fiction and short story

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
خانم جوانی در سالن انتظار فرودگاهی بزرگ منتظر اعلام برای سوار شدن به هواپیما بود..

As she would need to wait many hours, she decided to buy a book to spend her time. She also bought a packet of cookies.

باید ساعات زیادی رو برای سوار شدن به هواپیما سپری میکرد و تا پرواز هواپیما مدت زیادی مونده بود ..پس تصمیم گرفت یه کتاب بخره و با مطالعه كتاب اين مدت رو بگذرونه ..اون همینطور یه پاکت شیرینی خرید...

She sat down in an armchair, in the VIP room of the airport, to rest and read in peace.
اون خانم نشست رو یه صندلی راحتی در قسمتی که مخصوص افراد مهم بود. تا هم با خیال راحت استراحت کنه و هم کتابشو بخونه.

Beside the armchair where the packet of cookies lay, a man sat down in the next seat, opened his magazine and started reading.
کنار دستش .اون جایی که پاکت شیرینی اش بود .یه آقایی نشست روی صندلی کنارش وشروع کرد به خوندن مجله ای که با خودش آورده بود ..

When she took out the first cookie, the man took one also.
She felt irritated but said nothing. She just thought:
“What a nerve! If I was
in the mood I would punch him for daring!”
وقتی خانومه اولین شیرینی رو از تو پاکت برداشت..آقاهه هم یه دونه ورداشت ..خانومه عصبانی شد ولی به روي خودش نیاورد..فقط پیش خودش فکر کرد این یارو عجب رویی داره ..اگه حال و حوصله داشتم حسابی حالشو میگرفتم

For each cookie she took, the man took one too.
This was infuriating her but she didn’t want to cause a scene.

هر یه دونه شیرینی که خانومه بر میداشت ..آقاهه هم یکی ور میداشت .دیگه خانومه داشت راستی راستی جوش میاورد ولی نمی خواست باعث مشاجره بشه

When only one cookie remained, she thought: “ah... What this abusive man do now?”
Then, the man, taking the last cookie, divided
it into half, giving her one half.

وقتی فقط یه دونه شیرینی ته پاکت مونده بود ..خانومه فکر کرد..اه . حالا این آقای پر رو و سواستفاده چی چه عکس العملی نشون میده..هان؟؟؟؟آقاهه هم با کمال خونسردی شیرینی آخری رو ور داشت ..دو قسمت کرد و نصفشو داد خانومه ونصف دیگه شو خودش خورد..

Ah! That was too much!
She was much too
angry now!
In a huff, she took her book, her things and stormed
to the boarding place.

اه ..این دیگه خیلی رو میخواد...خانومه دیگه از عصبانیت کارد میزدی خونش در نمیومد. در حالی که حسابی قاطی کرده بود ..بلند شد و کتاب و اثاثش رو برداشت وعصبانی رفت برای سوار شدن به هواپیما

When she sat down in her seat, inside the plane, she looked into her purse to take her eyeglasses, and, to her surprise, her packet of cookies was there, untouched, unopened!
وقتی نشست سر جای خودش تو هواپیما ..یه نگاهی توی کیفش کرد تا عینکش رو بر داره..که یک دفعه غافلگیر شد..چرا؟ برای این که دید که پاکت شیرینی که خریده بود توی کیفش هست .<<.دست نخورده و باز نشده>>

She felt so ashamed!! She realized that she was wrong...
She had forgotten that her
cookies were kept in her purse
فهمید که اشتباه کرده و از خودش شرمنده شد.اون یادش رفته بود که پاکت شیرینی رو وقتی خریده بود تو کیفش گذاشته بود.

The man had divided his cookies with her, without feeling angered or bitter.
اون آقا بدون ناراحتی و اوقات تلخی شیرینی هاشو با او تقسیم کرده بود

...while she had been very angry, thinking that she was dividing her cookies with him.
And now there was no chance to explain herself...nor to apologize.”
در زمانی که
http://teenager2.blogfa.com/اون عصبانی بود و فکر میکرد که در واقع اون آقاهه است که داره شیرینی هاشو میخوره و حالا حتی فرصتی نه تنها برای توجیه کار خودش بلکه برای عذر خواهی از اون آقا رو نداره

There are 4 things that you cannot recover
چهار چیز هست که غیر قابل جبران و برگشت ناپذیر هست .

The stone... ...after the throw!
سنگ بعد از این که پرتاب شد

The word... palavra... ...after it’s said!....
دشنام .. بعد از این که گفته شد..
The occasion.... after the loss!
موقعیت .... بعد از این که از دست رفت...
and...The time.....after it’s gone!
و زمان... بعد از این که گذشت و سپری شد...
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
GIFTS FOR MOTHER
Four brothers left home for college, and they became successful doctors and lawyers and prospered. Some years later, they chatted after having dinner together. They discussed the gifts that they were able to give to their elderly mother, who lived far away in another city.
The first said, “I had a big house built for Mama. The second said, “I had a hundred thousand dollar theater built in the house. The third said, “I had my Mercedes dealer deliver her an SL600 with a chauffeur. The fourth said, “Listen to this. You know how Mama loved reading the Bible and you know she can’t read it anymore because she can’t see very well. I met this monk who told me about a parrot that can recite the entire Bible. It took 20 monks 12 years to teach him. I had to pledge them $100,000 a year for 20 years to the church, but it was worth it. Mama just has to name the chapter and verse and the parrot will recite it.” The other brothers were impressed.
After the holidays Mama sent out her Thank You notes. She wrote: Dear Milton, the house you built is so huge. I live in only one room, but I have to clean the whole house. Thanks anyway.
Dear Mike, you gave me an expensive theater with Dolby sound, it could hold 50 people, but all my friends are dead, I’ve lost my hearing and I’m nearly blind. I’ll never use it. But thank you for the gesture just the same.
Dear Marvin, I am too old to travel. I stay home, I have my groceries delivered, so I never use the Mercedes … and the driver you hired is a big jerk. But the thought was good. Thanks.
Dearest Melvin, you were the only son to have the good sense to give a little thought to your gift. The chicken was delicious. Thank you.”

