the resounding planks; he gained the opposite side:
and now Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should
vanish according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just
then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very
act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge
the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium
with a tremendous crash — he was tumbled headlong into the
dust; and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider,
passed by like a whirlwind.
The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle,
and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass
at his master's gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at
breakfast; dinner hour came, but no Ichabod. The boys assem-
bled at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about the banks of the
brook; but no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel
some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod and his saddle.
An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation they
came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading to the
church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks
of horses' hoofs, deeply dented in the road, and evidently at
furious speed, were traced to the bridge; beyond which, on the
bank of a broad part of the brook where the water ran deep and
black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close
beside it a shattered pumpkin.
The brook was searched, but the body of the schoolmaster
was not to be discovered. Hans Van Ripper, as executor of
his estate, examined the bundle which contained all his worldly
effects. They consisted of two shirts and a half; two stocks for
the neck; a pair or two of worsted stockings; an old pair of cor-
duroy small-clothes; a rusty razor; a book of psalm tunes full of
dog's-ears; and a broken pitch-pipe. As to the books and furni-
ture of the schoolhouse, they belonged to the community, except-
ing Cotton Mather's History of Witchcraft,' a New England
XIV-503


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8034
WASHINGTON IRVING
Almanac, and a book of dreams and fortune-telling; in which
last was a sheet of foolscap, much scribbled and blotted by sev-
eral fruitless attempts to make a copy of verses in honor of
the heiress of Van Tassel. These magic books and the poetic
scrawl were forth with consigned to the flames by Hans Van
Ripper; who from that time forward determined to send his child-
ren no more to school, observing that he never knew any good
come of this same reading and writing. Whatever money the
schoolmaster possessed - and he had received his quarter's pay
but a day or two before — he must have had about his person at
the time of his disappearance.
The mysterious event caused much speculation at the church
on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and gossips were col-
lected in the church-yard, at the bridge, and at the spot where
the hat and pumpkin had been found. The stories of Brouwer,
of Bones, and a whole budget of others, were called to mind; and
when they had diligently considered them all, and compared them
with the symptoms of the present case, they shook their heads,
and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried off by
the galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor and in nobody's
debt, nobody troubled his head any more about him; the school
was removed to a different quarter of the Hollow, and another
pedagogue reigned in his stead.
It is true, an old farmer who had been down to New York on
a visit several years after, and from whom this account of the
ghostly adventure was received, brought home the intelligence
Ichabod Crane was still alive; that he had left the neighbor-
hood partly through fear of the goblin and Hans Van Ripper,
and partly in mortification at having been suddenly dismissed by
the heiress; that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of
the country; had kept school and studied law at the same time;
had been admitted to the bar; turned politician; electioneered;
written for the newspapers; and finally had been made a Justice
of the Ten Pound Court. Brom Bones, too, who shortly after his
rival's disappearance conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph
to the altar, was observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever
the story of Ichabod was related, and always burst into a hearty
laugh at the mention of the pumpkin; which led some to sus-
pect that he knew more about the matter than he chose to tell.
The old country wives, however, who are the best judges of
these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited


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8035
away by supernatural means; and it is a favorite story often
told about the neighborhood round the winter evening fire. The
bridge became more than ever an object of superstitious awe; and
that may be the reason why the road has been altered of late
years, so as to approach the church by the border of the mill-
pond. The schoolhouse, being deserted, soon fell to decay, and
was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate
pedagogue; and the plow-boy, loitering homeward of a still sum-
mer evening, has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a
melancholy psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy
Hollow.
A MOORISH PALACE
From The Alhambra)
THE
HE Alhambra is an ancient fortress or castellated palace of
the Moorish kings of Granada, where they held dominion
over this their boasted terrestrial paradise, and made their
last stand for empire in Spain. The palace occupies but a por-
tion of the fortress; the walls of which, studded with towers,
stretch irregularly round the whole crest of a lofty hill that over-
looks the city, and forms a spire of the Sierra Nevada or Snowy
Mountain.
In the time of the Moors the fortress was capable of contain-
ing an army of forty thousand men within its precincts, and served
occasionally as a stronghold of the sovereigns against their rebel-
lious subjects. After the kingdom had passed into the hands of
the Christians, the Alhambra continued a royal demesne, and was
occasionally inhabited by the Castilian monarchs. The Emperor
Charles V. began a sumptuous palace within its walls, but was
deterred from completing it by repeated shocks of earthquakes.
The last royal residents were Philip V. and his beautiful Queen
Elizabetta of Parma, early in the eighteenth century.
Leaving our posada of La Espada, we traversed the renowned
square of the Vivarrambla, once the scene of Moorish jousts and
tournaments, now
a crowded market-place. From thence
proceeded along the Zacatin, the main street of what was the
great Bazaar in the time of the Moors, where the small shops
and narrow alleys still retain their Oriental character. Cross-
ing an open place in front of the palace of the captain-general,
we ascended a confined and winding street, the name of which
we


