"THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW" IS A PRECIOUS LEGACY OF FOLK ART AND FOLKLORE
A COMMUNITY DENYING ITSELF, "JUST BECAUSE!"
NOTE: The illustrations above were taken from the 1940's book, by Philip James, entitled "English Book Illustration 1800-1900," as published by King Penguin Books of London and New York. The top illustration by Doyle, was captioned "Flirting," and the bottom image, by the same artist, was entitled "The Fairy Queen's Messenger," from the book, "In Fairyland," which companioned a poem written by W. Allingham, circa 1870. Do you believe in such mythical creatures? What about the beliefs of the inner child? For the purposes of today's story, maybe it's time to let that inner child out, in order to fully appreciate the fantasy as created by Washington Irving.
I can remember, as clearly as if it was yesterday, playing Hallowe'en themed hide 'n seek, on the upper ridge, through the tall dried grasses of the hillside, behind the Alice Street apartments; on nights just like this, in the cold and damp of late October. The earth had that permeating aroma of wet leaves and old gardens, you probably recognize, from your own youth scampering in these open places and parks. Our footfall was recognizable by the sound of crunching leaves and the whooshing noise of the field grasses being pushed aside by our legs in motion. Hiding in a clump of small shrubs, wreathed by tall wavering grasses, I could hear the beckoning cries of my pursuers, telling me in the echo of a Muskoka night, to give myself up and receive my punishment like a man. I would usually get caught by my mother, usually with a pinch-lock on my ear, before I'd be discovered by my mates, some who had actually gone home figuring I'd done the same; probably sitting inside watching the Wednesday night hockey game on television. Sitting there alone, listening to the wind brushing the willowy stocks of grass together, made a thoroughly haunting sound, and many times, I pondered if, a headless horseman might come thundering through the moonlit scene, on a raging stallion, looking for a replacement crown; my head and ears being big for my age, or so the girls told me at school. It was easy, hiding on that dark hillside, to conjure-up all kinds of Hallowe'en horrors, and that's why we were out there in the first place. We wanted to scare ourselves, in preparation for the big night, a week or so away. I was always pretty good at scaring myself, which is why my mother wouldn't allow me to watch "The Twilight Zone," or "The Outer Limits." I could dream-up the living dead without much difficulty whatsoever. I suppose then, my mother would conclude, I am perfectly suited to my calling as a writer of such strange fiction.
When I first began working on the story about the official naming of the Town of Bracebridge, after a book written by American Author, Washington Irving, I had very little to work with, when it came to previously documented history. I had some names and a few heritage references, but not much that would be accepted by the public, without a colour commentary.
Early in my research, I found some incredibly kind folks, in Irving, Texas, who happened to have a well established relationship with Washington Irving, and his many published works. The Irving Heritage Association had annual celebrations to recognize "Christmas at Bracebridge Hall," (complete with bright sprays of peacock feathers, known of the period in England) and for Hallowe'en, the group helped operate a "Legend of Sleepy Hollow," event for the youngsters of the city. This would have involved a headless Hessian Soldier on horseback, emerging through the corn field, (or field of long grasses), in quest for Ichabod Crane, the tall, thin, odd looking teacher at the Sleepy Hollow schoolhouse. They were kind enough to send me photographs of the events, taken in years previous, and I have to admit, it's what I hoped could be duplicated in Muskoka, Bracebridge specifically. Bracebridge, as I must repeat once again, was named after the Irving book, "Bracebridge Hall," in 1864, when Postal Authority, William Dawson LeSueur, (a literary critic and historian on his days off) was given the responsibility of naming the new hamlet post office. He rejected the citizens' choice of "North Falls," as being bland and unremarkable, and chose Bracebridge instead. Irving had passed away by this time, but his work was still being actively re-published as memorial editions. This is likely what turned up on LeSueur's desk, at the time he was issuing names for these fledgling post offices across the homestead grant district of Ontario.
To know LeSueur's biography, as I do, I can guarantee that his decision to name Bracebridge after Irving's book, was meant as an honor of literary provenance. LeSueur, afterall, was a literary critic, published in some of the best known reviews in North America and Britain at the time, and would not have adopted a name like "Bracebridge," without serious contemplation about its provenance. While it can be argued he was a little weak on explanations, and what he passed-on as companion information to validate his choice of names, as he was negligent, with the naming of Gravenhurst, two years earlier, after a book written by British poet / philosopher, William Henry Smith, he wasn't the kind of chap to use his office to forward a practical joke on the early settlers of Muskoka. He also named the hamlet of Malta, south of Gravenhurst on Highway 11. In this case, it wasn't taken from the title of a book.
