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Democrats, on the other hand, opposed the adoption of the Constitution, and were inclined to follow the example of France.

61:27 Tory. In the colonies, the party who were loyal to the king.

62: 3 Stony Point. A rocky promontory on the Hudson River, forty-two miles north of New York. There was a fort here during the Revolution, which was captured by storm by General Wayne on July 16, 1779.

62: 4 Antony's Nose. Another promontory on the east side of the Hudson, just at the north entrance of the Highlands. Irving says, in his History of New York, Bk. VI. Chap. X.

“It must be known then that the nose of Antony the Trumpeter was of a very lusty size, strutting boldly from his countenance like a mountain of Golconda; being sumptuously bedecked with rubies and other precious stones. Now thus it happened, that bright and early in the morning, the good Antony, having washed his burly visage, was leaning over the quarter-railing of the gallery, contemplating in it the glassy wave below. Just at this moment the illustrious sun, breaking in all its splendor from behind a high bluff on the highlands, did dart one of his most potent beams full upon the refulgent nose of the sounder of brass; the reflection of which shot straightway down, hissing-hot, into the water, and killed a mighty sturgeon. When this astonishing miracle came to be made known to Peter Stuyvesant, and that he tasted of the unknown fish, he, as may well be supposed, marvelled exceedingly; and as a monument thereof, he gave the name of Antony's Nose to a stout promontory in the neighborhood.”

Hendrick Hudson. An English navigator who attempted to find a northwest passage to China. He sailed up the Hudson for the first time on September 11, 1609. Two years later he discovered Hudson Bay, where his crew sent him adrift in a small boat and left him to die.

63:42 Half-moon. The name of Hudson's vessel. 64: 12 Ditto. From the Latin dictus. Literally that which has been said before, likewise.

Note. The foregoing tale, one would suspect, had been suggested to Mr. Knickerbocker by a little German superstition about the Emperor Frederick der Rothbart and the Kypphauser Mountain; the subjoined note, however, which he had appended to the tale, shows that it is an absolute fact, narrated with his usual fidelity.

“ The story of Rip Van Winkle may seem incredible to many, but nevertheless I give it my full belief, for I know the vicinity of our old Dutch settlements to have been very subject to marvellous events and appearances. Indeed, I have heard many stranger stories than this, in the v llages along the Hudson, all of which were too well authenticated to admit of a doubt. I have even talked with Rip Van Winkle myself, who, when last I saw him, was a very, venerable old man, and so perfectly rational and consistent on every other point, that I think no conscientious person could refuse to take this into the bargain; nay, I have seen a certificate on the subject taken before a country justice, and signed with a cross in the justice's own handwriting. The story, therefore, is beyond the possibility of doubt.”

63: 40

The following are traveling notes from a memorandum-book of Mr. Knickerbocker:

The Kaatsberg, or Catskill Mountains, have always been a region full of fable. The Indians considered them the abode of spirits, who influenced the weather, spreading sunshine or clouds over the landscape, and sending good or bad hunting seasons. They were ruled by an old squaw spirit, said to be their mother. She dwelt on the highest peak of the Catskills, and had charge of the doors of day and night, to open and shut them at the proper hour. She hung up the new moons in the skies, and cut up the old ones into stars. In times of drought, if properly propitiated, she would spin light summer clouds out of cobwebs and morning dew, and send them off from the crest of the mountain, flake after flake, like flakes of carded cotton, to float in the air until, dissolved by the heat of the sun, they would fall in gentle showers, causing the grass to spring, the fruits to ripen, and the corn to grow an inch an hour. If displeased, however, she would brew up clouds black as ink, sitting in the midst of them like a bottle-bellied spider in the midst of its web; and when these clouds broke, woe betide the valleys!

In old times, say the Indian traditions, there was a kind of Manitou or Spirit, who kept about the wildest recesses of the Catskill Mountains, and took a mischievous pleasure in wreaking all kinds of evils and vexations upon the red men. Sometimes he would assume the form of a bear, a panther, or a deer, lead the bewildered hunter a weary chase through tangled forests and among ragged rocks, and then spring off with a lo ho! ho! leaving him aghast on the brink of a beetling precipice or raging torrent.

The favorite abode of this Manitou is still shown. It is a great rock or cliff on the loneliest part of the mountains, and, from the flowering vines which clamber about it, and the wild flowers which abound in its neighborhood, is known by the name of the Garden Rock. Near the foot of it is a small lake, the haunt of the solitary bittern, with water-snakes basking in the sun on the leaves of the pond-lilies, which lie on the surface. This place was held in great awe by the Indians, insomuch that the boldest hunter would not pursue his game within its precincts. Once upon a time, however, a hunter who had lost his way penetrated to the Garden Rock, where he beheld a number of gourds placed in the crotches of trees. One of these he seized, and made off with it; but in the hurry of his retreat he let it fall among the rocks, when a great stream gushed forth which washed him away and swept him down precipices, where he was dashed to pieces, and the stream made its way to the Hudson, and continues to flow to the present day; being the identical stream known by the name of the Kaaters-kill.

THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW (FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER)

A pleasing land of drowsy head it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye:
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
Forever flushing round a summer sky. — Castle of Indolence.

5 In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the

eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail, and implored the

protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small 10 market town or rural fort, which by some is called Greensburgh,

but which is more generally or properly known by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given it, we are told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the

inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village 15 tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the

fact, but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic. Not far from this village, perhaps about three miles, there is a little valley or rather lap of land among high hills, which

is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook 20 glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose;

and the occasional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a woodpecker, is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.

I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in squirrel25 shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of

the valley. I had wandered into it at noon-time when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the Sabbath stillness around, and was prolonged and re

verberated by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat 30 whither I might steal from the world and its distractions and dream

quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this little valley.

From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its inhabitants, who are descendant from the original Dutch 35 settlers, this sequested glen has long been known by the name of

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SLEEPY HOLLOW, and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow boys throughout all the neighboring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very

atmosphere. Some say that the place was bewitched by a high 5 German doctor, during the early days of the settlement: others,

that an old Indian chief, the prophet or wizard of his tribe, held his pow-wows there before the country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson. Certain it is, that the place still continues

. under the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the 10 minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual

reverie. They are given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs; are subject to trances and visions, and frequently see strange sights and hear music and voices in the air. The whole neighborhood abounds

with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions: stars 15 shoot and meteors glare oftener across the valley than in any other

part of the country, and the night-mare, with her whole nine fold, seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols.

The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is 20 the apparition of a figure on horseback without a head. It is

said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary war, and who is ever and anon seen by the

country folk, hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the 25 wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but

extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church that is at no great distance. Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts who have been careful in

collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, 30 allege that, the body of the trooper having been buried in the church

yard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being

belated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before day35 break.

Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which has furnished material for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and the spectre is known at all the country firesides by the name of The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.

It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the valley, but is unconsciously imbibed by every one who resides there for a time.

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However wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they were sure, in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative — to dream and see apparitions. 5 I mention this peaceable spot with all possible laud; for it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there embosomed in the great State of New York, that population, manners, and customs remain fixed, while the great torrent of migration and

improvement, which is making such incessant changes in other 10 parts of this restless country, sweeps by them unobserved. They

are like those little nooks of still water, which border a rapid stream, where we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush

of the passing current. Though many years have elapsed since I 15 trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet I question whether

Ι I should not find the same trees and the same families vegetating in its sheltered bosom.

In this by-place of nature there abode, in a remote period of American history, that is to say, some thirty years since, a worthy 20 wight of the name of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned, or, as he

expressed it, “tarried,” in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the children of the vicinity. He was a native of Connecticut, a State which supplies the Union with pioneers for the

mind as well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its legions of 25 frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters. This cognomen of

Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for

shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His 30 head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy

eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weathercock perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with

his clothes bagging and fluttering behind him, one might have 35 mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.

His school-house was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched

with leaves of copy-books. It was most ingeniously secured at 40 vacant hours by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, and

stakes set against the window-shutters; so that, though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in getting out: - an idea most probably borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an eelpot. The schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a formid5 able birch-tree growing at one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard of a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a beehive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice of the master, in the

tone of menace or command; or, peradventure, by the appalling 10 sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery

path of knowledge. Truth to say, he was a conscientious man, that ever bore in mind the golden maxim, “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” Ichabod Crane's scholars ceratinly were not spoiled.

I would not have it imagined, however, that he was one of those 15 cruel potentates of the school, who joy in the smart of their subjects;

on the contrary, he administered justice with discrimination rather than severity; taking the burden off the backs of the weak and laying it on those of the strong. Your mere puny stripling that

winced at the least flourish of the rod, was passed by with indul20 gence; but the claims of justice were satisfied by inflicting a double

portion on some little, tough, wrong-headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled and grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch. All this he called “doing his duty by their parents”;

and he never inflicted a chastisement without following it by the 25 assurance so consolatory to the smarting urchin, that “he would remember it and thank him for it the longest day he had to live."

When school hours were over, he was even the companion and playmate of the larger boys; and on holiday afternoons would

convoy some of the smaller ones home, who happened to have 30 pretty sisters, or good housewives for mothers, noted for the com

forts of the cupboard. Indeed, it behooved him to keep on good terms with his pupils. The revenue arising from his school was small, and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him with

daily bread, for he was a huge feeder, and though lank, had the 35 dilating power of an anaconda; but to help out his maintenance, he

was, according to country custom in those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers whose children he instructed. With these he lived successively, a week at a time, thus going the

rounds of the neighborhood, with all his worldly effects tied up in 40 a cotton handkerchief.

That all this might not be too onerous on the purses of the rustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of schooling a grievous

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