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8036
WASHINGTON IRVING
1
1
reminded us of the chivalric days of Granada. It is called the
Calle, or street, of the Gomeres, from a Moorish family famous in
chronicle and song. This street led up to a mansion gateway of
Grecian architecture, built by Charles V. , forming the entrance
to the domains of the Alhambra.
At the gate were two or three ragged and superannuated sol.
diers dozing on a stone bench, the successors of the Zegris and
the Abencerrages; while a tall meagre varlet, whose rusty brown
cloak was evidently intended to conceal the ragged state of his
nether garments, was lounging in the sunshine, and gossiping
with an ancient sentinel on duty.
We now found ourselves in a deep narrow ravine filled with
beautiful groves, with a steep avenue and various foot-paths wind-
ing through it, bordered with stone seats and ornamented with
fountains. To our left we beheld the towers of the Alhambra
beetling above us; to our right on the opposite side of the ravine
we were equally dominated by rival towers on a rocky eminence.
These, we were told, were the Torres Vermejos or V'ermilion
Towers, so called from their ruddy hue. No one knows their
origin. They are of a date much anterior to the Alhambra.
Some suppose them to have been built by the Romans; others
by some wandering colony of Phænicians. Ascending the steep
and shady avenue, we arrived at the foot of a huge square Moor-
ish tower, forming a kind of barbican, through which passed the
main entrance to the fortress. Within the barbican was another
group of veteran invalids; one mounting guard at the portal,
while the rest, wrapped in their tattered cloaks, slept on the stone
benches. This portal is called the Gate of Justice, from the tri-
bunal held within its porch during the Moslem domination, for the
immediate trial of petty causes; a custom common to the Oriental
nations, and occasionally alluded to in the sacred Scriptures.
The great vestibule or porch of the gate is formed by an
immense Arabian arch of the horseshoe form, which springs to
half the height of the tower. On the keystone of this arch is
engraven a gigantic hand. Within the vestibule, on the keystone
of the portal, is engraven in like manner a gigantic key. Those
who pretend to some knowledge of Mahometan symbols affirm
that the hand is the emblem of doctrine, and the key of faith;
the latter, they add, was emblazoned on the standard of the Mos-
lems when they subdued Andalusia, in opposition to the Christian
emblem of the cross.


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8037
After passing through the Barbican we ascended a narrow
lane winding between walls, and came on an open esplanade
within the fortress, called the Plaza de los Algibes, or Place of
the Cisterns, from great reservoirs which undermine it, cut in the
living rock by the Moors for the supply of the fortress. Here
also is a well of immense depth, furnishing the purest and
coldest of water, - another monument of the delicate taste of the
Moors, who were indefatigable in their exertions to obtain that
element in its crystal purity.
In front of this esplanade is the splendid pile commenced by
Charles V. , intended it is said to eclipse the residence of the
Moslem kings. With all its grandeur and architectural merit, it
appeared to us like an arrogant intrusion; and passing by it, we
entered a simple unostentatious portal opening into the interior
of the Moorish palace.
The transition was almost magical; it seemed as if we were
at once transported into other times and another realm, and
were treading the scenes of Arabian story. We found ourselves
in a great court, paved with white marble and decorated at each
end with light Moorish peristyles. It is called the Court of the
Alberca. In the centre was an immense basin or fish-pool, a
hundred and thirty feet in length by thirty in breadth, stocked
with gold-fish and bordered by hedges of roses.
At the upper
end of this court rose the great tower of Comares.
From the lower end we passed through a Moorish archway
into the renowned Court of Lions. There is no part of the
edifice that gives us a more complete idea of its original beauty
and magnificence than this; for none has suffered so little from
the ravages of time. In the centre stands the fountain famous
in song and story. The alabaster basins still shed their diamond
drops, and the twelve lions which support them cast forth their
crystal streams as in the days of Boabdil. The court is laid
out in flower-beds, and surrounded by light Arabian arcades of
open filigree work, supported by slender pillars of white marble.
The architecture, like that of all the other parts of the palace,
is characterized by elegance rather than grandeur, bespeaking a
delicate and graceful taste and a disposition to indolent enjoy-
ment. When we look upon the fairy tracery of the peristyles,
and the apparently fragile fretwork of the walls, it is difficult
to believe that so much has survived the wear and tear of cen-
turies, the shocks of earthquakes, the violence of war, and the