چهار برادر ، خانه شان را به قصد تحصیل ترک کردند و دکتر،قاضی و آدمهای موفقی شدند. چند سال بعد،آنها بعد از شامی که باهم داشتند حرف زدند.اونا درمورد هدایایی که تونستن به مادر پیرشون که دور از اونها در شهر دیگه ای زندگی می کرد ،صحبت کردن.
اولی گفت: من خونه بزرگی برای مادرم ساختم . دومی گفت: من تماشاخانه(سالن تئاتر) یکصد هزار دلاری در خانه ساختم. سومی گفت : من ماشین مرسدسی با راننده کرایه کردم که مادرم به سفر بره.
چهارمی گفت: گوش کنید، همتون می دونید که مادر چقدر خوندن کتاب مقدس رو دوست داره، و میدونین که نمی تونه هیچ چیزی رو خوب بخونه چون جشماش نمیتونه خوب ببینه . شماها میدونید که مادر چقدر خوندن کتاب مقدس را دوست داشت و میدونین هیچ وقت نمی تونه بخونه ، چون چشماش خوب نمی بینه. من ، راهبی رو دیدم که به من گفت یه طوطی هست که میتونه تمام کتاب مقدس رو حفظ بخونه . این طوطی با کمک بیست راهب و در طول دوازده سال اینو یاد گرفت. من ناچارا تعهد کردم به مدت بیست سال و هر سال صد هزار دلار به کلیسا بپردازم. مادر فقط باید اسم فصل ها و آیه ها رو بگه و طوطی از حفظ براش می خونه. برادرای دیگه تحت تاثیر قرار گرفتن.
پس از ایام تعطیل، مادر یادداشت تشکری فرستاد. اون نوشت: میلتون عزیز، خونه ای که برام ساختی خیلی بزرگه .من فقط تو یک اتاق زندگی می کنم ولی مجبورم تمام خونه رو تمییز کنم.به هر حال ممنونم.
مایک عزیز،تو به من تماشاخانه ای گرونقیمت با صدای دالبی دادی.اون ،میتونه پنجاه نفرو جا بده ولی من همه دوستامو از دست دادم ، من شنوایییم رو از دست دادم و تقریبا ناشنوام .هیچ وقت از اون استفاده نمی کنم ولی از این کارت ممنونم.
ماروین عزیز، من خیلی پیرم که به سفر برم.من تو خونه می مونم ،مغازه بقالی ام رو دارم پس هیچ وقت از مرسدس استفاده نمی کنم. راننده ای که کرایه کردی یه احمق واقعیه. اما فکرت خوب بود ممنونم
ملوین عزیزترینم، تو تنها پسری بودی که درک داشتی که کمی فکر بابت هدیه ات بکنی. جوجه خوشمزه بود. ممنونم.
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
Fred works in a factory. He does not have a wife, and he gets quite a lot of money every week. He loves cars, and has a new one every year. He likes driving very fast, and he always buys small, fast, red cars. He sometimes takes his mother out in them, and then she always says, 'But, Fred, why do you drive these cars? We're almost sitting on the road!'
فرد در يك كارخانه كار مي‌كند. او همسري ندارد، و هر هفته پول خوبي به دست مي‌آورد. او به ماشين ها علاقه مند است، و هر ساله يك ماشين جديد مي خرد. او رانندگي با سرعت بالا را دوست دارد، و هميشه ماشين هاي كوچك، سريع و قرمز را مي‌ خرد. او بعضي از وقت ها مادر خود را با آن به بيرون مي برد، و او (مادرش) هميشه مي گويد، «اما، فرد، چرا تو با اين ماشين ها رانندگي مي كني؟ انگار كه ما رو جاده نشسته ايم
When Fred laughs and is happy. He likes being very near the road.
در آن هنگام فرد خوشحال بود و مي خنديد. او نزديك به جاده بودن را دوست داشت.
Fred is very tall and very fat.
فرد خيلي چاق و بلند قد است.
Last week he came out of a shop and went to his car. There was a small boy near it. He was looking at the beautiful red car. Then he looked up and saw Fred.
هفته‌ ي گذشته او از يك فروشگاه بيرون آمد و به سمت ماشين خود رفت. نزديك آن يك پسر كوچك قرار داشت. او در حال نگاه كردن به ماشين قرمز كوچك بود. در آن هنگام سرش را بالا گرفت و به فرد نگريست.
'How do you get into that small car?' he asked him. Fred laughed and said, 'I don't get into it. I put it on.'
پسر از وي پرسيد: چگونه وارد آن ماشين كوچك مي شوي؟. فرد خنديد و گفت، من داخل آن نمي‌شوم. روي آن سوار مي‌ شوم.
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
The cautious captain of a small ship had to go along a coast with which he was unfamiliar , so he tried to find a qualified pilot to guide him. He went ashore in one of the small ports where his ship stopped, and a local fisherman pretended that he was one because he needed some money. The captain took him on board and let him tell him where to steer the ship.
After half an hour the captain began to suspect that the fisherman did not really know what he was doing or where he was going so he said to him,' are you sure you are a qualified pilot?
'Oh, yes' answered the fisherman .'I know every rock on this part of the coast.'
Suddenly there was a terrible tearing sound from under the ship.
At once the fisherman added," and that's one of them."
نا خدای هوشیار یک کشتی کوچک مجبور بود در امتداد ساحل دریایی که نمی شناخت حرکت کند،بنابراین او تلاش کرد تا یک ناخدای آشنا به آنجا برای راهنمایی پیدا کند.او کنار یکی از بندرهای کوچکی که کشتی اش توقف کرد ایستاد؛ و یک ماهیگیر محلی چون به پول احتیاج داشت طوری وانمود کرد که یک راننده کشتی ماهر است. نا خدا او را سوار کشتی کرد و به او اجازه داد تا بگوید کشتی را به کجا براند.
بعد از نیم ساعت نا خدا گمان کرد که ماهیگیر واقعا نمی داند چه کار دارد می کند یا به کجا می رود پس به او گفت:"ایا تو مطمئنی که ناخدای ماهرهستی؟
ماهیگیر جواب داد:" بله"."من هر سنگ این بندر از کنار دریا را می شناسم".ناگهان صدای پاره شدن از زیر کشتی آمد. سرانجام ماهیگیر افزود:"و آن هست یکی از آن سنگ ها."
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
A man checked into a hotel. There was a computer in his room* so he decided to send an e-mail to his wife. However* he accidentally typed a wrong e-mail address* and without realizing his error he sent the e-mail.
Meanwhile….Somewhere in Houston * a widow had just returned from her husband’s funeral. The widow decided to check her e-mail* expecting condolence messages from relatives and friends.After reading the first message* she fainted. The widow’s son rushed into the room* found his mother on the floor* and saw the computer screen which read:
To: My Loving Wife
Subject: I’ve Reached
Date: 2 May 2006
I know you’re surprised to hear from me. They have computers here* and we are allowed to send e-mails to loved ones. I’ve just reached and have been checked in. I see that everything has been prepared for your arrival tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing you TOMORROW!
Your loving hubby.
مردی اتاق هتلی را تحویل گرفت .در اتاقش کامپیوتری بود،بنابراین تصمیم گرفت ایمیلی به همسرش بفرستد.ولی بطور تصادفی ایمیل را به آدرس اشتباه فرستاد و بدون اینکه متوجه اشتباهش شود،ایمیل را فرستاد.
با این وجود..جایی در هوستون ،بیوه ای از مراسم خاکسپاری شوهرش بازگشته بود.زن بیوه تصمیم گرفت ایمیلش را به این خاطر که پیامهای همدردی اقوام و دوستانش را بخواند،چک کند. پس از خواندن اولین پیام،از هوش رفت.پسرش به اتاق آمد و مادرش را کف اتاق دید و از صفحه کامپیوتر این را خواند:
به: همسر دوست داشتنی ام
موضوع: من رسیدم
تاریخ: دوم می 2006
میدانم از اینکه خبری از من داشته باشی خوشحال می شوی.آنها اینجا کامپیوتر داشتند و ما اجازه داریم به آنهایی که دوستشان داریم ایمیل بدهیم.من تازه رسیدم و اتاق را تحویل گرفته ام.می بینم که همه چیز آماده شده که فردا برسی.به امید دیدنت، فردا
شوهر دوستدارت
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
A long time ago, there was an Emperor who told his horseman that if he could ride on his horse and cover as much land area as he likes, then the Emperor would give him the area of land he has covered.
Sure enough, the horseman quickly jumped onto his horse and rode as fast as possible to cover as much land area as he could. He kept on riding and riding, whipping the horse to go as fast as possible. When he was hungry or tired, he did not stop because he wanted to cover as much area as possible.
Came to a point when he had covered a substantial area and he was exhausted and was dying. Then he asked himself, "Why did I push myself so hard to cover so much land area? Now I am dying and I only need a very small area to bury myself."
The above story is similar with the journey of our Life. We push very hard everyday to make more money, to gain power and recognition. We neglect our health , time with our family and to appreciate the surrounding beauty and the hobbies we love.
One day when we look back , we will realize that we don't really need that much, but then we cannot turn back time for what we have missed.
Life is not about making money, acquiring power or recognition . Life is definitely not about work! Work is only necessary to keep us living so as to enjoy the beauty and pleasures of life. Life is a balance of Work and Play, Family and Personal time. You have to decide how you want to balance your Life. Define your priorities, realize what you are able to compromise but always let some of your decisions be based on your instincts. Happiness is the meaning and the purpose of Life, the whole aim of human existence. But happiness has a lot of meaning. Which king of definition would you choose? Which kind of happiness would satisfy your high-flyer soul?

مقصد زندگی
سال ها پیش، حاکمی به یکی از سوارکارانش گفت: مقدار سرزمین هایی را که بتواند با اسبش طی کند را به او خواهد بخشید. همان طور که انتظار می رفت، اسب سوار به سرعت برای طی کردن هر چه بیشتر سرزمین ها سوار بر اسبش شد و با سرعت شروع کرد به تاختن. با شلاق زدن به اسبش با آخرین سرعت ممکن می تاخت و می تاخت. حتی وقتی گرسنه و خسته بود، متوقف نمی شد چون می خواست تا جایی که امکان داشت سرزمین های بیشتری را طی کند. وقتی مناطق قابل توجهی را طی کرده بود به نقطه ای رسید . خسته بود و داشت می مرد. از خودش پرسید: چرا خودم را مجبور کردم تا سخت تلاش کنم و این مقدرا زمین بدست بیاروم؟ در حالی که در حال مردن هستم و تنها به یک وجب خاک برای دفن کردنم نیاز دارم.
داستان بالا شبیه سفر زندگی خودمان است. برای بدست آوردن ثروت، قدرت و شهرت سخت تلاش می کنیم و از سلامتی و زمانی که باید برای خانواده صرف کرد، غفلت می کنیم تا با زیبایی ها و سرگرمی های اطرافمان که دوست داریم مشغول باشیم.
وقتی به گذشته نگاه می کنیم. متوجه خواهیم شد که هیچگاه به این مقدار احتیاج نداشتیم اما نمی توان آب رفته را به جوی بازگرداند.
زندگی تنها پول در آوردن و قدرتمند شدن و بدست آوردن شهرت نیست. زندگی قطعا فقط کار نیست ، بلکه کار تنها برای امرار معاش است تا بتوان از زیبایی ها و لذت های زندگی بهره مند شد و استفاده کرد. زندگی تعادلی است بین کار و تفریح، خانواده و اوقات شخصی. بایستی تصمیم بگیری که چه طور زندگیت را متعادل کنی. اولویت هایت را تعریف کن و بدان که چه طور می توانی با دیگران به توافق برسی اما همیشه اجازه بده که بعضی از تصمیماتت بر اساس غریزه درونیت باشد. شادی معنا و هدف زندگی است. هدف اصلی وجود انسان. اما شادی معنا های متعددی دارد. چه نوع شادی را شما انتخاب می کنید؟ چه نوع شادی روح بلند پروازتان را ارضا خواهد کرد؟
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
A woman had 3 girls.


خانمی سه دختر داشت.


One day she decides to test her sons-in-law.


یک روز او تصمیم گرفت دامادهایش را تست کند.


She invites the first one for a stroll by the lake shore ,purposely falls in and pretents to be drowing.


او داماد اولش را به کنار دریاچه دعوت کرد و عمدا تو آب افتاد و وانمود بهغرق شدن کرد.


Without any hestination,the son-in-law jumps in and saves her.


بدون هیچ تاخیری داماد تو آب پرید و مادرزنش را نجات داد.


The next morning,he finds a brand new car in his driveway with this message on the windshield.


صبح روز بعد او یک ماشین نو "براند "را در پارکینگش پیدا کرد با این پیامدر شیشهءجلویی.


Thank you !your mother-in-law who loves you!


متشکرم !از طرف مادر زنت کسی که تورا دوست دارد!


A few days later,the lady does the same thing with the second son-in-law.


بعد از چند روز خانم همین کار را باداماد دومش کرد.


He jumps in the water and saves her also.


او هم به آب پرید و مادرزنش را نجات داد.


She offers him a new car with the same message on the windshield.


او یک ماشیننو" براند "با این پیام بهش تقدیم کرد.


Thank you! your mother-in-law who loves you!


متشکرم!مادرزنت کسی که تو را دوست دارد!


Afew days later ,she does the same thing again with the third son-in-law.


بعد از چند روز او همین کار را با داماد سومش کرد.


While she is drowning,the son-in-law looks at her without moving an inch and thinks:


زمانیکه او غرق می شد دامادش او را نگاه می کرد بدون اینکه حتی یک اینچ تکان بخورد و به این فکر می کرد که:


Finally,it,s about time that this old witch dies!


