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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 Hudsons eastern shore, 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 unshakenly won 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 noontimemidday, 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 thrake 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 in the hold 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 wundersum 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.
I wud not have it thought, huever, that he was one of those reeth leedhates of the lorehuse who nim win from the trey of hir learners; indeed, he yave rightwiseness with shrewdness rather than strength; nimming the birden from the backs of the woak, and laying it on those of the strong. The slight tiny knave, that cringed at the least brandishing of the rod, was let by; but the needs of rightwiseness were fulfilled by wreaking a twifold deal on sum littel tugh wughheaded, broadbottomed Duch chit, who brooded and swole and grew dogged and glum beneath the birch. All this he named “doing his wicken by hir kennends;” and he never wreaked a witeswing withute following it by the oath, so soothing to the smarting chit, that “he wud mun it and thank him for it the longest day he had to live.”
 
When learningtide was over, he was even the frend and playmone of the older knaves; and on holiday afternoonsunderns wud bear sum of the smaller ones home, who overly had pretty susters, or good husewives for mothers, marked for the cweems of the cupboard. Indeed, it behooved him to keep in good standing with his conners. The earnings arising from his lorehuse were small, and wud have been hardly enugh to aford him his daily bread, for he was a great feeder, and, thaugh lank, had the widening might of a pithon; but to help ute his upkeep, he was, as was wont in those lands, boarded and hused at the huses of the bures whose children he taught. With these he lived one after the other a week at a time, thus going all umb the neighborhood, with all his worldaught tied up in a woodwool handcloth.
 
That all this might not be too heavy on the seeds of his upland bearers, who are cwick to think the fee of learning a sweer birden, and teachers as but drones, he had sundry ways of making himself bo helpful and heartsum. He helped the bures from time to time in the lighter swinks of hir work, helped to make hay, beeted the edders, brought the horses to water, drove the kine from leasow, and chopt wood for the winter fire. He laid aside, too, all the high manship and mighty weeld with which he lorded it in his littel kingdom, the lorehuse, and became wunderfully frithful and kind. He fund heeld in the eyes of the mothers by stroking the children, hure the yongest; and like the bold lee, which whilom so loavesumly the lamb did hold, he wud sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradel with his foot for whole stunds together.
From his halfwandering life, also, he was a kind of walking kenbook, bearing the whole weight of the hearsay abute tune from huse to huse, so that his cumming was always greeted with cweem. He was, moreover, held by the wives as a were of great learning, for he had read many books full thrugh, and was a fulframed master of Cotton Mathers “Stear of New England Wichcraft,” in which, by the way, he most strongly and fromly beleeved.
 
He was, in sooth, a selcooth mong of small shrewdness and samwise afoldness. His maw for the wundersum, and his thrakes of grasping it, were evenly great; and bo had been highthened by his abode in this spellbund shire. No tale was too fat or fivellish for his wide swallow. It was often his win, after his conners were let ute in the afternoonundern, to strech himself on the rich bed of clover lining the littel brook that whimpered by his lorehuse, and there con over old Mathers dreadful tales, hent the gathering dusk of evening made the thruched leaf but a mist before his eyes. Then, as he wended his way by slugh and stream and eyful woodland, to the irthhuse where he was boarded at the time, every lude of kind, at that wiching tide, fluttered his highthened fathoming,—the moan of the whipperwill from the hillside, the boding roop of the tree toad, that foreridel of storm, the dreary hooting of the shree ule, or the cwick rustelling in the thicket of birds frightened from hir roost. The fireflies, too, which sparkelled most brightly in the darkest steads, nu and then startelled him, as one of seldseen brightness wud stream thwares his path; and if, at unset steven, a great wanwit of a beetel came swinging his bumbelling flight ayenst him, the arm knave was ready to yeave up the goast, with the thought that he was struck with a wiches token. His only liss in such throes, either to drune thought or drive away evil goasts, was to sing salms and the good folk of Sleepy Hollow, as hy sat by hir doors of an evening, were often filled with ey at hearing his nosely swin, “in lenched sweetness long drawn ute,” floating from the farlen hill, or along the dusky road.
 
Another of his springs of fearful win was spending long winter evenings with the old Duch wives, as hy sat spinning by the fire, with a row of appels breeding and spitting along the hearth, and listen to hir wundersum tales of goasts and pucks, and goastfeelds, and goastbrooks, and goastbridges, and goasthuses, and markedly of the headless horseman, or Riding Hessman of the Hollow, as hy sumtimes named him. He wud thrill hem evenly with his tales of wichcraft, and of the eyful halsends and doomful sights and ludes in the lift, which rixt in the earlier times of Conneticket, and wud frighten hem woefully with weens on shooting and faxed stars; and with the teenful trewth that the world did indeed wharve umb, and that hy were half the time upside dune!
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 afternoonundern, 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 swang 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.
The merrimake nu slowly broke up. The old bures gathered together hir maiths in hir wains, and were heard for sum time rattelling along the hollow roads, and over the farlen hills. Sum of the maidens rode on settels behind hir chosen wooers, and hir lighthearted laughter, mingelling with the clatter of hooves, ashilled along the still woodlands, sweying softer and softer, hent hy stepwise swinded,—and the late setting of din and merrimake was all still and forsaken. Only Ickabod tarried behind, by the won of upland luvers, to have a head to head with the maiden of the huse; fully won over that he was nu on the high road to speed. What went on in this meeting I will not lichet to say, for in sooth I know not. Sumthing, huever, I fear me, must have gone wugh, for he wisly came forth, after no great betwixtfack, with an ansen rather lorn and unmoody. O, these wives! these wives! Cud that maid have been playing off any of her flirtful prats? Was her boldening of the arm teacher all a sham to sicker her winning his foe? Heaven only knows, not I! Let it be enugh to say, Ickabod stole forth with the whith of man who had been winning over a henroost, rather than a fair ladies heart. Withute looking to the right or left to mark the setting of upland wealth, on which he had so often crowed, he went streight to the horsern, and with many hearty blows and kicks woke his steed unhendly from the cweem stead in which he was sundly sleeping, swevening of barrows of corn and oats, and whole deens of clover and catstailgrass.
 
It was the wiching time of night itself that Ickabod, heavihearted and lorn, followed his path homewards, along the sides of the high hills which rise abuve Tarry Tune, and which he had fared so merrily in the afternoonundern. The tide was as grim as his mood. Far beneath him the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and unsuttel weasten of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding softly at anker under the land. In the dead hush of midnight, he cud even hear the barking of the wachdog from the Hudsons wither shore; but it was so unsuttel and slight as only to yeave a ween of his farl from this trothful sither of man. Nu and then, too, the longdrawn crowing of a cock, unwittingly awoken, wud shill far, far off, from sum irthhuse away among the hills—but it was like a sweven to his ear. No tokens of life befell near him, but from time to time the yoomer chirp of a hillhoamer, or maybe the deep twang of a farfrosh from a neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncweemly and starting swiftly in the bed.
 
All the tales of goasts and pucks that he had heard in the afternoonundern 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 abuve 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 shrithen abute by the wind. He went by the tree in sickerhood, but new plights lay before him.
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