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WASHINGTON IRVING
quiet though no less baneful pilferings of the tasteful traveler.
It is almost sufficient to excuse the popular tradition that the
whole is protected by a magic charm.
On one side of the court, a portal richly adorned opens into
a lofty hall paved with white marble, and called the Hall of the
Two Sisters. A cupola or lantern admits a tempered light from
above, and a free circulation of air. The lower part of the walls
is incrusted with beautiful Moorish tiles, on some of which are
emblazoned the escutcheons of the Moorish monarchs; the upper
part is faced with the fine stucco work invented at Damascus,
consisting of large plates cast in molds and artfully joined, so as
to have the appearance of having been laboriously sculptured by
the hand into light relievos and fanciful arabesques, intermingled
with texts of the Koran and poetical inscriptions in Arabian and
Celtic characters. These decorations of the walls and cupolas
are richly gilded, and the interstices paneled with lapis lazuli and
other brilliant and enduring colors. On each side of the wall
are recesses for ottomans and arches. Above an inner porch is
a balcony which communicated with the women's apartment.
The latticed balconies still remain from whence the dark-eyed
beauties of the harem might gaze unseen upon the entertain-
ments of the hall below.
From the Court of Lions we retraced our steps through the
Court of the Alberca, or great fish-pool; crossing which we pro-
ceeded to the Tower of Comares, so called from the name of the
Arabian architect. It is of massive strength and lofty height,
domineering over the rest of the edifice, and overhanging the
steep hillside which descends abruptly to the banks of the Darro.
A Moorish archway admitted us into a vast and lofty hall which
occupies the interior of the tower, and was the grand audience
chamber of the Moslem monarchs; thence called the Hall of
Ambassadors. It still bears the traces of past magnificence. The
walls are richly stuccoed, and decorated with arabesques; the
vaulted ceilings of cedar-wood, almost lost in obscurity from its
height, still gleam with rich gilding and the brilliant tints of the
Arabian pencil. On three sides of the saloon are deep windows,
cut through the immense thickness of the walls, the balconies of
which look down upon the verdant valley of the Darro, the streets
and convents of the Albaycin, and command a prospect of the
distant Vega. I might go on to describe the other delightful
apartments of this side of the palace: the Tocador or toilet of


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WASHINGTON IRVING
8039
the queen, an open belvedere on the summit of the tower, where
the Moorish sultanas enjoyed the pure breezes from the mountain
and the prospect of the surrounding paradise; the secluded little
patio or garden of Lindaraxa, with its alabaster fountain, its
thickets of roses and myrtles, of citrons and oranges; the cool
halls and grottoes of the baths, where the glare and heat of day
are tempered into a self-mysterious light and a pervading fresh-
ness: but I appear to dwell minutely on these scenes. My object
is merely to give the reader a general introduction into an abode
where, if disposed, he may linger and loiter with me through the
remainder of this work, gradually becoming familiar with all its
beauties.
An abundant supply of water, brought from the mountains by
old Moorish aqueducts, circulates throughout the palace, supplying
its baths and fish-pools, sparkling in jets within its halls, or mur-
muring in channels along the marble pavements. When it has
paid its tribute to the royal pile, and visited its gardens and
pastures, it flows down the long avenue leading to the city, tin-
kling in rills, gushing in fountains, and maintaining a perpetual
verdure in those groves that embower and beautify the whole hill
of the Alhambra.
The peculiar charm of this old dreamy palace is its power of
calling up vague reveries and picturings of the past, and thus
clothing naked realities with the illusions of the memory and the
imagination. As I delight to walk in these vain shadows,” I
am prone to seek those parts of the Alhambra which are most
favorable to this phantasmagoria of the mind; and none are more
so than the Court of Lions and its surrounding halls. Here the
hand of time has fallen the lightest, and the traces of Moorish
elegance and splendor exist in almost their original brilliancy.
Earthquakes have shaken the foundations of this pile, and rent
its rudest towers, yet see— not one of those slender columns
has been displaced; not an arch of that light and fragile colon-
nade has given way; and all the fairy fretwork of these domes,
apparently as unsubstantial as the crystal fabrics of a morning's
frost, yet exist after the lapse of centuries, almost as fresh as
if from the hand of the Moslem artist.
I write in the midst of these mementos of the past, in the
fresh hour of early morning, in the fated hall of the Abencer-
rages. The blood-stained fountain, the legendary monument of
their massacre, is before me; the lofty jet almost casts its dew


