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The Tale of Sleepy Hollow: Difference between revisions

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It is markworthy that the leaning to swevens I have nemmened is not held only by 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 thrake of the lift, and begin to grow fathomsum, to sweven, and to see dwimmers.
I nemmen this frithful stow with all mightly loavelove, for it is in such swethered littel 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 wunder yet whether I shud not still find the ilk trees and the ilk maiths idelling in its sheltered bosom.
In this bystow of kind there abode, in a farlen eld of Americkish yore, that is to say, sum thirty years sinse, a worthy wight by the name of Ickabod Crane, who abode, or, as he said it, “tarried,” in Sleepy Hollow, forthat he was teaching the children of the nearby land. He was born in Conneticket, a Rich which yares the Oning with grundbreakers for the mind as well as for the wold, and sends forth yearly its wereds of edgeland woodsmen and upland teachers. The toname of Crane was not unfitting to his ansen. He was tall, but mighty lank, with narrow sholders, long arms and shanks, hands that swung a mile ute of his sleeves, feet that might have worked as shuvels, and his whole frame most woakly hangen together. His head was small, and even at the top, with ettinish ears, great green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked as if a weathercock sat atop his spindel neck to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the ridge of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes swelling and fluttering abute him, man might have misnimmen him for dearth itself alighting on the earth, or sum shewel atwinded from a cornfeeld.
When learningtide was over, he was even the frend and playmone of the older knaves; and on holiday underns 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 loavesumlylovesumly the lamb did hold, he wud sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradel with his foot for whole stunds together.
As well as his other arveths, he was the songmaster of the neighborhood, and pickt up many bright shillings by teaching the yong folks the salms. It was a thing of no littel pride to him on Sundays, to nim his stead at the churches fore, with a band of chosen singers; where in his own mind, he fully bore away the sie from the preest. Wiss it is, his steven ashilled far abuve all the lave of the crude; and there are selcooth cwavers still to be heard in that church, and which may be heard half a mile off, full to the wither side of the millpond, on a still Sunday morning, which are said to be rightfully beyat from the nose of Ickabod Crane. Thus, by sundry littel makeshifts, in that clever way which is oft named “by hook and by crook,” the worthy teacher yat on tholenly enugh, and was thought, by all who understood nothing of the swink of headwork, to have a wunderfully eath life of it.
The foregoing tale is yeaven almost in the words hemselves in which I heard it told at a Bisiness meeting in the fern borough of Manhattoes, at which were there many of its wisest and mearest boroughers. The teller was a winsum, shabby, herly old fellow, in salt and pepper clothes, with a sadly playful anlet, and whom I strongly inkelled of being arm—he made such fands to be gripping. When his tale was ended, there was much laughter and loavelove, hure from two or three yomen aldermen, who had been asleep the greater deal of the time. There was, huever, one tall, dry looking old her, with beetelling eyebrues, who kept a sweer and rather stern anlet thrughute, nu and then folding his arms, nodding his head, and looking dune on the floor, as if wharving a twee over in his mind. He was one of the wary weres, who never laugh but on good grunds—when hy have rode and ea on hir side. When the mirth of the lave of the folk had gone by, and stillness was edstaddelled, he leant one arm on the elbow of his seld, and sticking the other akimbow, askt, with a slight, but overly wise nod of the head, and shortening of the brue, what was the reading of the tale, and what it went to asoothe?
The taleteller, who was right then putting a glass of wine to his lips, as a liss after his swink, stalled for a brightom, looked at his frainer with a whith of unbund yeelding, and, setting the glass slowly dune to the beed, said that the tale was meant most rodefully to asoothe—
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