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The Tale of Sleepy Hollow: Difference between revisions

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In the bosom of one of those roomy coves which brit the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that great broadening of the ea named by the fern Duch sailers the Tappan Zee, and where hy always glewly shortened sail and besought the beeld of Holy Nickolas when hy fared, there lies a small cheaptune or upland harbor, which by sum is named Greensburgh, but which is more often and fittingly known by the name of Tarry Tune. This name was yeaven, we are told, in former days, by the good husewives of the neighboring shire, from the unswayingunshakenly wontwon of hir weres to tarry abute on cheaping days. Be that as it may, I asoothe this not, but only nemmen it, for the sake of being careful and trewthful. Not far from this thorp, maybe abute two miles, there is a littel deen or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one of the stillest stows in the whole world. A small brook glides thrugh it, with only babbel enugh to lull man to rest; and the unoft whistel of an earshhen or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only lude that ever breaks in on the even roo.
 
I mimmer that, when a knave, my first fand at oakwern shooting was in a grove of tall walnut trees that shades one side of the deen. I had wandered into it at noontime, when all kind is ferly still, and was startelled by the roar of mine own gun, as it broke the restday stillness umb and was lengthened and thrown by the wroth ashilling. If ever I shud wish for a harbor whither I might steal from the world and all its bisiness, and sweven softly away the lave of a life beset, I know of none more toward than this littel deen.
 
From the listless restfulness of the stow, and the ferly eard of its heems, who are afterbears from the form Duch settellers, this closed off glen has long been known by the name of SLEEPY HOLLOW, and its churlish yong men are named the Sleepy Hollow Knaves thrughute all the neighboring land. A drusy, swevenish swaythrake is seen to hang over the land, and to steep the lift itself. Sum say that the stow was bewiched by a High Garman leech, in the early days of the settelling; others, that an old Indish theeden, the dry or soothsayer of his theed, held his puwues there before the land was fund by Her Hendrick Hudson. Wiss it is, the stow still goes on underin the swayhold of sum wiching thrake, that holds a spell over the minds of the good leeds, making hem to walk in an unending swoon. Hy are yeaven to all kinds of wondersum beleefs, are beholden to spells and meetings, and often see ferly sights, and hear soon and stevens in the lift. The whole neighborhood teems with upland tales, wiched steads, and twilight offgalths; stars shoot and gleam oftener thwares the deen than in any other deal of the land, and the nightmare, with her whole ninefold, is seen to make it the fondest setting of her play.
 
The main goast, huever, that stalks this bewiched shire, and looks to be rixer of all the thrakes of the lift, is the dwimmer of an ansen on horseback, withute a head. It is said by sum to be the goast of a Hessish harman, whose head had been born away by a gunstone, in sum nameless hild midst the Overthrowing Wie, and who is ever and anon seen by the churlfolk hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the fithers of the wind. His roamings are not hathered to the deen, but strech at times to the neighboring roads, and hure to the neighwist of a church not far off. Indeed, sum of the most soothfast stearmen of those shires, who have been careful in gathering and samming the floating trewths and tales abute this goast, tell of the harmans body having been beried in the churchyard, the goast rides forth to the setting of guthe in nightly hunt for his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sumtimes flies along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to eftcum to the churchyard before daybreak.
Such is the oft bearing of this taled offgalth, which has brought antimber for many a wild tale in that land of shadows; and the goast is known at all the upland firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.
 
It is markworthy that the leaning to swevens I have nemmened is not bund to the inborn leeds of the deen, but is unwittingly drunk in by every man who dwells there for a time. Huever wide awake hy may have been before hy infared that sleepy land, hy are wiss, in a littel time, to breathe in the wiching swaythrake of the lift, and begin to grow fathomsum, to sweven, and to see dwimmers.
 