بالاخره وقتش ر سیده که این پیرزن عجوزه بمیرد!


The next morning ,he receives a brand new car with this message .


صبح روز بعد او یک ماشین نو" براند" با این پیام دریافت کرد.


Thank you! Your father-in-law.


 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
Mr Edwards likes singing very much, but he is very bad at it. He went to dinner at a friend's house last week, and there were some other guests there too.
They had a good dinner, and then the hostess went to Mr Edwards and said 'You can sing, Peter. Please sing us something.'
Mr 'Edwards was very happy, and he began to sing an old song about the mountains of Spain. The guests listened to it for a few minutes and then one of the guests began to cry. She was a small woman and had dark hair and very dark eyes.
One of the other guests went to her, put his hand on her back and said, 'Please don't cry. Are you Spanish?'
Another young man asked, 'Do you love Spain?'
'No,' she answered, 'I'm not Spanish, and I've never been to Spain. I'm a singer, and I love music!'

آقاي ادوارد خوانندگي را خيلي دوست داشت، ولي در آن خيلي بد بود. هفته‌ي گذشته براي شام به خانه‌ي دوستش رفت، در آنجا ميهمانان ديگري نيز بودند.
آن‌ها شام خوبي داشتند، و پس از آن خانم ميزبان به سمت آقاي ادوارد رفت و گفت: پيتر، شما مي‌توانيد بخوانيد. لطفا چيزي براي ما بخوانيد.
آقاي ادوارد خيلي خوشحال بود، و او شروع به خواندن يك آهنگ قديمي در مورد كوه‌هاي اسپانيا كرد. ميهمانان براي چند دقيقه به آن گوش دادند سپس يكي از ميهمانان شروع به گريه كرد. او زن كوچكي بود كه موهاي مشكي و چشم‌هاي خيلي مشكي داشت.
يكي ديگر از ميهمانان به سوي او رفت، دست خود را بر پشت او گذاشت و گفت: لطفا گريه نكنيد. آيا شما اسپانيايي هستيد؟
مرد جوان ديگري پرسيد: آيا شما اسپانيا را دوست داريد؟
او (آن زن) پاسخ داد: من اسپانيايي نيستم، و هرگز در اسپانيا نبوده‌ام. من يك خواننده‌ام، و موسيقي را دوست دارم!
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
Joe Richards finished school when he was 18, and then his father said to him, 'You've passed your examinations now,Joe, and you got good marks in them. Now go and get some good work. They're looking for clever people at the bank in the town. The clerks there get quite a IN of money now.'
جو ريچارد وقتي كه 18 ساله بود مدرسه‌ اش را به پايان رساند، و در آن وقت پدرش به او گفت، جو، حال كه امتحانات خود را پشت سر گذاشته اي، و نمرات خوبي گرفته اي. حالا برو و يك شغل مناسب به دست بياور. در شهر به دنبال افراد باهوش براي كار در بانك مي گردند. منشي ها در آن جا پول خوبي به دست مي‌ آورند.
A few days later, Joe went to the bank and asked for work there. A man took him into a small room and gave him some questions on a piece of paper. Joe wrote his answers on the paper, and then he gave them to the man.
چند روز بعد، جو به بانك رفت و تقاضاي كار كرد. شخصي وي را به داخل اتاقي برد و كاغذي كه چند سوال بر روي آن نوشته بود به وي داد. جو جواب ها را بر روي كاغذ نوشت، و به آن مرد تحويل داد.
The man looked at them for a few minutes, and then he took a pen and said toJoe, 'Your birthday was on the 12th of June, Mr Richards?'
مرد براي چند دقيقه به كاغذها نگاه كرد، و يه قلم برداشت و از جو پرسيد، «آقاي ريچارد، تاريخ تولد شما در 12 ماه جون است؟»
'Yes, sir,' Joe said.
جو گفت: بله قربان
'What year?' the man asked. 'Oh, every year, sir,' Joe said.
مرد پرسيد: چه سالي؟ و جو گفت: آه، هر سال، قربان
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
A little boy went into a drug store, reached for a soda carton and pulled it over to the telephone. He climbed onto the carton so that he could reach the buttons on the phone and proceeded to punch in seven digits.
The store-owner observed and listened to the conversation: The boy asked, "Lady, Can you give me the job of cutting your lawn? The woman replied, "I already have someone to cut my lawn."
"Lady, I will cut your lawn for half the price of the person who cuts your lawn now." replied boy. The woman responded that she was very satisfied with the person who was presently cutting her lawn.
The little boy found more perseverance and offered, "Lady, I'll even sweep your curb and your sidewalk, so on Sunday you will have the prettiest lawn in all of Palm beach, Florida." Again the woman answered in the negative.
With a smile on his face, the little boy replaced the receiver. The store-owner, who was listening to all, walked over to the boy and said,
"Son... I like your attitude; I like that positive spirit and would like to offer you a job."
The little boy replied, "No thanks, I was just checking my performance with the job I already have. I am the one who is working for that lady, I was talking to!"

پسر کوچکی وارد داروخانه شد، کارتن جوش شیرنی را به سمت تلفن هل داد. بر روی کارتن رفت تا دستش به دکمه های تلفن برسد و شروع کرد به گرفتن شماره ای هفت رقمی.
مسئول دارو خانه متوجه پسر بود و به مکالماتش گوش داد. پسرک پرسید،" خانم، می توانم خواهش کنم کوتاه کردن چمن ها را به من بسپارید؟" زن پاسخ داد، کسی هست که این کار را برایم انجام می دهد."
پسرک گفت:"خانم، من این کار را نصف قیمتی که او می گیرد انجام خواهم داد". زن در جوابش گفت که از کار این فرد کاملا راضی است.
پسرک بیشتر اصرار کرد و پیشنهاد داد،" خانم، من پیاده رو و جدول جلوی خانه را هم برایتان جارو می کنم، در این صورت شما در یکشنبه زیباترین چمن را در کل شهر خواهید داشت." مجددا زن پاسخش منفی بود".
پسرک در حالی که لبخندی بر لب داشت، گوشی را گذاشت. مسئول داروخانه که به صحبت های او گوش داده بود به سمتش رفت و گفت: "پسر...از رفتارت خوشم میاد؛ به خاطر اینکه روحیه خاص و خوبی داری دوست دارم کاری بهت بدم"
پسر جوان جواب داد،" نه ممنون، من فقط داشتم عملکردم رو می سنجیدم، من همون کسی هستم که برای این خانوم کار می کنه".
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
Jack worked in an office in a small town. One day his boss said to him, 'Jack, I want you to go to Manchester, to an office there, to see Mr Brown. Here's the address.'
Jack went to Manchester by train. He left the station, and thought, 'The office isn’t far from the station. I'll find it easily.'
But after an hour he was still looking for it, so he stopped and asked an old lady. She said, 'Go straight along this street, turn to the left at the end, and it's the second building on the right.' Jack went and found it.
A few days later he went to the same city, but again he did not find the office, so he asked someone the way. It was the same old lady! She was very surprised and said, 'Are you still looking for that place?'

جك در شهر كوچكي در يك اداره كار مي‌كرد. روزي رييسش به او گفت: جك، مي‌خواهم براي ديدن آقاي براون در يك اداره به منچستر بروي. اين هم آدرسش.
جك با قطار به منچستر رفت. از ايستگاه خارج شد، و با خود گفت: آن اداره از ايستگاه دور نيست. به آساني آن را پيدا مي‌كنم.
اما بعد از يك ساعت او هنوز به دنبال آن (اداره) مي‌گشت، بنابراين ايستاد و از يك خانم پير پرسيد. او (آن زن) گفت: اين خيابان را مستقيم مي‌روي، در آخر به سمت چپ مي‌روي، و آن (اداره) دومين ساختمان در سمت راست است. جك رفت و آن را پيدا كرد.
چند روز بعد او به همان شهر رفت، اما دوباره آن اداره را پيدا نكرد، بنابراين مسير را از كسي پرسيد. او همان خانم پير بود! آن زن خيلي متعجب شد و گفت: آيا هنوز دنبال آن‌جا مي‌گردي؟
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
An older gentleman was playing a round of golf. Suddenly his ball sliced and landed in a shallow pond. As he was attempting to retrieve the ball he discovered a frog that, to his great surprise, started to speak! "Kiss me, and I will change into a beautiful princess, and I will be yours for a week." He picked up the frog and placed it in his pocket.
As he continued to play golf, the frog repeated its message. "Kiss me, and I will change into a beautiful princess, and I will be yours for a whole month!" The man continued to play his golf game and once again the frog spoke out. "Kiss me, and I will change into a beautiful princess, and I will be yours for a whole year!" Finally, the old man turned to the frog and exclaimed, "At my age, I’d rather have a talking frog!"
پيرمردي، در حال بازي كردن گلف بود. ناگهان توپش به خارج از زمين و داخل بركه‌ي كم‌آبي رفت. همانطور كه در حال براي پيدا كردن مجدد توپ تلاش مي‌كرد با نهايت تعجب متوجه شد كه يك قورباغه شروع به حرف زدن كرد: مرا ببوس، و من به شاهزاده‌ي زيبا تبديل شوم، و براي يك هفته براي شما خواهم بود. او قورباغه را برداشت و در جيبش گذاشت.
همانطور كه داشت به بازي گلف ادامه مي‌داد، قورباغه همين پيغام را تكرار كرد «مرا ببوس، و من به شاهزاده‌ي زيبا تبديل شوم، و براي يك ماه براي شما خواهم بود». آن مرد همچنان به بازي گلفش ادامه داد و يك بار ديگر قورباغه گفت: مرا ببوس، و من به شاهزاده‌ي زيبا تبديل شوم، و براي يك سال براي شما خواهم بود. سرانجام، پيرمرد رو به قورباغه كرد و بانگ زد:‌ با اين سن، ترجیح مي‌دم يه قورباغه سخنگو داشته باشم
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
General Pershing was a famous American officer. He was in the American army, and fought in Europe in the First World War.
After he died, some people in his home town wanted to remember him, so they' put up a big statue of him on a horse.
There was a school near the statue, and some of the boys passed it every day on their way to school and again on their way home. After a few months some of them began to say, 'Good morning, Pershing', whenever they passed the statue, and soon all the boys at the school were doing this.
One Saturday one of the smallest of these boys was walking to the shops with his mother when he passed the statue. He said, 'Good morning, Pershing' to it, but then he stopped and said to his mother, 'I like Pershing very much, Ma, but who's that funny man on his back?'

