tailieunhanh - The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" is a short story by Washington Irving contained in his collection The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent., written while he was living in Birmingham, England, and first published in 1820. With Irving's companion piece "Rip Van Winkle", "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" is among the earliest examples of American fiction still read today. | THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW by Washington Irving Prepared and Published by Ebd 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. 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 market town or rural port which by some is called Greensburgh but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given 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 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 two 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 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 squirrelshooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noontime 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 reverberated by the angry echoes. 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