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The Legend of Sleepy Hollow-Part4_WASHINGTON IRVING(1783-1859)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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smiling graciously in reply to all his amorous oglings; while

Brom Bones, sorelysmitten 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 V an Tassel, sat smoking

at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former times, and



drawing 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



defence, parried a musket-ball with a small-sword, insomuch 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 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



apparitions 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 travelled away from the



neighborhood; 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

supernatural 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

unfortunate Major Andre was taken, and which stood in the



neighborhood. 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



was said, tethered his horse nightly among the graves in the

churchyard.



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 puritybeaming through the shades of retirement. A




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