A REMINISCENCE OF SLEEPY HOLLOW. long time before, and visit the lethargic region, the borders of which are washed by the waters of the famous Tappan Zee. An hour's ride on the deck of a steamer not very remarkable for its speed, along a river unsurpassed by the Rhine of the fatherland, and in sight of villas and country seats of great taste and beauty, brought me to Tarrytown, a Dutch village of considerable antiquity, cozily nestled among the hills, which here begin to assume proportions quite formidable. Within its boundaries Sleepy Hollow is situated. I have always found it best in visiting a strange place to have a suitable guide-one to the manner born-full of the incident and story of the locality. Such a person, I felt sure, was to be found in a tall, gaunt-looking man whom I saw conversing very earnestly in front of the news-room of the village. His appearance was quaint in the extreme, his garments being of THE OLD MILL. ancient pattern, while his genial face was marked with deep furrows, well cut in by the thorough plowing of Time. "My friend," I said, approaching him, "I am come to view this classic neighborhood, and want some one to act as my guide. Have you, for a consideration, an hour or two to spare ?" At first I thought that my request would be met with a refusal; but after a moment's deliberation my newly-formed acquaintance announced that, if a conveyance were included in the arrangement, he would gladly accompany me. Of course I assented to the condition enforced, and, feeling delighted that I had secured the guidance of one evidently so impregnated with the very spirit of the place, speedily began to leave the village behind me. A short ride brought us to a plain shaft of dolomite, erected by the road-side, upon which was plainly visible the following inscription: ON THIS SPOT The 23d day of September, 1780, the Spy, MAJOR JOHN ANDRE, Adjutant-General of the British Army, was captured by HISTORY HAS TOLD THE REST. The People of Westchester County have erected this THE ANDRE MONUMENT. traitor. The one risks all to benefit the cause which lies nearest his heart, the other does all that he can to ruin one which he professes to support. Treason, to me, ever will be odious, and I can not make light of it. But such was not the gallant Andrè's offense. He did but his duty." My guide, I saw, was approaching a favorite hobby, and was waxing warm. I therefore changed the subject. "Where," I asked, "are Andrè's captors buried ?" "The State of New York provided very liberally for them," he replied. "It gave each one a farm, on which he settled. Paulding is buried in the Episcopal cemetery at Peekskill; Van Wart lies among the Greenburgh hills, a few miles east of us; and Williams sleeps at Livingstone, in Schoharie County." The spot upon which we stood was one of great natural beauty. North and south the road wound, with innumerable foldings, along beautiful residences, while here and there luxuriant maples and locusts meeting overhead formed waving arches of emerald green. On the east, the long corn leaves in a neighboring field mingled in a most soothing manner their rustling music with the quiet utterances of the brook which purled beneath our feet. On the west, the Hudson, bright with the reflection of the midsummer sun, flowed lazily toward the The broad Tappan looked like a mirror, no ripple even disturbing its smoothness; while in the distance the air was full of hazy images of dream-land hills, which reached down to kiss the waters of Haverstraw Bay, that wide expanse which bold Hendrick Hudson supposed was the termination of his first upland voyage. sea. No wonder, I thought, that Washington Irving thanked God that he was born upon the banks of the Hudson River. No other stream, viewed apart from the prejudices which attach themselves to another nationality, can be compared with it. It is matchless, superb! What grandeur there is in the abrupt looking Palisades! how majestically they rise out of the water! And the hills, with what picturesque beauty do they slope from their summits to the water's edge! We next came to a rustic bridge which spanned a silvery brook. "This," said my cicerone, "is the first point of interest. Poor Major Andrè was captured here. On the knoll, over there, the three "This," said my friend, "is the Pocantico, guardsmen were amusing themselves as they the Pockohantes of the Algonquins, the aborigbest could while they watched the road. Pres-ines of the place. And this is the bridge alongently they saw him ascend the hill above us and come toward them. He was on his way from West Point to Dobb's Ferry, six miles below this, and supposed he was through the worst part of his journey; but the Fates were against him, and he was soon taken prisoner." "But why," I inquired, "do you call him Poor Andrè. He was a spy, and had he been successful we should have been, in all probability, irreparably injured. Why then, my friend, shou'd we gloss over his offense?" "I make, Sir," answered my companion, "a broad distinction between the spy and the side of which Ichabod Crane disappeared. He had been to the merry-making at Baltus Van Tassell's homestead, and was returning, when, at the spot we have just left, where Andrè was captured, then known as Wiley's swamp, he heard the strange rider. Whipping up old Gunpowder, he attempted to turn up the Bedford road, which led directly to his boardingplace; but failing in this, endeavored to gain the shelter of the church before us. As he reached the bridge he received the tremendous blow which threw him from his steed. The next morning the animal was found grazing in the church-yard, but Ichabod had disappeared, | the capacious flume of which, slowly but surely, and was heard leading the Dutch lads and swallowed up the eddying waters before me; lasses in the choir, or teaching the children while in front, only a few paces off, stood the their lessons, no more." Dutch Church, surrounded by locust-trees and lofty elms, from "which its decent whitewashed walls shone modestly forth, like Christain beauty beaming through the shades of reI enjoyed the prospect vastly. This recital of my well-posted informant interested me exceedingly. I was now in the very midst of intensely classic scenes. Within a stone's-throw was the old mill, built in 1686. tirement." "Can you imagine any thing more interesting than this?" inquired my guide. "Look at the old sanctuary before you. Note how well it is built. It is full as stanch and sound as it was in 1699, the year in which it was finished." "How came it to pass," I asked, "that this edifice was placed here, so far away from the present village ?" "This was supposed to be the spot about which the settlers would centre. The river, supplying as it does ample power to turn the mill, was considered of great importance. On its bank the manor-house was accordingly located. Tradition says that when Vrederyck Vlypse, the first lord of the domain, began to build the church, he laid the foundation, and then withdrew his laborers that they might repair the damage done to the dam by a recent