The point is, as with Irving, Texas, Bracebridge has an inherent right now, to benefit from this amazing literary provenance with one of the world's best known authors, and one of the most memorable short stories ever written, being "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." Why wouldn't it suit this central Muskoka town, that will once again this Hallowe'en, bypass what they have every right and option to exploit, as a namesake in the Washington Irving realm of literature. Pity the kids, who might have been read this marvelously haunting at bedtime, who live in Bracebridge, Ontario, and who would really like to be a part of such a Hallowe'en tradition in their hometown; because there is a legitimate, tangible, scrumptious connection that goes all the way back to August of 1864. The occasion when one of Canada's most brilliant thinkers, and accomplished writer / historians, a bookman if there ever was one, gave the little riverside settlement, a jewel to make-use-of to better the community. Outside of throwing some "Christmas at Bracebridge Hall" dinners, in the past hundred years, (only a very few), Bracebridge has, for political reasons, decided against exploring the potential of such an expanded relationship between town and author. What a shame.
The reason I run this short multi-part overview of "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," prior to Hallowe'en each year, is as much out of protest, that the town continues to ignore its history in this regard, as it is to celebrate an incredible connection to the world's literary heritage, that I want to promote and share regardless of political indifference. I really can't explain why the business community has avoided it as well, because it could be an amazing tourism attraction, and a boost for economic development. Instead, they've decided to go with Santa Claus.
Here now, for my readers at least, is a small sampling of a great story by Washington Irving. We'll just have to imagine, that one day, Bracebridge, Ontario, finds reason to saddle-up to the Headless Horseman, and put on a nice Hallowe'en party for the kids, with a little history attached for educational advantage. Gosh, maybe there's a grant available for such a community event.
For Your Halloween Pleasure- The Run Of The Headless Horseman At Sleepy Hollow
IN THE WORDS OF WASHINGTON IRVING, AND WITH THE COVER OF THE BOOK OPENED TO THE PAGE, WHERE SOME OTHER READER LEFT OFF, IN THE LATE EVENING OF A PAST HALLOWEEN; WE RETURN TO SLEEPY HOLLOW, AND THE GOOD FOLKS' BELIEF IN THE APPARITION KNOWN, AS THE "HEADLESS HORSEMAN," THE HESSIAN TROOPER WHO HAD LOST HIS HEAD IN A REVOLUTIONARY WAR BATTLE....AND HAD BEEN BURIED WITHOUT, IN A CHURCHYARD PLOT.....WHERE IT IS SAID, HE RISES ON MOONLIT NIGHTS LIKE THIS, TO SEEK OUT WHAT RIGHTFULLY BELONGS TO HIM.
IRVING'S CHARACTER, ICHABOD CRANE, THE NEW SCHOOL TEACHER TO THE VILLAGE OF SLEEPY HOLLOW, CARRIED AFFECTIONS FOR THE DAUGHTER OF ONE OF THE MOST PROMINENT MEN OF THE BUSINESS COMMUNITY, AND BY SHOWING HIS AFFECTIONS, HAD GOT UNCOMFORTABLY IN THE WAY, OF HER MORE AGGRESSIVE, CAPABLE ADMIRER, BROM BONES, WHO IT IS SAID, WOULD GO TO ANY LENGTH TO WIN THE SUBJECT OF HIS AFFECTIONS.....INCLUDING THE DISPATCHING OF THE PEDAGOGUE, THE WEAK KNEED, CLUMSY, ANNOYING, GREEDY, MR. CRANE. BUT DID THIS MANIFEST AS AN EFFORT BY A JEALOUS SUITOR, OR WAS THE HESSIAN A PARANORMAL A REAL FORCE OF THE SUPERNATURAL, TO BE RECKONED WITH?