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upon my paper.
How difficult to reconcile the ancient tale of
violence and blood with the gentle and peaceful scene around.
Everything here appears calculated to inspire kind and happy
feelings, for everything is delicate and beautiful. The very light
falls tenderly from above through the lantern of a dome tinted
and wrought as if by fairy hands. Through the ample and
fretted arch of the portal I behold the Court of Lions, with
brilliant sunshine gleaming along its colonnades and sparkling in
its fountains. The lively swallow dives into the court, and then,
surging upwards, darts away twittering over the roof; the busy
bee toils humming among the flower-beds, and painted butterflies
hover from plant to plant, and flutter up and sport with each
other in the sunny air. It needs but a slight exertion of the
fancy to picture some pensive beauty of the harem, loitering in
these secluded haunts of Oriental luxury.
He however who would behold this scene under an aspect
more in unison with its fortunes, let him come when the shadows
of evening temper the brightness of the court, and throw a gloom
into the surrounding halls: then nothing can be more serenely
melancholy, or more in harmony with the tale of departed
grandeur.
At such times I am apt to seek the Hall of Justice, whose
deep shadowy arcades extend across the upper end of the court.
Here were performed, in presence of Ferdinand and Isabella and
their triumphant court, the pompous ceremonies of high mass on
taking possession of the Alhambra. The very cross is still to
be seen upon the wall where the altar was erected, and where
officiated the grand cardinal of Spain and others of the highest
religious dignitaries of the land.
I picture to myself the scene when this place was filled with
the conquering host, - that mixture of mitred prelate, and shorn
monk, and steel-clad knight, and silken courtier; when crosses
and crosiers and religious standards were mingled with proud
armorial ensigns and the banners of the haughty chiefs of Spain,
and flaunted in triumph through these Moslem halls. I picture
to myself Columbus, the future discoverer of a world, taking his
modest stand in a remote corner, the humble and neglected spec-
tator of the pageant. I see in imagination the Catholic sovereigns
prostrating themselves before the altar and pouring forth thanks
for their victory, while the vaults resound with sacred minstrelsy
and the deep-toned Te Deum.


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8041
The transient illusion is over; the pageant melts from the
fancy; monarch, priest, and warrior return into oblivion with the
poor Moslems over whom they exulted. The hall of their triumph
is waste and desolate. The bat flits about its twilight vaults, and
the owl hoots from the neighboring tower of Comares.
THE STAGE-COACH
From The Sketch Book)
Omne bene
Sine pænâ
Tempus est ludendi
Venit hora
Absque mora
Libros deponendi.
- OLD HOLIDAY SCHOOL SONG.
IN
N THE course of a December tour in Yorkshire, I rode for a
long distance in one of the public coaches, on the day pre-
ceding Christmas. The coach was crowded both inside and
out with passengers, who by their talk seemed principally bound
to the mansions of relations or friends, to eat the Christmas
dinner. It was loaded also with hampers of game, and baskets
and boxes of delicacies; and hares hung dangling their long ears
about the coachman's box, presents from distant friends for the
impending feast. I had three fine rosy-cheeked boys for my
fellow passengers inside, full of the buxom health and manly
spirit which I have observed in the children of this country.
They were returning home for the holidays in high glee, and
promising themselves a world of enjoyment. It was delightful to
hear the gigantic plans of the little rogues, and the impracticable
feats they were to perform during their six-weeks' emancipation
from the abhorred thralldom of book, birch, and pedagogue,
They were full of anticipations of the meeting with the family
and household, down to the very cat and dog; and of the joy
they were to give their little sisters by the presents with which
their pockets were crammed: but the meeting to which they
seemed to look forward with the greatest impatience was with
Bantam, which I found to be a pony, and according to their
talk, possessed of more virtues than any steed since the days of
Bucephalus. How he could trot! how he could run! and then
such leaps as he would take! there was not a hedge in the
whole country that he could not clear.