ژنرال پرشينگ يكي از يكي از افسرهاي مشهور آمريكا بود. او در ارتش آمريكا بود، و در جنگ جهاني اول در اروپا جنگيد.
بعد از مرگ او، بعضي از مردم زادگاهش مي‌خواستند ياد او را گرامي بدارند، بنابراين آن‌ها مجسمه‌ي بزرگي از او كه بر روي اسبي قرار داشت ساختند.
يك مدرسه در نزديكي مجسمه قرار داشت، و بعضي از پسربچه‌ها هر روز در مسير مدرسه و برگشت به خانه از كنار آن مي‌گذشتند. بعد از چند ماه بعضي از آن‌ها هر وقت كه از كنار مجسمه مي‌گذشتند شروع به گفتن «صبح‌ به خير پرشينگ» كردند، و به زودي همه‌ي پسرهاي مدرسه اين كار (سلام كردن به مجسمه) را انجام مي‌داند.
در يك روز شنبه يكي از كوچكترين اين پسرها با مادرش به فروشگاه مي‌رفت. وقتي كه از كنار مجسمه گذشت گفت: صبح به خير پرشينگ، اما ايستاد و به مادرش گفت: مامان، من پرشينگ را خيلي دوست دارم، اما آن مرد خنده‌دار كه بر پشتش سواره كيه؟
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
Fred was a young soldier in a big camp. During the week they always worked very hard, but it was Saturday, and all the young soldiers were free, so their officer said to them, 'You can go into the town this afternoon, but first I'm going to inspect you.’
Fred came to the officer, and the officer said to him, 'Your hair's very long. Go to the barber and then come back to me again.
Fred ran to the barber's shop, but it was closed because it was Saturday. Fred was very sad for a few minutes, but then he smiled and went back to the officer.
'Are my boots clean now, sir?' he asked.
The officer did not look at Fred's hair. He looked at his boots and said, 'Yes, they're much better now. You can go out. And next week, first clean your boots, and then come to me!'

فرد سرباز جواني در يك پادگان بزرگ بود. آن‌ها هميشه در طول هفته خيلي سخت كار مي‌كردند، اما آن روز شنبه بود، و همه‌ي سربازان آزاد بودند، بنابراين افسرشان به آن‌ها گفت: امروز بعدازظهر شما مي‌توانيد به داخل شهر برويد، اما اول مي‌خواهم از شما بازديد كنم.
فرد به سوي افسر رفت، و افسر به او گفت: موهاي شما بسيار بلند است، به آرايش‌گاه برو و دوباره پيش من برگرد.
فرد به آرايش‌گاه رفت، ولي بسته بود چون آن روز شنبه بود. فرد براي چند دقيقه ناراحت شد، اما بعد خنديد، و به سوي افسر برگشت.
او (فرد) پرسيد: قربان، اكنون پوتين‌هايم تميز شدند.
افسر به مو‌هاي فرد نگاه نكرد. او به پوتين‌‌هاي فرد نگاه كرد و گفت: بله، خيلي بهتر شدند. شما مي‌تواني بروي. و هفته‌ي بعد اول پوتين‌هاي خود را تميز كن و بعد از آن پيش من بيا!.
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
A blonde and a lawyer sit next to each other on a plane
The lawyer asks her to play a game.
یک خانم بلوند و یک وکیل در هواپیما کنار هم نشسته بود ند وکیل پیشنهاد یک بازی را بهش داد.
If he asked her a question that she didn't know the answer to, she would have to pay him five dollars; And every time the blonde asked the lawyer a question that he didn't know the answer to, the lawyer had to pay the blonde 50 dollars.
چنانچه وکیل از خانم سوالی بپرسد و او جواب را نداند، خانم باید 5 دلار به وکیل بپردازد و هر بار که خانم سوالی کند که وکیل نتواند جواب دهد، وکیل به او 50 دلار بپردازد.
So the lawyer asked the blonde his first question, "What is the distance between the Earth and the nearest star?" Without a word the blonde pays the lawyer five dollars.
سپس وکیل اولین سوال را پرسید:" فاصله ی زمین تا نزدیکترین ستاره چقدر است؟ " خانم بی تامل 5 دلار به وکیل پرداخت.
The blonde then asks him, "What goes up a hill with four legs and down a hill with three?" The lawyer thinks about it, but finally gives up and pays the blonde 50 dollars
سپس خانم از وکیل پرسید" آن چیست که با چهار پا از تپه بالا می رود و با سه پا به پایین باز می گردد؟" وکیل در این باره فکر کرد اما در انتها تسلیم شده و 50 دلار به خانم پرداخت.

سپس از او پرسید که جواب چی بوده و خانم بی معطلی 5 دلار به او پرداخت کرد!!!!

 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
George was sixty years old, and he was ill. He was always tired, and his face was always very red. He did not like doctors, but last month his wife said to him, 'don’t be stupid, George. Go and see Doctor Brown.
George said, 'No,' but last week he was worse, and he went to the doctor.
Dr Brown examined him and then said to him, 'You drink too much. Stop drinking whisky, and drink milk.'
George liked whisky, and he did not like milk. 'I'm not a baby!' he always said to his wife.
Now he looked at Dr Brown and said, 'But drinking milk is dangerous, doctor’.
The doctor laughed and said, 'Dangerous? How can drinking milk be dangerous?’
'Well, doctor,' George said, 'it killed one of my best friends last year.'
The doctor laughed again and said, 'How did it do that?'
'The cow fell on him,' George said.
جرج شصت ساله و مريض بود. او هميشه خسته بود، و صورت او هميشه قرمز بود. او از دكترها خوشش نمي‌آمد، اما ماه گذشته همسرش به او گفت: احمق نشو، جرج. و برو پيش دكتر بروان.
جرج گفت: نه. اما هفته‌ي گذشته او بدتر شد و به دكتر رفت.
دكتر بروان او را معاينه كرد و به وي گفت: شما خيلي مي‌نوشيد. ديگر ويسكي ننوشيد، و شير بنوشيد.
جرج ويسكي دوست داشت و شير دوست نداشت. او هميشه به همسرش مي‌گفت: من بچه نيستم
حالا به دكتر بروان نگاه كرد و گفت: اما دكتر، خوردن شير خطرناك است.
دكتر خنديد و گفت: خطرناك؟ خوردن شير چگونه مي‌تونه خطرناك باشه؟
جرج گفت: درسته، دكتر، سال گذشته يكي از بهترين دوستانِ منو كشت.
دكتر دوباره خنديد و گفت: چطوري؟ (چطوري اين كارو كرد)
جرج گفت: گاو افتاد روي اون.
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
John lived with his mother in a rather big house, and when she died, the house became too big for him so he bought a smaller one in the next street. There was a very nice old clock in his first house, and when the men came to take his furniture to the new house, John thought, I am not going to let them carry my beautiful old clock in their truck. Perhaps they’ll break it, and then mending it will be very expensive.' So he picked it up and began to carry it down the road in his arms.
It was heavy so he stopped two or three times to have a rest.
Then suddenly a small boy came along the road. He stopped and looked at John for a few seconds. Then he said to John, 'You're a stupid man, aren't you? Why don't you buy a watch like everybody else?
جان با مادرش در يك خانه‌ي تقريبا بزرگي زندگي مي‌كرد، و هنگامي كه او (مادرش) مرد، آن خانه براي او خيلي بزرگ شد. بنابراين خانه‌ي كوچك‌تري در خيابان بعدي خريد. در خانه‌ي قبلي يك ساعت خيلي زيباي قديمي وجود داشت، و وقتي كارگرها براي جابه‌جايي اثاثيه‌ي خانه به خانه‌ي جديد، آْمدند. جان فكر كرد، من نخواهم گذاشت كه آن‌ها ساعت قديمي و زيباي مرا با كاميون‌شان حمل كنند. شايد آن را بشكنند، و تعمير آن خيلي گران خواهد بود. بنابراين او آن در بين بازوانش گرفت و به سمت پايين جاد حمل كرد.
آن سنگين بود بنابراين دو يا سه بار براي استراحت توقف كرد.
در آن پسر بچه‌اي هنگام ناگهان در طول جاده آمد. ايستاد و براي چند لحظه به جان نگاه كرد. سپس به جان گفت: شما مرد احمقي هستيد، نيستيد؟ چرا شما يه ساعت مثل بقيه‌ي مردم نمي‌خريد؟
 

elhamanwar

عضو جدید
There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence.
The first day, the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down.
He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.
Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one.
You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won’t matter how many times you say I’m sorry the wound is still there. A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one.”
زمانی ،پسربچه ای بود که رفتار بدی داشت.پدرش به او کیفی پر از میخ داد و گفت هرگاه رفتار بدی انجام داد،باید میخی را به دیوار فروکند.
روز اول پسربچه،37 میخ وارد دیوارکرد.در طول هفته های بعد،وقتی یادگرفت بر رفتارش کنترل کند،تعداد میخ هایی که به دیوار میکوبید به تدریج کمتر شد.
او فهمید که کنترل رفتار، از کوبیدن میخ به دیوار آسانتر است.
سرانجام روزی رسید که پسر رفتارش را به کلی کنترل کرد. این موضوع را به پدرش گفت و پدر پیشنهاد کرد اکنون هر روزی که رفتارش را کنترل کند، میخی را بیرون بکشد.روزها گذشت و پسرک سرانجام به پدرش گفت که تمام میخ ها را بیرون کشیده.پدر دست پسرش را گرفت و سمت دیوار برد.پدر گفت: تو خوب شده ای اما به این سوراخهای دیوار نگاه کن.دیوار شبیه اولش نیست.وقتی چیزی را با عصبانیت بیان می کنی،آنها سوراخی مثل این ایجاد می کنند. تو میتوانی فردی را چاقو بزنی و آنرا دربیاوری . مهم نیست که چقدر از این کار ،اظهار تاسف کنی.آن جراحت همچنان باقی می ماند.ایجاد یک زخم بیانی(رفتار بد)،به بدی یک زخم و جراحت فیزیکی است.
 