"IT WAS AS I HAVE SAID, A FINE AUTUMNAL DAY; THE SKY WAS CLEAR AND SERENE, AND NATURE WORE THAT RICH AND GOLD LIVERY WHICH WE ALWAYS ASSOCIATE WITH THE IDEA OF ABUNDANCE. THE FORESTS HAD PUT ON THEIR SOBER BROWN AND YELLOW, WHILE SOME TREES OF THE TENDERER KIND, HAD BEEN NIPPED BY THE FROSTS INTO BRILLIANT DYES OF ORANGE, PURPLE AND SCARLET. STREAMING FILES OF WILD DUCKS BEGAN TO MAKE THEIR APPEARANCE HIGH IN THE AIR; THE BARK OF THE SQUIRREL MIGHT BE HEARD FROM THE GROVES OF BEECH AND HICKORY-NUTS, AND THE PENSIVE WHISTLE OF THE QUAIL, AT INTERVALS FROM THE NEIGHBORING STUBBLE FIELD," WROTE IRVING.
"THE SMALL BIRDS WERE TAKING THEIR FAREWELL BANQUETS. IN THE FULNESS OF THEIR REVELRY, THEY FLUTTERED CHIRPING AND FROLICKING FROM BUSH TO BUSH, AND TREE TO TREE, CAPRICIOUS FROM THE VERY PROFUSING AND VARIETY AROUND THEM. THERE WAS THE VERY HONEST COCK-ROBIN, THE FAVOURITE GAME OF STRIPLING SPORTSMEN, WITH ITS LOUD QUERILOUS NOTE, AND THE TWITTERING BLACKBIRDS FLYING IN SABLE CLOUDS; AND THE GOLDEN WINGED WOODPECKER, WITH HIS CRIMSON CREST, HIS BROAD BLACK GORGET, AND SPLENDID PLUMAGE; AND THE CEDAR-BIRD, WITH ITS RED-TIPT WINGS AND YELLOW-TIPT TAIL, AND HIS LITTLE MONTEIRO CAP OF FEATHERS; AND THE BLUE JAY, THAT NOISY COXCOMB, IN HIS GAY LIGHT BLUE COAT AND WHITE UNDERCLOTHES, SCREAMING AND CHATTERING, NODDING, AND BOBBING, AND BOWING, AND PRETENDING TO BE ON GOOD TERMS WITH EVERY SONGSTER OF THE GROVE.
"AS ICHABOD JOGGED SLOWLY ON HIS WAY, HIS EYE, EVER OPEN TO EVERY SYMPTON OF CULINARY ABUNDANCE, RANGED WITH DELIGHT OVER THE TREASURES OF JOLLY AUTUMN. ON ALL SIDES HE BEHELD VAST STORE OF APPLES, SOME HANGING IN OPPRESSIVE OPULENCE ON THE TREES; SOME GATHERED INTO BASKETS AND BARRELS FOR THE MARKET; OTHERS HEAPED UP IN RICH PILES FOR THE CIDER-PRESS. FARTHER ON HE BEHELD GREAT FIELDS OF INDIAN CORN, WITH ITS GOLDEN EARS PEEPING FROM THEIR LEAFY COVERTS, AND HOLDING OUT THE PROMISE OF CAKES AND HASTY-PUDDING; AND THE YELLOW PUMPKINS LYING BENEATH THEM, TURNING UP THEIR FAIR ROUND BELLIES TO THE SUN, AND GIVING AMPLE PROSPECTS OF THE MOST LUXURIOUS OF PIES; AND ANON, HE PASSED THE FRAGRANT BUCKWHEAT FIELDS, BREATHING THE ODOUR OF THE BEEHIVE, AND HE BEHELD THEM, SOFT ANTICIPATIONS STOLE HIS MIND OF DAINTY SLAP-JACKS, WELL BUTTERED AND GARNISHED WITH HONEY OR TREACLE, BY THE DELICATE LITTLE DIMPLED HAND OF KATRINA VAN TASSEL (THE GIRL HE WISHED WOULD RETURN HIS AFFECTIONS)."