freshet. No sooner, though, had they finished the dam than another freshet came one night and washed it away the second time. Nothing daunted, they soon had a stronger structure erected, when lo! another freshet came and destroyed it. This discouraged the proprietor, and he was about to give up in despair, when Harry, his favorite slave, dreamed that the cause of his ill-success was the withdrawal of his men from the church. Let that be finished first, the warning said, and the dam will stand. He forthwith resumed work upon the church, and afterward built the dam, which is doing good service at this day. "The castle, or manor-house, which you see yonder is full of associations. In 1756 Colonel George Washington, then Commander-in-Chief of the Virginia forces, had occasion to communicate with General Shirley, and for this purpose left his head-quarters at Winchester and traveled to Boston on horseback, attended by his aids-de-camp. On his way he stopped in New York for a few days, and while there was entertained by Mr. Beverly Robinson, between whom and himself a strong friendship existed. It happened while he was the guest of his host that he met Miss Mary Vlypse, or, as we spell it now, Phillipse, the daughter of Vrederyck Vlypse, who was born and reared here, and was deeply impressed by her rare accomplishments and beauty. My father used to tell it as a fact, well established in his day, that the young Colonel once rode up here to pay his respects to the object of his regard. However that may be, it is certain that he did stop at the castle very frequently in after-years, when the country was in the throes of the Revolution. "A very singular story, which I recollect, illustrates well the bravery of the matrons of the times which tried men's souls. The subject of it was Mrs. Cornelia Beekman, the wife of Gerard G. Beekman, who succeeded the Vlypse family in the possession of the castle. "Some time before the capture of Andrè John Webb, an aid-de-camp of the Commander-in-Chief, while on his way from New York to Peekskill, stopped at the castle and asked Mrs. Beekman to take charge of his valise, which contained his new uniform and a sum of gold. 'I will send for it,' he added, 'in a few days; 'but do not deliver it to any one without a written order from me.' A fortnight after his departure Mrs. Beekman saw an acquaintance, Joshua Smith, whose loyalty to the national cause was doubtful, ride up to the house and heard him ask her husband for Lieutenant Webb's valise. Mr. Beekman was about to comply with his request when his wife advanced and demanded a written order before she would relinquish her custody of it. Smith replied that he had none, the officer having had no time to write one; but added: 'You know me very well, Madam, and when I assure you that Lieutenant Webb sent me for the valise you ought not to refuse to deliver it to me, as he is in very great need of his uniform?' Mrs. Beekman had conceived a great dislike for Smith before this, his known sympathy with the royalist cause being in marked contrast to her enthusiastic devotion to the colonies, and influenced by it she determined to hold on to her charge until a written order of undoubted genuineness should compel her to surrender it. Smith was vexed at her doubts; but his entreaties had no effect on her resolution, and disappointed at the ill-success of his effort, he rode away. The result proved that he had no authority to make the application; and it was subsequently ascertained that, at the very time of this attempt on his part to secure the uniform, Andrè was concealed in his house. After Andrè's capture the Lieutenant called in person for his valise, and bore a message from Washington, thanking Mrs. Beekman for the prudence that had prevented an occurrence which might have caused a train of disasters, for Webb and Andrè were of the same height and form; and beyond all doubt, had Smith obtained possession of the uniform, Andrè would have made his escape through the American lines." During this narration our horses had been slowly walking up the hill, past the old church, into the cemetery, where all that is mortal of Irving lies buried. This home of the dead is most beautifully situated upon a slope which descends into the gorge of the Pocantico. Through the trees could be seen glimpses of the Hudson; while all around us were the localities which the magical pen of Diedrich Knickerbocker has made forever celebrated. Who is there, I thought, who would not like to sleep his last sleep amidst such surroundings as these? IRVING'S GRAVE. We now passed out of the cemetery and began to view more particularly the scenery of the Hollow. Irving appears to have had a special fondness for this spot. In Wolfert's Roost he says: "And now a word or two about Sleepy Hollow, which many have rashly deemed a fanciful creation, like the Lubberland of mariners." In the Legend in the Sketch Book he thus fancifully describes it: "From the listless repose of the place, and the scendants from the original Dutch settlers, this sepeculiar character of its inhabitants, who are de We shortly came to the Irving lot. What surprised me was the perfect simplicity apparent in all its appointments. Within the inclosure, ranged in two lines, are the different graves. Each has a plain head-stone of mar-questered glen has long been known by the name ble, on which are inscribed the name and age at death of the occupant. As will be seen the grave of Washington Irving does not differ from those of the rest of the family. The inscription simply tells that WASHINGTON, SON OF WILLIAM AND SARAH S. IRVING, DIED NOV. 28, 1859, AGED 76 YEARS 7 MO. AND 25 DAYS. "Well do I recollect the day that we brought his body to this place," said my companion. "What a turn-out of notables and village people there was! It was the longest funeral that I ever saw. 97 "Did you know him personally ?" I asked. "Yes, for years; I was an officer of this cemetery when he bought this lot. He was from the beginning charmed with the location, and always said that his body should rest here by the side of his mother. Many are the conversations I have had with him at different times." of Sleepy Hollow, and its rustic lads are called 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 German doctor, during the early days of the settlement; others, that an old Indian Chief, the prophet or wizard of his tribe, held his powwows there before the country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson. Certain it is, the place still continues under the sway of some witching power that holds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie. They are given to all kinds of marvelous beliefs; are subject to trances and visions, and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air. whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and other part of the country, and the nightmare, with meteors glare oftener across the valley than in any her whole nine fold, seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols." The The entire region is in keeping with this pen |