I nemmen this frithful stow with all mightly loave, for it is in such littel swethered Duch deens, fund here and there inbosomed in the great Rich of New York, that leeds, sids, and wons are steady, while the great flood of fare and bisiness, which is making unending wends in other deals of this restless land, sweeps hem by unhowed. Hy are like those littel hirns of still water, which hem a swift stream, where we may see the straw and bubbel riding stilly at anker, or slowly wharving in hir littel harbor, unshaken by the rush of the nearby farth. Thaugh many years have gone by sinse I trod the drusy shades of Sleepy Hollow, I wonder yet whether I shud not still find the ilk trees and the ilk maiths idelling in its sheltered bosom.
To have nimmen the feeld openly ayenst his foe wud have been madness; for he was not a were to be hindered in his wooings, any more than that stormy lover, Ackilles, Ickabod, therefore, made his inroads in a slight and softly inkelling way. Under sheeld of his wicken of songmaster, he often neesed the irthhuse; not that he had anything to worry from the nosy hindering of kennends, which is so often a hurdel in the path of lovers. Balt Van Tassel was an eath yeavel sowl; he loved his daughter better even than his pipe, and, like a fair were and a great father, let her have her way in everything. His markworthy littel wife too, had enugh to do with her husekeeping and her fule; for, as she wisely saw, ducks and geese are witless things, and must be looked after, but maids can care for hemselves. Thus, while the bisy lady bustelled abute the huse, or worked her spinningwheel at one end of the portick, good old Balt wud sit smoking his evening pipe at the other, waching the deeds of a littel wooden dring, who, yared with a sword in each hand, was most dughtily fighting the wind on the steepel of the barn. In the meantime, Ickabod wud flirt on with the daughter by the side of the spring under the great elm, or walking along in the twilight, that tide so fair to the lovers words.
 
I bode not to know hu hearts of wives are wooed and won. To me hy have always been things of riddel and fondness. Sum look to have but one woakness, or door of infare; while others have a thusand roads, and may be fanged in a thusand sundry ways. It is a great sie of craft to win the former, but a still greater seething of plot to keep hold of the latter, for man must fight for his keep at every door and eyedoor. He who wins a thusand everyday hearts is therefore berighted to sum lise; but he who keeps unkneated swayhold over the heart of a flirt is indeed a heleth. Wiss it is, this was not hu it was with the fearful Brom Bones; and from the brightom Ickabod Crane made his inroads, the cares of the former suttelly fell; his horse was no longer seen tied to the stakes on Sunday nights, and a deadly feith arose stepwise between him and the teacher of Sleepy Hollow.
 
Brom, who had a bit of rugh hendness in him, wud fain have born things to open guthecraft and have settelled hir rights to the lady, by way of those most pithy and afold reckoners, the wandering knights of yore,—by fight of stand; but Ickabod was too wary of the greater might of his foe to infare into a fight ayenst him; he had overheard a beet of Bones, that he wud “bend the teacher in two, and lay him on a shelf of his own lorehuse;” and he was too wary to yeave him a bire. There was sumthing mighty irsing in the doggedly frithful setup; it left Brom no sidechur but to draw on the stock of upland slyness in his being, and to play off uncooth prats on his foe. Ickabod became the markel of playful ight to Bones and his gang of rughriders. Hy harried his hitherto frithful abodes; smoked ute his singing teachings by stopping up the flew; broke into the lorehuse at night, dreadful fastenings of withe and eyedoor stakes notwithstanding, and threw everything upside dune, so that the arm teacher began to think all the wiches in the land held hir meetings there. But what was still thornier, Brom num all bires to make him a laughingstock in the neighwist of his maid, and had a lorel dog whom he taught to whine in the most moonstruck way, and brought in as a witherwin of Ickabods, to teach her the salms.
 
In this way things went on for sum time, withute bringing abute any trew wend on the bearings of the kneating weres. On a good harvest afternoon, Ickabod, in a thoughtful mood, sat high atop the lifty stool from whense he wached over all the things in his littel kingdom of books. In his hand he swayedswang a twig, that kinyard of might; the birch of rightwiseness rested on three nails behind the seld, an unyeelding brow to evildoers, while on the board before him might be seen sundry runnings and forbidden weapons, fund on the bodies of idel knaves, such as halfeaten appels, popguns, spillcocks, flypens, and whole wereds of wild littel bookfell gamecocks. It looked as if there had been sum eyful deed of rightwiseness lately done, for his conners were all bisily earnest in hir books, or slily whispering behind hem with one eye kept on the master; and a kind of droning stillness rixt thrughute the room. It was broken at onse by the lending of a black in hurden hackel and briches, a sinwelt groat of a hat, like the cap of Hermes, and stelled on the back of a worn dune, wild, halfbroken colt, which he stightelled with a rope by way of stopper. He came clattering up to the lorehuse door with a lathing to Ickabod to cum to a merrimake or “sowing simbel,” to be held that evening at her Van Tassels; and having betaught his errand with that whith of weight, and fand at good speech, which a black is pat to show on small errands of the kind, he rushed over the brook, and was seen bolting away up the hollow, full of the weight and hurry of his upnimming.
 