WASHINGTON IRVING, AT HIS DESK, WRITES OF CRANE, "THUS FEEDING HIS MIND WITH MANY SWEET THOUGHTS AND SUGARED SUPPOSITIONS, HE JOURNEYED ALONG THE SIDES OF THE RANGE OF HILLS, WHICH LOOK OUT UPON SOME OF THE GOODLIEST SCENES OF THE MIGHTY HUDSON. THE SUN GRADUALLY WHEELED HIS BROAD DISK DOWN INTO THE WEST. THE WHOLE BOSUM OF THE TAPPAAN ZEE LAY MOTIONLESS AND GLASSY, EXCEPTING THAT HERE AND THERE A GENTLE UNDULATION WAVED AND PROLONGED THE BLUE SHADOW OF THE DISTANT MOUNTAIN. A FEW AMBER CLOUDS FLOATED IN THE SKY, WITHOUT A BREATH OF AIR TO MOVE THEM. THE HORIZON WAS OF A FINE GOLDEN TINT, CHANGING GRADUALLY INTO A PURE APPLE GREEN, AND FROM THAT INTO THE DEEP BLUE OF THE MID-HEAVEN. A SLANTING RAY LINGERED ON THE WOODY CRESTS OF THE PRECIPICES THAT OVERHUNG SOME, PARTS OF THE RIVER, GIVING GREAT DEPTH TO THE DARK GRAY AND PURPLE OF THEIR ROCKY SIDES. A SLOOP WAS LOITERING IN THE DISTANCE, DROPPING SLOWLY DOWN WITH THE TIDE, HER SAIL HANGING USELESSLY AGAINST THE MAST; AND AS THE REFLECTION OF THE SKY GLEANED ALONG THE STILL WATER, IT SEEMED AS IF THE VESSEL WAS SUSPENDED IN THE AIR."
IRVING NOTES, WITH KEEN OBSERVATION, OF HIS CHARACTER'S PASSAGE, THAT "IT WAS TOWARD EVENING THAT ICHABOD ARRIVED AT THE CASTLE OF THE HEER VAN TASSLE, WHICH HE FOUND THRONGED WITH THE PRIDE AND FLOWER OF THE ADJACENT COUNTRY. OLD FARMERS, A SPARE LEATHERN-FACED RACE, IN HOMESPUN COATS AND BREECHES, BLUE STOCKINGS, HUGE SHOES AND MAGNIFICENT PEWTER BUCKLES. THEIR BRISK, WITHERED LITTLE DAMES, IN CLOSE CRIMPED CAPS, WITH LONG-WAISTED GOWNS, HOMESPUN PETTICOATS, WITH SCISSORS AND PIN-CUSHIONS, AND GAY CALICO POCKETS HANGING ON THE OUTSIDE. BUXOM LASSES, ALMOST AS ANTIQUATED AS THEIR MOTHERS, EXCEPTING WHERE A STRAW HAT, A FINE RIBAND, OR PERHAPS A WHITE FROCK, GAVE SYMPTOMS OF CITY IN MOTIVATIONS. THE SONS, IN SHORT SQUARE-SKIRTED COATS, WITH ROWS OF STUPENDOUS BRASS BUTTONS, AND THEIR HAIR GENERALLY QUEUED IN THE FASHION OF THE TIMES, ESPECIALLY IF THEY COULD PROCURE AN EELSKIN FOR THE PURPOSE, IT BEING ESTEEMED THROUGHOUT THE COUNTRY AS A POTENT NOURISHER AND STRENGTHENER OF THE HAIR.
"BROM BONES, HOWEVER, WAS THE HERO OF THE SCENE, HAVING COME TO THE GATHERING ON HIS FAVORITE STEED, 'DAREDEVIL,' A CREATURE, LIKE HIMSELF, FULL OF METTLE AND MISCHIEF AND WHICH NO ONE BUT HIMSELF COULD MANAGE. HE WAS, IN FACT, NOTED FOR PREFERRING VICIOUS ANIMALS, GIVEN TO ALL KINDS OF TRICKS WHICH KEPT THE RIDER IN CONSTANT RISK OF HIS NECK, FOR HE HELD A TRACTABLE WELL-BROKEN HORSE, AS UNWORTHY OF A LAD OF SPIRIT.
"FAIN WOULD I PAUSE TO DWELL UPON THE WORLD OF CHARMS THAT BURST UPON THE ENRAPTURED GAZE OF MY HERO, AS HE ENTERED THE STATE PARLOUR OF VAN TASSEL'S MANSION. NOT THOSE OF THE BEVY OF BUXOM LASSES, WITH THEIR LUXURIOUS DISPLAY OF RED AND WHITE; BUT THE AMPLE CHORUS OF A GENUINE DUTCH COUNTRY TEA-TABLE, IN THE SUMPTUOUS TIME OF AUTUMN. SUCH HEAPED-UP PLATTERS OF CAKES OF VARIOUS AND ALMOST INDESCRIBABLE KINDS, KNOWN ONLY TO EXPERIENCED DUTCH HOUSEWIVES."
