broad-skirted, Dutch urchins" in the rudiments of learning. He was also the singing-master of the neighbourhood. Not far off lived old Baltus Van Tassel, a well-to-do farmer, whose house was called Wolfert's Roost. He had a blooming and only daughter named Katrina, and Ichabod was her tutor in psalmody, training her voice to mingle sweetly with those of the choir which he led at Sabbath-day worship in the Sleepy Hollow Church. Ichabod "had a soft and foolish heart toward the sex." He fell in love with Katrina. He found a rival in his suit in stalwart, bony Brom Van Brunt, commonly known as Brom Bones. Jealousies arose, and the Dutchman resolved to drive the Yankee schoolmaster from the country.

Strange stories of ghosts in Sleepy Hollow were believed by all, and by none more implicitly than Ichabod. The chief goblin seen there was that of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon ball. This spectre was known all over the country as "The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow."

Ichabod was invited to a social evening party at the house of Van Tassel. He went with alacrity, and borrowed a lean horse called Gunpowder for the journey. Brom Bones was also there. When the company broke up, Ichabod lingered to have a few words with Katrina. He then bestrode Gunpowder, and started for home. When within half a mile of the old church, a horse and rider, huge, black, and mysterious, suddenly appeared by his side. The rider was headless, and to the horror of the pedagogue it was discovered that he carried his head in his hand, on the pommel of his saddle. Ichabod was half dead with fear. He urged Gunpowder forward to escape the demon, but in vain. The headless horseman followed. The walls of the old church appeared in the dim starlight of the midnight hour. The log bridge, in the deep shadows of the trees, was near. "If I can but reach that bridge," thought Ichabod, "I shall be safe." Just then he heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs and old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge: he thundered over the resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer would vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and brim

stone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavoured to dodge the horrible missile, but too late; it encountered his cranium with a terrible crash; he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider, passed like a whirlwind. A shattered pumpkin was found in the road the next day, and Brom Jones not long afterwards led Katrina Van Tassel to the altar as his bride. Ichabod was never heard of afterwards. The people always believed he had been spirited away by the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow, who, on that occasion, some knowing ones supposed to have been a being no more ghostly than Brom Bones himself.

66

Let us climb over this stile by the corner of the old church, into the yard where so many of the pilgrims of earth are sleeping. Here are mossy stones with half obliterated epitaphs, marking the graves of many early settlers, among whom is one, upon whose monumental slab it is recorded, that he lived until he was one hundred and three years old," and had one hundred and twenty-four children and grandchildren at the time of his death! Let us puss on up this narrow winding path, and cross the almost invisible boundary between the old "graveyard" and the new "cemetery." Here, well up towards the summit of the hill near the "receiving vault," upon a beautiful sunny slope, is an enclosure made of iron bars and privet hedge, with open gate, inviting entrance. There in line stand several slabs of white marble, only two feet in height, at the head of as many oblong hillocks, covered with turf and budding spring flowers. Upon one of these, near the centre, we read:

WASHINGTON,

SON OF

WILLIAM AND

SARAH S. IRVING,

DIED

NOV. 28, 1859,

AGED 76 YEARS 7 MO.
AND 25 DAYS.

This is the grave of the immortal Geoffrey Crayon!* Upon it lie

* In the Episcopal Church at Tarrytown, in which Mr. Irving was a communicant for many years, a small marble tablet has been placed by the vestry, with an appropriate inscription to his memory.

wreaths of withered flowers, which have been killed by frosts, and buried by drifts of lately departed snow. These will not long remain, for all summer long fresh and fragrant ones are lail upon that honoured grave

by fair hands that pluck them from many a neighbouring garden. Here, at all times, these sweet tributes of affection may be seen, when the trees are in leaf.

This lovely burial spot, from which may be seen Sleepy Hollow, the ancient church, the sparkling waters of the Po-can-te-co, spreading out into a little lake above the picturesque old dam at the mill of Castle Philipse, Sleepy Hollow Haven, Tappan Bay and all its beautiful surroundings, was chosen long ago by the illustrious author of the "Sketch-Book," as his final resting-place. Forty years ago, in Birmingham, three thousand miles away from the spot where his remains now repose, and long before he even dreamed of converting Wolfert's Roost into Sunnyside, he wrote thus concerning Sleepy Hollow, in his introduction to the legend :

"Not far from this village [Tarrytown], perhaps about two miles, there is a little valley, or rather a lap of land, among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook 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. . . . . If ever I should wish for a retreat, 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."

When, more than a dozen years ago, the Tarrytown Cemetery was laid out, Mr. Irving chose the plot of ground where his remains now lie, for his family burial-place. A few years later, when the contents of the grave and vaults in the burial-ground of the "Brick Church" in New York, were removed, the remains of his family were taken to this spot and interred. A gentleman who accompanied me to the grave, superintended the removal. Mr. Irving had directed the remains to be so disposed as to allow himself to lie by the side of his mother. And when the burial was performed, the good old man stood thoughtfully for awhile, leaning against a tree, and looking into his mother's grave, as it was slowly filled with the earth. Then covering his face with his hands he wept as tenderly as a young child. According to his desire he now rests by the side of that mother, whom he loved dearly; and at his own left hand is reserved a space for his only surviving brother, General Ebenezer Irving, ten years his senior, who yet (1866) resides at Sunnyside at the age of about ninety-four years.

The remains of Mr. Irving's old Scotch nurse were, at his request, buried in the same grave with his mother. Of this faithful woman Mr. Irving once said, "I remember General Washington perfectly. There was some occasion when he appeared in a public procession; my nurse, a good old Scotch woman, was very anxious for me to see him, and held me up in her arms as he rode past. This, however, did not satisfy her; so the next day, when walking with me in Broadway, she espied him in a shop; she seized my hand, and darting in, exclaimed in her bland Scotch, Please your excellency, here's a bairn that's called after ye!' General Washington then turned his benevolent face full upon me, smiled, laid his hand upon my head, and gave me his blessing, which," added Mr. Irving, "I have reason to believe has attended me through life. I was but five years old, yet I can feel that hand upon my head even now." Mr. Irving's last and greatest literary work was an elaborate life of Washington, in five octavo volumes.

We have observed that the Po-can-te-co, flowing through Sleepy Hollow, spreads out into a pretty little lake above an ancient and picturesque dam, near the almost as ancient church. This little lake extends back almost to the bridge in the dark weird glen, and furnishes motive power to a very ancient mill that stands close by Philipse Castle, as the more ancient manor-house of the family was called. The first lord of an extensive domain in this vicinity, purchased from the Sachem Goharius, in 1680, and which was confirmed by royal patent the same year, was a descendant of the ancient Viscounts Felyps, of Bohemia, who took an active part in favour of John Huss and Jerome of Prague. Here, at the mouth of the Po-can-te-co, he erected a strong stone house, with port and loop holes for cannon and musketry, and also a mill, about the year 1683. Because of its heavy ordnance, it was called Castle Philipse. At that time the extensive marsh and meadow land between it and the present railway was a fine bay, and quite large vessels bore freight to and from the mill. Here, and at the lower manor-house at Yonkers, the lords of Philipse's Manor lived in a sort of feudal state for almost a century, enjoying exclusive social and political privileges. The proprietor in possession when the war for independence broke out, espoused the cause of the crown. His estates were confiscated, and a relative of the family,