All was nu bustel and upstir in the late still loreroom. The conners were hurried thrugh hir readings withute stopping at the small things; those who were nimbel hopt over half with freedom, and those who were latred had a smart hit nu and then in the arse, to cwicken hir speed or help hem over a tall word. Books were flung aside withute being put away on the shelves, bleckerns were overwalted, benches thrown dune, and the whole lorehuse was let ute a stund before the wonly time, bursting forth like a wered of yong imps, yelping and running abute the green winfast at hir early leesing.
This neighborhood, at the time of which I am speaking, was one of those highly held stows which are rife with tales and great men. The Brittish and Americkish line had run near it in the wie; it had, therefore, been the setting of reaving, and swarming with those unsettelled, those on horseback, and all kinds of edgeland manship. Right enugh time had gone by to mighten each teller to umbhang his tale with a littel becumming leasespell, and, in the unsuttelness of his min, to make himself the heleth of every deed.
 
There was the tale of Doffue Martling, a great hewnbearded Duchman, who had nearly sunk a Brittish guthship with an old iron ninepunder from a mud breastwork, only that his gun burst at the sixth firing. And there was an old her who shall be nameless, being too rich a were to be lightly nemmened, who, in the hild of White Flats, being an orped master of ward, withset a flone with a small sword, insomuch that he trewly felt it fly umb the blade, and strike off at the hilt; in seething of which he was ready at any time to show the sword, with the hilt a littel bent. There were many more that had been evenly great in the feeld, not one of whom was swayedwon over but that he had had a great hand in bringing the wie to a good end.
 
But all these were nothing to the tales of goasts and dwimmers that followed after. The neighborhood is rich in taled sink of the kind. Goasttales and offgalths thee best in these sheltered, long settelled coves, but are trodden under foot by the shifting throng that makes up the leeds of most of ure upland steads. Besides, there is no filst for goasts in most of ure thorps, for hy have hardly had time to end hir first nap and wend hemselves in hir graves, before hir frends still living have fared away from the neighborhood; so that when hy cum ute at night to walk hir ways, hy have no frend left to chy on. This is maybe the inting why we so seldom hear of goasts but for in ure long settelled Duch tunes.
All the tales of goasts and pucks that he had heard in the afternoon nu came cruding in on his mind. The night grew darker and darker; the stars looked to sink deeper in the heavens, and driving cludes from time to time hid hem from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and lorn. He was, moreover, nearing the stead itself that had been the setting of many of those goasttales. In the middel of the road stood a great saddeltree, which kithed like an ettin above all the other trees of the neighborhood, and made a kind of landmark. Its bughs were gnarled and ferly, great enugh to be as stocks for everyday trees, twining dune almost to the earth, and rising ayen into the lift. It was lenched with the sorrowful tale of the wreched André, who had been hafted hard by; and was known by all by the name of Underheadman Andrés tree. The churlfolk held it with a mong of worth and offgalth, in deal ute of rewth for its unseely namesake, and in deal from the tales of ferly sights, and dreary woops, told abute it.
 
As Ickabod nighed this fearful tree, he began to whistel; he thought his whistel was answered; it was but a blast sweeping sharply thrugh the dry bughs. As he drew a littel nearer, he thought he saw sumthing white, hanging in the midst of the tree; he stalled and stopt whisteling but, on looking more narrowly, saw that it was a stead where the tree had been rined by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. All at onse he heard a groan—his teeth chattered, and his knees smote ayenst the saddel: it was but the gniding of one great bugh on another, as hy were swayedshrithen abute by the wind. He went by the tree in sickerhood, but new plights lay before him.
 
Abute two hundred yards from the tree, a small brook flowed thwares the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly wooded glen, known by the name of Wileys Slugh. A few rugh timbers, laid side by side, made up the bridge over this stream. On that side of the road where the brook infared the wood, a cluster of oaks and chistels, matted thick with wild winetrees, threw a widegale gloom over it. To fare this bridge was the sternest work. It was at this stead itself that the wreched André was fanged, and under the shelter of those chistels and winetrees were the yomen hidden who seated hem. This has ever sinse been thought a gastly stream, and fearful are the moods of the knave who has to fare it alone after dark.
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