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Rikki-Tikki-Tavi from The Jungle Book BY RUDYARD KIPLING

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi from The Jungle Book BY RUDYARD KIPLING

"Rikki-Tikki-Tavi"
At the hole where he went in
Red-Eye called to Wrinkle-Skin.
Hear what little Red-Eye saith:
"Nag, come up and dance with death!"
Eye to eye and head to head,
(Keep the measure, Nag.)
This shall end when one is dead;
(At thy pleasure, Nag.)
Turn for turn and twist for twist--
(Run and hide thee, Nag.)
Hah! The hooded Death has missed!
(Woe betide thee, Nag!)

This is the story of the great war that Rikki-tikki-tavi fought single-handed, through the bath-rooms of the big bungalow in Segowlee cantonment. Darzee, the Tailorbird, helped him, and Chuchundra, the musk-rat, who never comes out into the middle of the floor, but always creeps round by the wall, gave him advice, but Rikki-tikki did the real fighting. He was a mongoose, rather like a little cat in his fur and his tail, but quite like a weasel in his head and his habits. His eyes and the end of his restless nose were pink. He could scratch himself anywhere he pleased with any leg, front or back, that he chose to use. He could fluff up his tail till it looked like a bottle brush, and his war cry as he scuttled through the long grass was: "Rikk-tikk-tikki-tikki-tchk!" One day, a high summer flood washed him out of the burrow where he lived with his father and mother, and carried him, kicking and clucking, down a roadside ditch. He found a little wisp of grass floating there, and clung to it till he lost his senses. When he revived, he was lying in the hot sun on the middle of a garden path, very draggled indeed, and a small boy was saying, "Here's a dead mongoose. Let's have a funeral." "No," said his mother, "let's take him in and dry him. Perhaps he isn't really dead." They took him into the house, and a big man picked him up between his finger and thumb and said he was not dead but half choked. So they wrapped him in cotton wool, and warmed him over a little fire, and he opened his eyes and sneezed. "Now," said the big man (he was an Englishman who had just moved into the bungalow), "don't frighten him, and we'll see what he'll do." It is the hardest thing in the world to frighten a mongoose, because he is eaten up from nose to tail with curiosity. The motto of all the mongoose family is "Run and find out," and Rikki-tikki was a true mongoose. He looked at the cotton wool, decided that it was not good to eat, ran all round the table, sat up and put his fur in order, scratched himself, and jumped on the small boy's shoulder. "Don't be frightened, Teddy," said his father.


"That's his way of making friends." "Ouch! He's tickling under my chin," said Teddy.


Rikki-tikki looked down between the boy's collar and neck, snuffed at his ear, and climbed down to the floor, where he sat rubbing his nose. "Good gracious," said Teddy's mother, "and that's a wild creature! I suppose he's so tame because we've been kind to him." "All mongooses are like that," said her husband. "If Teddy doesn't pick him up by the tail, or try to put him in a cage, he'll run in and out of the house all day long. Let's give him something to eat." They gave him a little piece of raw meat. Rikki-tikki liked it immensely, and when it was finished he went out into the veranda and sat in the sunshine and fluffed up his fur to make it dry to the roots. Then he felt better. "There are more things to find out about in this house," he said to himself, "than all my family could find out in all their lives. I shall certainly stay and find out." He spent all that day roaming over the house. He nearly drowned himself in the bath-tubs, put his nose into the ink on a writing table, and burned it on the end of the big man's cigar, for he climbed up in the big man's lap to see how writing was done. At nightfall he ran into Teddy's nursery to watch how kerosene lamps were lighted, and when Teddy went to bed Rikki-tikki climbed up too. But he was a restless companion, because he had to get up and attend to every noise all through the night, and find out what made it. Teddy's mother and father came in, the last thing, to look at their boy, and Rikki-tikki was awake on the pillow. "I don't like that," said Teddy's mother. "He may bite the child." "He'll do no such thing," said the father. "Teddy's safer with that little beast than if he had a bloodhound to watch him. If a snake came into the nursery now--" But Teddy's mother wouldn't think of anything so awful. Early in the morning Rikki-tikki came to early breakfast in the veranda riding on Teddy's shoulder, and they gave him banana and some boiled egg. He sat on all their laps one after the other, because every well-brought-up mongoose always hopes to be a house mongoose some day and have rooms to run about in; and Rikki-tikki's mother (she used to live in the general's house at Segowlee) had carefully told Rikki what to do if ever he came across white men. Then Rikki-tikki went out into the garden to see what was to be seen. It was a large garden, only half cultivated, with bushes, as big as summer-houses, of Marshal Niel roses, lime and orange trees, clumps of bamboos, and thickets of high grass. Rikki-tikki licked his lips. "This is a splendid hunting-ground," he said, and his tail grew bottle-brushy at the thought of it, and he scuttled up and down the garden, snuffing here and there till he heard very sorrowful voices in a thorn-bush. It was Darzee, the Tailorbird, and his wife. They had made a beautiful nest by pulling two big leaves together and stitching them up the edges with fibers, and had filled the hollow with cotton and downy fluff. The nest swayed to and fro, as they sat on the rim and cried. "What is the matter?" asked Rikki-tikki. "We are very miserable," said Darzee. "One of our babies fell out of the nest yesterday and Nag ate him." "H'm!" said Rikki-tikki, "that is very sad--but I am a stranger here. Who is Nag?" Darzee and his wife only cowered down in the nest without answering, for from the thick grass at the foot of the bush there came a low hiss--a horrid cold sound that made Rikki-tikki jump back two clear feet. Then inch by inch out of the grass rose up the head and spread hood of Nag, the big black cobra, and he was five feet long from tongue to tail. When he had lifted one-third of himself clear of the ground, he stayed balancing to and fro exactly as a dandelion tuft balances in the wind, and he looked at Rikki-tikki with the wicked snake's eyes that never change their expression, whatever the snake may be thinking of. "Who is Nag?" said he. "I am Nag. The great God Brahm put his mark upon all our people, when the first cobra spread his hood to keep the sun off Brahm as he slept. Look, and be afrai
d!" He spread out his hood more than ever, and Rikki-tikki saw the spectacle-mark on the back of it that looks exactly like the eye part of a hook-and-eye fastening. He was afraid for the minute, but it is impossible for a mongoose to stay frightened for any length of time, and though Rikki-tikki had never met a live cobra before, his mother had fed him on dead ones, and he knew that all a grown mongoose's business in life was to fight and eat snakes. Nag knew that too and, at the bottom of his cold heart, he was afraid. "Well," said Rikki-tikki, and his tail began to fluff up again, "marks or no marks, do you think it is right for you to eat fledglings out of a nest?" Nag was thinking to himself, and watching the least little movement in the grass behind Rikki-tikki. He knew that mongooses in the garden meant death sooner or later for him and his family, but he wanted to get Rikki-tikki off his guard. So he dropped his head a little, and put it on one side. "Let us talk," he said.

"You eat eggs. Why should not I eat birds?" "Behind you! Look behind you!" sang Darzee.


Rikki-tikki knew better than to waste time in staring. He jumped up in the air as high as he could go, and just under him whizzed by the head of Nagaina, Nag's wicked wife. She had crept up behind him as he was talking, to make an end of him. He heard her savage hiss as the stroke missed. He came down almost across her back, and if he had been an old mongoose he would have known that then was the time to break her back with one bite; but he was afraid of the terrible lashing return stroke of the cobra. He bit, indeed, but did not bite long enough, and he jumped clear of the whisking tail, leaving Nagaina torn and angry.


"Wicked, wicked Darzee!" said Nag, lashing up as high as he could reach toward the nest in the thorn-bush. But Darzee had built it out of reach of snakes, and it only swayed to and fro. Rikki-tikki felt his eyes growing red and hot (when a mongoose's eyes grow red, he is angry), and he sat back on his tail and hind legs like a little kangaroo, and looked all round him, and chattered with rage. But Nag and Nagaina had disappeared into the grass. When a snake misses its stroke, it never says anything or gives any sign of what it means to do next. Rikki-tikki did not care to follow them, for he did not feel sure that he could manage two snakes at once. So he trotted off to the gravel path near the house, and sat down to think. It was a serious matter for him. If you read the old books of natural history, you will find they say that when the mongoose fights the snake and happens to get bitten, he runs off and eats some herb that cures him. That is not true. The victory is only a matter of quickness of eye and quickness of foot--snake's blow against mongoose's jump--and as no eye can follow the motion of a snake's head when it strikes, this makes things much more wonderful than any magic herb. Rikki-tikki knew he was a young mongoose, and it made him all the more pleased to think that he had managed to escape a blow from behind. It gave him confidence in himself, and when Teddy came running down the path, Rikki-tikki was ready to be petted. But just as Teddy was stooping, something wriggled a little in the dust, and a tiny voice said: "Be careful. I am Death!" It was Karait, the dusty brown snakeling that lies for choice on the dusty earth; and his bite is as dangerous as the cobra's. But he is so small that nobody thinks of him, and so he does the more harm to people. Rikki-tikki's eyes grew red again, and he danced up to Karait with the peculiar rocking, swaying motion that he had inherited from his family. It looks very funny, but it is so perfectly balanced a gait that you can fly off from it at any angle you please, and in dealing with snakes this is an advantage.


