The Legend of Sleepy Hollow Includes New Illustrations and Biography

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the easternshore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominatedby the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they alwaysprudently shortened sail and implored the protection of St. Nicholaswhen they crossed, there lies a small market town or rural port, whichby some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properlyknown by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, informer days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from theinveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the villagetavern 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 two miles, there is a littlevalley or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one of thequietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it,with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasionalwhistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only soundthat ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit insquirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades oneside of the valley. I had wandered into it at noontime, when all natureis peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as itbroke the Sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and reverberatedby the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat whither I mightsteal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away theremnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than thislittle valley.