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WASHINGTON IRVING
They were under the particular guardianship of the coachman,
to whom whenever an opportunity presented they addressed a
host of questions, and pronounced him one of the best fellows in
the world. Indeed, I could not but notice the more than ordinary
air of bustle and importance of the coachman, who wore his hat
a little on one side, and had a large bunch of Christmas greens
stuck in the buttonhole of his coat. He is always a personage
full of mighty care and business; but he is particularly so during
this season, having so many commissions to execute in conse-
quence of the great interchange of presents. And here perhaps
it may not be unacceptable to my untraveled readers to have
a sketch that may serve as a general representation of this very
numerous and important class of functionaries, who have a dress,
a manner, a language, an air, peculiar to themselves and preva-
lent throughout the fraternity; so that wherever an English stage-
coachman may be seen, he cannot be mistaken for one of any
other craft or mystery.
He has commonly a broad full face, curiously mottled with
red, as if the blood had been forced by hard feeding into every
vessel of the skin; he is swelled into jolly dimensions by fre-
quent potations of malt liquors, and his bulk is still further
increased by a multiplicity of coats, in which he is buried like
a cauliflower, the upper one reaching to his heels. He wears a
broad-brimmed low-crowned hat, a huge roll of colored handker-
chief about his neck, knowingly knotted and tucked in at the
bosom; and has in summer-time a large bouquet of flowers in his
buttonhole, the present most probably of some enamored country
lass. His waistcoat is commonly of some bright color striped,
and his small-clothes extend far below the knees, to meet a pair
of jockey boots which reach about half-way up his legs.
All this costume is maintained with much precision; he has a
pride in having his clothes of excellent materials, and notwith-
standing the seeming grossness of his appearance, there is still
discernible that neatness and propriety of person which is almost
inherent in an Englishman. He enjoys great consequence and
.
consideration along the road; has frequent conferences with the
village housewives, who look upon him as a man of great trust
and dependence; and he seems to have a good understanding
with every bright-eyed country lass. The moment he arrives
where the horses are to be changed, he throws down the reins
with something of an air and abandons the cattle to the care of
the hostler, his duty being merely to drive from one stage to


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another. When off the box his hands are thrust into the pockets
of his greatcoat, and he rolls about the inn-yard with an air of
the most absolute lordliness. Here he is generally surrounded
by an admiring throng of hostlers, stable-boys, shoeblacks, and
those nameless hangers-on that infest inns and taverns, and run
errands, and do all kind of odd jobs for the privilege of batten-
ing on the drippings of the kitchen and the leakage of the tap-
room. These all look up to him as to an oracle; treasure up
his cant phrases; echo his opinions about horses and other topics
of jockey lore; and above all, endeavor to imitate his air and
carriage. Every ragamuffin that has a coat to his back thrusts
his hands in the pockets, rolls in his gait, talks slang, and is an
embryo Coachey.
Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing serenity that
reigned in my own mind, that I fancied I saw cheerfulness in
every countenance throughout the journey. A stage-coach, how-
ever, carries animation always with it, and puts the world in
motion as it whirls along. The horn sounded at the entrance of
a village produces a general bustle. Some hasten forth to meet
friends; some with bundles and bandboxes to secure places, and
in the hurry of the moment can hardly take leave of the group
that accompanies them. In the mean time the coachman has a
world of small commissions to execute. Sometimes he delivers
a hare or pheasant; sometimes jerks a small parcel or news-
paper to the door of a public-house; and sometimes, with knowing
leer and words of sly import, hands to some half blushing, half
laughing housemaid an odd-shaped billet-doux from some rustic
admirer. As the coach rattles through the village every one
runs to the window, and you have glances on every side, of fresh
country faces and blooming giggling girls.