If Rikki-tikki had only known, he was doing a much more dangerous thing than fighting Nag, for Karait is so small, and can turn so quickly, that unless Rikki bit him close to the back of the head, he would get the return stroke in his eye or his lip. But Rikki did not know. His eyes were all red, and he rocked back and forth, looking for a good place to hold. Karait struck out. Rikki jumped sideways and tried to run in, but the wicked little dusty gray head lashed within a fraction of his shoulder, and he had to jump over the body, and the head followed his heels close. Teddy shouted to the house: "Oh, look here! Our mongoose is killing a snake." And Rikki-tikki heard a scream from Teddy's mother. His father ran out with a stick, but by the time he came up, Karait had lunged out once too far, and Rikki-tikki had sprung, jumped on the snake's back, dropped his head far between his forelegs, bitten as high up the back as he could get hold, and rolled away. That bite paralyzed Karait, and Rikki-tikki was just going to eat him up from the tail, after the custom of his family at dinner, when he remembered that a full meal makes a slow mongoose, and if he wanted all his strength and quickness ready, he must keep himself thin. He went away for a dust bath under the castor-oil bushes, while Teddy's father beat the dead Karait. "What is the use of that?" thought Rikki-tikki. "I have settled it all;" and then Teddy's mother picked him up from the dust and hugged him, crying that he had saved Teddy from death, and Teddy's father said that he was a providence, and Teddy looked on with big scared eyes. Rikki-tikki was rather amused at all the fuss, which, of course, he did not understand. Teddy's mother might just as well have petted Teddy for playing in the dust. Rikki was thoroughly enjoying himself. That night at dinner, walking to and fro among the wine-glasses on the table, he might have stuffed himself three times over with nice things. But he remembered Nag and Nagaina, and though it was very pleasant to be patted and petted by Teddy's mother, and to sit on Teddy's shoulder, his eyes would get red from time to time, and he would go off into his long war cry of "Rikk-tikk-tikki-tikki-tchk!" Teddy carried him off to bed, and insisted on Rikki-tikki sleeping under his chin. Rikki-tikki was too well bred to bite or scratch, but as soon as Teddy was asleep he went off for his nightly walk round the house, and in the dark he ran up against Chuchundra, the musk-rat, creeping around by the wall. Chuchundra is a broken-hearted little beast. He whimpers and cheeps all the night, trying to make up his mind to run into the middle of the room. But he never gets there. "Don't kill me," said Chuchundra, almost weeping. "Rikki-tikki, don't kill me!" "Do you think a snake-killer kills muskrats?" said Rikki-tikki scornfully.

 

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Rikki-Tikki-Tavi from The Jungle Book BY RUDYARD KIPLING

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi from The Jungle Book BY RUDYARD KIPLING

"Those who kill snakes get killed by snakes," said Chuchundra, more sorrowfully than ever. "And how am I to be sure that Nag won't mistake me for you some dark night?" "There's not the least danger," said Rikki-tikki. "But Nag is in the garden, and I know you don't go there." "My cousin Chua, the rat, told me--" said Chuchundra, and then he stopped.

"Told you what?" "H'sh! Nag is everywhere, Rikki-tikki. You should have talked to Chua in the garden." "I didn't--so you must tell me. Quick, Chuchundra, or I'll bite you!"

Chuchundra sat down and cried till the tears rolled off his whiskers. "I am a very poor man," he sobbed. "I never had spirit enough to run out into the middle of the room. H'sh! I mustn't tell you anything. Can't you hear, Rikki-tikki?" Rikki-tikki listened. The house was as still as still, but he thought he could just catch the faintest scratch-scratch in the world--a noise as faint as that of a wasp walking on a window-pane--the dry scratch of a snake's scales on brick-work. "That's Nag or Nagaina," he said to himself, "and he is crawling into the bath-room sluice. You're right, Chuchundra; I should have talked to Chua." He stole off to Teddy's bath-room, but there was nothing there, and then to Teddy's mother's bathroom. At the bottom of the smooth plaster wall there was a brick pulled out to make a sluice for the bath water, and as Rikki-tikki stole in by the masonry curb where the bath is put, he heard Nag and Nagaina whispering together outside in the moonlight. "When the house is emptied of people," said Nagaina to her husband, "he will have to go away, and then the garden will be our own again. Go in quietly, and remember that the big man who killed Karait is the first one to bite. Then come out and tell me, and we will hunt for Rikki-tikki together."

"But are you sure that there is anything to be gained by killing the people?" said Nag
"Everything. When there were no people in the bungalow, did we have any mongoose in the garden? So long as the bungalow is empty, we are king and queen of the garden; and remember that as soon as our eggs in the melon bed hatch (as they may tomorrow), our children will need room and quiet." "I had not thought of that," said Nag. "I will go, but there is no need that we should hunt for Rikki-tikki afterward. I will kill the big man and his wife, and the child if I can, and come away quietly. Then the bungalow will be empty, and Rikki-tikki will go." Rikki-tikki tingled all over with rage and hatred at this, and then Nag's head came through the sluice, and his five feet of cold body followed it. Angry as he was, Rikki-tikki was very frightened as he saw the size of the big cobra. Nag coiled himself up, raised his head, and looked into the bathroom in the dark, and Rikki could see his eyes glitter. "Now, if I kill him here, Nagaina will know; and if I fight him on the open floor, the odds are in his favor. What am I to do?" said Rikki-tikki-tavi. Nag waved to and fro, and then Rikki-tikki heard him drinking from the biggest water-jar that was used to fill the bath. "That is good," said the snake.

"Now, when Karait was killed, the big man had a stick. He may have that stick still, but when he comes in to bathe in the morning he will not have a stick. I shall wait here till he comes. Nagaina--do you hear me?--I shall wait here in the cool till daytime." There was no answer from outside, so Rikki-tikki knew Nagaina had gone away. Nag coiled himself down, coil by coil, round the bulge at the bottom of the water jar, and Rikki-tikki stayed still as death. After an hour he began to move, muscle by muscle, toward the jar. Nag was asleep, and Rikki-tikki looked at his big back, wondering which would be the best place for a good hold. "If I don't break his back at the first jump," said Rikki, "he can still fight. And if he fights--O Rikki!" He looked at the thickness of the neck below the hood, but that was too much for him; and a bite near the tail would only make Nag savage. "It must be the head"' he said at last; "the head above the hood. And, when I am once there, I must not let go." Then he jumped. The head was lying a little clear of the water jar, under the curve of it; and, as his teeth met, Rikki braced his back against the bulge of the red earthenware to hold down the head. This gave him just one second's purchase, and he made the most of it. Then he was battered to and fro as a rat is shaken by a dog--to and fro on the floor, up and down, and around in great circles, but his eyes were red and he held on as the body cart-whipped over the floor, upsetting the tin dipper and the soap dish and the flesh brush, and banged against the tin side of the bath. As he held he closed his jaws tighter and tighter, for he made sure he would be banged to death, and, for the honor of his family, he preferred to be found with his teeth locked. He was dizzy, aching, and felt shaken to pieces when something went off like a thunderclap just behind him. A hot wind knocked him senseless and red fire singed his fur. The big man had been wakened by the noise, and had fired both barrels of a shotgun into Nag just behind the hood. Rikki-tikki held on with his eyes shut, for now he was quite sure he was dead.

But the head did not move, and the big man picked him up and said, "It's the mongoose again, Alice. The little chap has saved our lives now." Then Teddy's mother came in with a very white face, and saw what was left of Nag, and Rikki-tikki dragged himself to Teddy's bedroom and spent half the rest of the night shaking himself tenderly to find out whether he really was broken into forty pieces, as he fancied. When morning came he was very stiff, but well pleased with his doings. "Now I have Nagaina to settle with, and she will be worse than five Nags, and there's no knowing when the eggs she spoke of will hatch. Goodness! I must go and see Darzee," he said. Without waiting for breakfast, Rikki-tikki ran to the thornbush where Darzee was singing a song of triumph at the top of his voice. The news of Nag's death was all over the garden, for the sweeper had thrown the body on the rubbish-heap. "Oh, you stupid tuft of feathers!" said Rikki-tikki angrily. "Is this the time to sing?" "Nag is dead--is dead--is dead!" sang Darzee.

"The valiant Rikki-tikki caught him by the head and held fast. The big man brought the bang-stick, and Nag fell in two pieces! He will never eat my babies again." "All that's true enough. But where's Nagaina?" said Rikki-tikki, looking carefully round him.

"Nagaina came to the bathroom sluice and called for Nag," Darzee went on, "and Nag came out on the end of a stick--the sweeper picked him up on the end of a stick and threw him upon the rubbish heap. Let us sing about the great, the red-eyed Rikki-tikki!" And Darzee filled his throat and sang. "If I could get up to your nest, I'd roll your babies out!"

said Rikki-tikki. "You don't know when to do the right thing at the right time. You're safe enough in your nest there, but it's war for me down here. Stop singing a minute, Darzee." "For the great, the beautiful Rikki-tikki's sake I will stop," said Darzee.

"What is it, O Killer of the terrible Nag?" "Where is Nagaina, for the third time?" "On the rubbish heap by the stables, mourning for Nag. Great is Rikki-tikki with the white teeth." "Bother my white teeth! Have you ever heard where she keeps her eggs?" "In the melon bed, on the end nearest the wall, where the sun strikes nearly all day. She hid them there weeks ago." "And you never thought it worth while to tell me? The end nearest the wall, you said?" "Rikki-tikki, you are not going to eat her eggs?" "Not eat exactly; no. Darzee, if you have a grain of sense you will fly off to the stables and pretend that your wing is broken, and let Nagaina chase you away to this bush. I must get to the melon-bed, and if I went there now she'd see me." Darzee was a feather-brained little fellow who could never hold more than one idea at a time in his head. And just because he knew that Nagaina's children were born in eggs like his own, he didn't think at first that it was fair to kill them. But his wife was a sensible bird, and she knew that cobra's eggs meant young cobras later on. So she flew off from the nest, and left Darzee to keep the babies warm, and continue his song about the death of Nag. Darzee was very like a man in some ways. She fluttered in front of Nagaina by the rubbish heap and cried out, "Oh, my wing is broken! The boy in the house threw a stone at me and broke it." Then she fluttered more desperately than ever. Nagaina lifted up her head and hissed, "You warned Rikki-tikki when I would have killed him. Indeed and truly, you've chosen a bad place to be lame in." And she moved toward Darzee's wife, slipping along over the dust. "The boy broke it with a stone!" shrieked Darzee's wife. "Well! It may be some consolation to you when you're dead to know that I shall settle accounts with the boy. My husband lies on the rubbish heap this morning, but before night the boy in the house will lie very still.