IRVING ADDS, "OLD BALTUS VAN TASSEL MOVED ABOUT HIS GUESTS WITH A FACE DILATED WITH CONTENT AND GOOD HUMOUR, ROUND AND JOLLY AS THE HARVEST MOON. HIS HOSPITABLE ATTENTIONS WERE BRIEF, BUT EXPRESSIVE, BEING CONFINED TO A SHAKE OF THE HAND, A SLAP ON THE SHOULDER, A LOUD LAUGH, AND A PRESSING INVITATION TO 'FAIL TO, AND HELP THEMSELVES'. AND NOW THE SOUND OF THE MUSIC FROM THE COMMON ROOM, OR HALL SUMMONED TO THE DANCE."
"ICHABOD PRIDED HIMSELF UPON HIS DANCING AS MUCH AS UPON HIS VOCAL POWERS," IRVING CHARACTERIZES OF THE TEACHER. "NOT A LIMB, NOT A FIBRE ABOUT HIM WAS IDLE; AND TO HAVE SEEN HIS LOOSELY HUNG FRAME IN FULL MOTION, AND CLATTERING ABOUT THE ROOM, YOU WOULD HAVE THOUGHT ST. VITUS HIMSELF, THAT BLESSED PATRON OF THE DANCE, WAS FIGURING BEFORE YOU IN PERSON." "WHEN THE DANCE WAS AT AN END, ICHABOD WAS ATTRACTED TO A KNOT OF THE EAGER FOLKS, WHO WITH OLD VAN TASSEL, SAT SMOKING AT ONE END OF THE PLAZA, GOSSIPING OVER FORMER TIMES, AND DRAWING OUT LONG STORIES ABOUT THE WAR," RECORDS THE AUTHOR, OF CRANE'S MOVEMENT ABOUT THE HOME.
"THE REVEL NOW GRADUALLY BROKE UP. THE OLD FARMERS GATHERED TOGETHER THEIR FAMILIES IN THEIR WAGONS, AND WERE HEARD FOR SOME TIME RATTLING ALONG THE HOLLOW ROADS, AND OVER THE DISTANT HILLS. SOME OF THE DAMSELS MOUNTED ON PILLIONS BEHIND THEIR FAVORITE SWAINS, AND THEIR LIGHT-HEARTED LAUGHTER, MINGLING WITH THE CLATTER OF HOOFS, ECHOED ALONG THE SILENT WOODLANDS, SOUNDING FAINTER AND FAINTER, UNTIL THEY GRADUALLY DIED AWAY - AND THE LATE SCENE OF NOISE AND FROLIC WAS ALL SILENT AND DESERTED," WRITES IRVING. "ICHABOD ONLY LINGERED BEHIND, ACCORDING TO THE CUSTOM OF COUNTRY LOVERS, TO HAVE A TETE-A-TETE WITH THE HEIRESS; FULLY CONVINCED THAT HE WAS NOW ON THE HIGH ROAD TO SUCCESS. WHAT PASSED AT THIS INTERVIEW I WILL NOT PRETEND TO SAY, FOR IN FACT I DO NOT KNOW. SOMETHING HOWEVER, I FEAR ME, MUST HAVE GONE WRONG, FOR HE CERTAINLY SAILED FORTH, AFTER NO VERY GREAT INTERVAL, WITH AN AIR OF QUITE DESOLATE AND CHAPFALLEN - OH, THESE WOMEN, THESE WOMEN! COULD THAT GIRL HAVE BEEN PLAYING OFF ANY OF HER COQUETISH TRICKS? WAS HER ENCOURAGEMENT OF THE POOR PEDAGOGUE ALL A MERE SHAM TO SECURE HER CONQUEST OF HIS RIVAL? HEAVEN ONLY KNOWS."
