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
squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one
side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noon-time, 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 of none more promising than this
little valley.
From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its
inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers, this
sequestered glen has long been known by the name of Sleepy Hollow; and
its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow boys throughout all the
neighboring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the
land, and to pervade the very atmosphere.
Certain it is that 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 marvellous beliefs; are subject to trances and visions; and
frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air. The
whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight
superstitions. Stars shoot and meteors glare oftener across the valley
than in any other part of the country; and the nightmare, with her whole
ninefold, seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols.
It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have mentioned is not
confined to the native inhabitants of the valley, but is unconsciously
imbibed by everyone who resides there for a time. However wide awake
they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are
sure, in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, and
begin to grow imaginative—to dream dreams, and see
apparitions.—_Washington Irving._