 

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Rikki-Tikki-Tavi from The Jungle Book BY RUDYARD KIPLING

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi from The Jungle Book BY RUDYARD KIPLING

What is the use of running away? I am sure to catch you. Little fool, look at me!" Darzee's wife knew better than to do that, for a bird who looks at a snake's eyes gets so frightened that she cannot move. Darzee's wife fluttered on, piping sorrowfully, and never leaving the ground, and Nagaina quickened her pace. Rikki-tikki heard them going up the path from the stables, and he raced for the end of the melon patch near the wall.

There, in the warm litter above the melons, very cunningly hidden, he found twenty-five eggs, about the size of a bantam's eggs, but with whitish skin instead of shell. "I was not a day too soon," he said, for he could see the baby cobras curled up inside the skin, and he knew that the minute they were hatched they could each kill a man or a mongoose. He bit off the tops of the eggs as fast as he could, taking care to crush the young cobras, and turned over the litter from time to time to see whether he had missed any. At last there were only three eggs left, and Rikki-tikki began to chuckle to himself, when he heard Darzee's wife screaming: "Rikki-tikki, I led Nagaina toward the house, and she has gone into the veranda, and--oh, come quickly--she means killing!" Rikki-tikki smashed two eggs, and tumbled backward down the melon-bed with the third egg in his mouth, and scuttled to the veranda as hard as he could put foot to the ground. Teddy and his mother and father were there at early breakfast, but Rikki-tikki saw that they were not eating anything. They sat stone-still, and their faces were white. Nagaina was coiled up on the matting by Teddy's chair, within easy striking distance of Teddy's bare leg, and she was swaying to and fro, singing a song of triumph.

"Son of the big man that killed Nag," she hissed, "stay still. I am not ready yet. Wait a little. Keep very still, all you three! If you move I strike, and if you do not move I strike. Oh, foolish people, who killed my Nag!" Teddy's eyes were fixed on his father, and all his father could do was to whisper, "Sit still, Teddy. You mustn't move. Teddy, keep still." Then Rikki-tikki came up and cried, "Turn round, Nagaina. Turn and fight!" "All in good time," said she, without moving her eyes. "I will settle my account with you presently. Look at your friends, Rikki-tikki. They are still and white. They are afraid. They dare not move, and if you come a step nearer I strike." "Look at your eggs," said Rikki-tikki, "in the melon bed near the wall. Go and look, Nagaina!" The big snake turned half around, and saw the egg on the veranda. "Ah-h! Give it to me," she said. Rikki-tikki put his paws one on each side of the egg, and his eyes were blood-red.

"What price for a snake's egg? For a young cobra? For a young king cobra? For the last--the very last of the brood? The ants are eating all the others down by the melon bed." Nagaina spun clear round, forgetting everything for the sake of the one egg.

Rikki-tikki saw Teddy's father shoot out a big hand, catch Teddy by the shoulder, and drag him across the little table with the tea-cups, safe and out of reach of Nagaina.

"Tricked! Tricked! Tricked! Rikk-tck-tck!" chuckled Rikki-tikki. "The boy is safe, and it was I--I--I that caught Nag by the hood last night in the bathroom." Then he began to jump up and down, all four feet together, his head close to the floor. "He threw me to and fro, but he could not shake me off. He was dead before the big man blew him in two. I did it! Rikki-tikki-tck-tck! Come then, Nagaina. Come and fight with me. You shall not be a widow long." Nagaina saw that she had lost her chance of killing Teddy, and the egg lay between Rikki-tikki's paws. "Give me the egg, Rikki-tikki. Give me the last of my eggs, and I will go away and never come back," she said, lowering her hood. "Yes, you will go away, and you will never come back. For you will go to the rubbish heap with Nag. Fight, widow! The big man has gone for his gun! Fight!" Rikki-tikki was bounding all round Nagaina, keeping just out of reach of her stroke, his little eyes like hot coals.

Nagaina gathered herself together and flung out at him. Rikki-tikki jumped up and backward. Again and again and again she struck, and each time her head came with a whack on the matting of the veranda and she gathered herself together like a watch spring.

Then Rikki-tikki danced in a circle to get behind her, and Nagaina spun round to keep her head to his head, so that the rustle of her tail on the matting sounded like dry leaves blown along by the wind. He had forgotten the egg. It still lay on the veranda, and Nagaina came nearer and nearer to it, till at last, while Rikki-tikki was drawing breath, she caught it in her mouth, turned to the veranda steps, and flew like an arrow down the path, with Rikki-tikki behind her. When the cobra runs for her life, she goes like a whip-lash flicked across a horse's neck. Rikki-tikki knew that he must catch her, or all the trouble would begin again. She headed straight for the long grass by the thorn-bush, and as he was running Rikki-tikki heard Darzee still singing his foolish little song of triumph. But Darzee's wife was wiser. She flew off her nest as Nagaina came along, and flapped her wings about Nagaina's head. If Darzee had helped they might have turned her, but Nagaina only lowered her hood and went on. Still, the instant's delay brought Rikki-tikki up to her, and as she plunged into the rat-hole where she and Nag used to live, his little white teeth were clenched on her tail, and he went down with her--and very few mongooses, however wise and old they may be, care to follow a cobra into its hole. It was dark in the hole; and Rikki-tikki never knew when it might open out and give Nagaina room to turn and strike at him. He held on savagely, and stuck out his feet to act as brakes on the dark slope of the hot, moist earth. Then the grass by the mouth of the hole stopped waving, and Darzee said, "It is all over with Rikki-tikki! We must sing his death song. Valiant Rikki-tikki is dead! For Nagaina will surely kill him underground." So he sang a very mournful song that he made up on the spur of the minute, and just as he got to the most touching part, the grass quivered again, and Rikki-tikki, covered with dirt, dragged himself out of the hole leg by leg, licking his whiskers.

Darzee stopped with a little shout. Rikki-tikki shook some of the dust out of his fur and sneezed. "It is all over," he said. "The widow will never come out again." And the red ants that live between the grass stems heard him, and began to troop down one after another to see if he had spoken the truth. Rikki-tikki curled himself up in the grass and slept where he was--slept and slept till it was late in the afternoon, for he had done a hard day's work. "Now," he said, when he awoke, "I will go back to the house. Tell the Coppersmith, Darzee, and he will tell the garden that Nagaina is dead." The Coppersmith is a bird who makes a noise exactly like the beating of a little hammer on a copper pot; and the reason he is always making it is because he is the town crier to every Indian garden, and tells all the news to everybody who cares to listen. As Rikki-tikki went up the path, he heard his "attention" notes like a tiny dinner gong, and then the steady "Ding-dong-tock! Nag is dead--dong! Nagaina is dead! Ding-dong-tock!" That set all the birds in the garden singing, and the frogs croaking, for Nag and Nagaina used to eat frogs as well as little birds. When Rikki got to the house, Teddy and Teddy's mother (she looked very white still, for she had been fainting) and Teddy's father came out and almost cried over him; and that night he ate all that was given him till he could eat no more, and went to bed on Teddy's shoulder, where Teddy's mother saw him when she came to look late at night. "He saved our lives and Teddy's life," she said to her husband. "Just think, he saved all our lives." Rikki-tikki woke up with a jump, for the mongooses are light sleepers. "Oh, it's you," said he. "What are you bothering for? All the cobras are dead. And if they weren't, I'm here." Rikki-tikki had a right to be proud of himself. But he did not grow too proud, and he kept that garden as a mongoose should keep it, with tooth and jump and spring and bite, till never a cobra dared show its head inside the walls
 

عادلی

عضو جدید
A Box Full of Kisses

A Box Full of Kisses

The story goes that some times ago, a man punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, "This is for you, Daddy."

The man was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found out the box was empty. He yelled at her, stating, "Don't you know, when you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside? The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and cried, "Oh, Daddy, it's not empty at all. I blew kisses into the box. They're all for you, Daddy."

The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged for her forgiveness.

Only a short time later, an accident took the life of the child. It is also told that her father kept that gold box by his bed for many years and, whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.


داستان به مدتها قبل برمی گردد،یک مرد دختر سه ساله اش را برای هدر دادن یک کاغذ بسته بندی طلایی تنبیه کرد.فرد خسیسی بود وبسیار خشمگین شده بود زمانیکه بچه سعی کرد یک جعبه را برای قرار دادن زیر درخت کریسمس تزیین کند.با این حال دختر کوچک هدیه را برای پدرش در صبح روز بعد آورد و گفت "این برای توست بابا"
مرد از رفتار روانی قبل خودش(رفتار اولیه خود) خجالت کشید.اما عصبانیتش دوباره زبانه کشید هنگامیکه فهمید جعبه خالی است. او بر سر دخترش فریاد زد و گفت"تو نمیدانی وقتی به کسی هدیه میدهی گمان می کند درون این چیزی است؟"دختر کوچک نگاهی با اشک در چشمانش به او انداخت و با گریه گفت"اوه بابا این اصلا خالی نیست من بوسه هایی در این جعبه فوت کرده ام همه آنها برای تو هستند بابا"
مرد خرد شد. او بازوانش را دور دختر کوچکش گذاشت و خواهش کرد او را ببخشد.
مدت زمانی کوتاه بعد از آن یک تصادف زندگی را از بچه گرفت. همچنین گفته شده پدرش آن جعبه طلایی را در رختخوابش سالهای زیادی نگه داشته است و هرگز دلسرد نشده است و او بوسه های خیالی را به دست می آورد و عشقی را به یاد می آورد از بچه ای که آنها (بوسه ها) را آنجا گذاشته است.
 