"IT WAS THE VERY WITCHING TIME OF NIGHT THAT ICHABOD, HEAVY-HEARTED AND CREST-FALLEN, PURSUED HIS TRAVEL HOMEWARDS, ALONG THE SIDES OF THE LOFTY HILLS WHICH RISE ABOVE TARRY TOWN, AND WHICH HE HAD TRAVERSED SO CHEERILY IN THE AFTERNOON. THE HOUR WAS AS DISMAL AS HIMSELF. FAR BELOW HIM, THE TAPPANN ZEE SPREAD ITS DUSKY AND INDISTINCT WASTE OF WATERS, WITH HERE AND THERE A TALL MAST OF A SLOOP, RIDING QUIETLY AT ANCHOR UNDER THE LAND. IN THE DEAD HUSH OF MIDNIGHT, HE COULD EVEN HEAR THE BARKING OF THE WATCHDOG FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HUDSON; BUT IT WAS SO VAGUE AND FAINT AS ONLY TO GIVE AN IDEA OF HIS DISTANCE FROM THIS FAITHFUL COMPANION OF MAN. NOW AND THEN, TOO, THE LONG-DRAWN CROWING OF A COCK, ACCIDENTALLY AWAKENED WOULD SOUND FAR, FAR OFF, FROM SOME FARM-HOUSE, AWAY AMONG THE HILLS - BUT IT WAS LIKE A DREAMING SOUND IN HIS EAR. NO SIGNS OF LIFE OCCURRED NEAR HIM, BUT OCCASIONALLY THE MELANCHOLY CHIRP OF A CRICKET, OR PERHAPS THE GUTTURAL TWANG OF A BULL-FROG FROM A NEIGHBORING MARSH, AS IF SLEEPING UNCOMFORTABLY, AND TURNING SUDDENLY IN HIS BED. ALL THE STORIES OF GHOSTS AND GOBLINS THAT HE HAD HEARD IN THE AFTERNOON, NOW CAME CROWDING UPON HIS RECOLLECTION. THE NIGHT GREW DARKER AND DARKER; THE STARS SEEMED TO SINK DEEPER IN THE SKY, AND DRIVING CLOUDS OCCASIONALLY HID THEM FROM HIS SIGHT. HE HAD NEVER FELT SO LONELY AND DISMAL. HE WAS MOREOVER, APPROACHING THE VERY PLACE WHERE MANY OF THE SCENES OF GHOST STORIES HAD BEEN LAID. IN THE CENTRE OF THE ROAD STOOD AN ENORMOUS TULIP-TREE, WHICH TOWERED LIKE A GIANT ABOVE ALL THE OTHER TREES OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD, AND FORMED A KIND OF LANDMARK. ITS LIMBS WERE GNARLED AND FANTASTIC, LARGE ENOUGH TO FORM TRUNKS FOR ORDINARY TREES, TWISTING DOWN ALMOST TO THE EARTH, AND RISING AGAIN, INTO THE AIR. IT WAS CONNECTED WITH THE TRAGICAL STORY OF THE UNFORTUNATE ANDRE, WHO HAD BEEN TAKEN PRISONER HARD BY; AND WAS UNIVERSALLY KNOWN BY THE NAME OF MAJOR ANDRE'S TREE. THE COMMON PEOPLE REGARDED IT WITH A MIXTURE OF RESPECT AND SUPERSTITION PARTLY OUT OF SYMPATHY FOR THE FATE OF ITS ILL-STARTED NAMESAKE, AND PARTLY FROM THE TALES OF STRANGE SIGHTS AND DOLEFUL LAMENTATIONS TOLD CONCERNING IT."
I WILL J RE-JOIN THE ADVENTUROUS TRAVELS OF ICHABOD CRANE, IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF STORIED "SLEEPY HOLLOW," IN TOMORROW'S BLOG. PLEASE CATCH PART TWO OF THREE OF THIS TRIBUTE TO WASHINGTON IRVING, AND THE TOWN OF BRACEBRIDGE, ONTARIO, THAT CARRIES THE PROVENANCE OF HIS GOOD NAME.
IT IS KNOWN, BY THE WAY, THAT AUTHOR CHARLES DICKENS, HIMSELF, WAS A BIG FAN OF THE WORK OF WASHINGTON IRVING, CONFESSING TO A COLLEAGUE ONCE, THAT HE OFTEN "RETIRED TO BEDLAM," WITH ONE OF HIS BOOKS, "TUCKED UNDER HIS ARM." NOT A BAD PROVENANCE THEN, WOULDN'T YOU SAY, TO HAVE BEEN AFFORDED A NAME ASSOCIATED WITH WASHINGTON IRVING?"
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