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nazliii

مدیر مهندسی برق مخابرات - متخصص نیمه هادی
Choose Your Words Well
A woman one day said something that hurt her best friend. She regretted it immediately, and would have done anything to have taken the words back. But they were said, impulsively, in a moment of thoughtlessness, and as close as she and her friend were, she didn't consider the effects of her words beforehand.
In her effort to undo what she had done, she went to an older, wiser woman in the village. Explaining her situation, and asked for advice. The older woman listened patiently in an effort to determine just how sincere the younger woman was, how far she was willing to go to correct the situation.
The wise women said, "There are two things needed to do to make amends. The first of the two is extremely difficult. Tonight, take your best feather pillows, and open a small hole in each one. Then, before the sun rises, you must put a single feather on the doorstep of each house in town. When you are through, come back to me. If you've done the first thing completely, I'll tell you the second."
The young woman hurried home to prepare for her chore. All night long she labored alone in the cold. She went from doorstep to doorstep, taking care not to overlook a single house. Her fingers were frozen, the wind was so sharp it caused her eyes to water, but she ran on, through the darkened streets, thankful there was something she could do to put things back the way they once were.
Just as the sun rose, she returned to the older woman. She was exhausted, but relieved that her efforts would be rewarded. "My pillows are empty. I placed a feather on the doorstep of each home."
Now, said the wise woman, "Go back and refill your pillows. Then everything will be as it was before."
The young woman was stunned. "You know that's impossible! The wind blew away each feather as fast as I placed them on the doorsteps! You didn't say I had to get them back! If this is the second requirement, then things will never be the same."
"That's true", said the older woman.
"Never forget. Each of your words is like a feather in the wind. Once spoken, no amount of effort, regardless how heartfelt or sincere, can ever return them to your mouth. Choose your words well, and guard them most of all in the presence of those you love."
 
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Ripe Figs by Kate Chopin

Ripe Figs by Kate Chopin

MAMAN-NAINAINE said that when the figs were ripe Babette might go to visit her cousins down on the Bayou-Lafourche where the sugar cane grows. Not that the ripening of figs had the least thing to do with it, but that is the way Maman-Nainaine was.
It seemed to Babette a very long time to wait; for the leaves upon the trees were tender yet, and the figs were like little hard, green marbles.
But warm rains came along and plenty of strong sunshine, and though Maman-Naiaine was as patient as the statue of la Madone, and Babette as restless as a humming-bird, the first thing they both knew it was hot summer-time. Every day Babette danced out to where the fig-trees were in a long line against the fence. She walked slowly beneath them, carefully peering between the gnarled, spreading branches. But each time she came disconsolate away again. What she saw there finally was something that made her sing and dance the whole long day.
When Maman-Nainaine sat down in her stately way to breakfast, the following morning, her muslin cap standing like an aureole about her white, placid face, Babette approached. She bore a dainty porcelain platter, which she set down before her godmother. It contained a dozen purple figs, fringed around with their rich, green leaves.
"Ah," said Maman-Nainaine, arching her eyebrows, "how early the figs have ripened this year!"
"Oh," said Babette, "I think they have ripened very late."
"Babette," continued Maman-Nainaine, as she peeled the very plumpest figs with her pointed silver fruit-knife, "you will carry my love to them all down on Bayou-Lafourche. And tell your Tante Frosine I shall look for her at Toussaint - when the chrysanthemums are in bloom."
 

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Sleepy Eye BY ANTON CHÉKHOV

Sleepy Eye BY ANTON CHÉKHOV

NIGHT. Nursemaid Varka, aged thirteen, rocks the cradle where baby lies, and murmurs, almost inaudibly:

"Bayu, bayushki, bayu!


Nurse will sing a song to you."


In front of the ikon burns a green lamp; across the room from wall to wall stretches a cord on which hang baby clothes and a

great pair of black trousers. On the ceiling above the lamp shines a great green spot, and the baby clothes and trousers cast long
shadows on the stove, on the cradle, on Varka. When the lamp flickers, the spot and shadows move as if from a draught. It is
stifling. There is a smell of soup and boots.

The child cries. It has long been hoarse


and weak from crying, but still it cries, and who can say when it will be comforted? And Varka wants to sleep. Her eyelids

droop, her head hangs, her neck pains her. She can hardly move her eyelids or her lips, and it seems to her that her face is
sapless and petrified, and that her head has shriveled up to the size of a pinhead.

"Bayu, bayushki, bayu!" she murmurs, "Nurse is making pap for you."


In the stove chirrups a cricket. In the next room behind that door snore Varka's master and the journeyman Athanasius. The

cradle creaks plaintively, Varka murmurs -- and the two sounds mingle soothingly in a lullaby sweet to the ears of those who lie
in bed. But now the music is only irritating and oppressive, for it inclines to sleep, and sleep is impossible. If Varka, which God
forbid, were to go to sleep, her master and mistress would beat her.

The lamp flickers. The green spot and the shadows move about, they pass into the half-open, motionless eyes of Varka, and

in her half-awakened brain blend in misty images. She sees dark clouds chasing one another across the sky and crying like the
child. And then a wind blows, the clouds vanish, and Varka sees a wide road covered with liquid mud; along the road stretch
wagons, men with satchels on their backs crawl along, and shadows move backward and forward; on either side through the
chilly, thick mist are visible hills. And suddenly the men with the satchels and the shadows collapse in the liquid mud. "Why



is this?" asks Varka. "To sleep, to sleep!" comes the answer. And they sleep soundly, sleep sweetly; and on the telegraph wires

perch crows, and cry like the child, and try to awaken them.

"Bayu, bayushki, bayu! Nurse will sing a song to you," murmurs Varka; and now she sees herself in a dark and stifling cabin.


On the floor lies her dead father, Yélim Stépanov. She cannot see him, but she hears him rolling from side to side, and

groaning. In his own words he "has had a rupture." The pain is so intense that he cannot utter a single word, and only inhales air
and emits through his lips a drumming sound.

"Bu, bu, bu, bu, bu -- "


Mother Pelageya has run to the manor house to tell the squire that Yélim is dying. She has been gone a long time. Will she

ever return? Varka lies on the stove, and listens to her father's "Bu, bu, bu, bu." And then some one drives up to the cabin door.
It is the doctor, sent from the manor house where he is staying as a guest. The doctor comes into the hut; in the darkness he is
invisible, but Varka can hear him coughing and hear the creaking of the door.

"Bring a light!" he says.


"Bu, bu, bu," answers Yélim.


Pelageya runs to the stove and searches for a jar of matches. A minute passes in silence. The doctor dives into his pocket and

lights a match himself.

"Immediately, batiushka, immediately!" cries Pelageya, running out of the cabin.



In a minute she returns with a candle-end.


Yélim's cheeks are flushed, his eyes sparkle, and his look is piercing, as if he could see through the doctor and the cabin wall.


"Well, what's the matter with you?" asks the doctor, bending over him. "Ah! You have been like this long?"


"What's the matter? The time has come your honor, to die. I shall not live any longer."


"Nonsense; we'll soon cure you."


"As you will, your honor. Thank you humbly -- only we understand. If we must die, we must die."


Half an hour the doctor spends with Yélim; then he rises and says:


"I can do nothing. You must go to the hospital; there they will operate on you. You must go at once, without fail! It is late and

they will all be asleep at the hospital; but never mind, I will give you a note. Do you hear?"

"Batiushka, how can he go to the hospital?" asks Pelageya. "We have no horse."


"Never mind, I will speak to the squire; he will lend you one."


The doctor leaves, the light goes out, and again Varka hears, "Bu, bu, bu." In half an hour some one drives up to the cabin.

This is the cart for Yélim to go to the hospital in. Yélim gets ready and goes.

And now comes a clear and fine morning. Pelageya is not at home; she has gone to the hospital to find out how Yélim is.

There is a child crying, and Varka hears some one singing with her own voice:

"Bayu, bayushki, bayu! Nurse will sing a song to you."


Pelageya returns; she crosses herself and whispers:


"Last night he was better; toward morning he gave his soul to God. Heavenly kingdom, eternal rest! They say we brought him

too late; we should have done it sooner."

Varka goes into the wood and cries, and suddenly some one slaps her with such force that her head bangs against a birch

tree. She lifts her head, and sees before her her master, the bootmaker.

"What are you doing, scabby?" he asks. "The child is crying and you are asleep."


He gives her a slap on the ear; and she shakes her head, rocks the cradle and murmurs her lullaby. The green spot, the

shadows from the trousers and the baby clothes tremble, wink at her, and soon again possess her brain. Again she sees a road
covered with liquid mud. Men, with satchels on their backs, and shadows, lie down and sleep soundly. When she looks at them
Varka passionately desires to sleep; she would lie down with joy, but mother Pelageya comes along and hurries her. They are
going into town to seek situations.

"Give me a kopeck for the love of Christ," says her mother to everyone she meets. "Show the pity of God, merciful

gentleman!"

"Give me here the child," cries a well-known voice. "Give me the child," repeats the same voice, but this time angrily and

sharply. "You are asleep, beast!"

Varka jumps up, and looking around her, remembers where she is; there is neither road, nor Pelageya, nor people, but only,

standing in the middle of the room, her mistress who has come to feed the child. While the stout, broad-shouldered woman
feeds and soothes the baby, Varka stands still, looks at her, and waits till she has finished.

And outside the window the air grows blue, the shadows fade and the green spot on the ceiling pales. It will soon be morning.


"Take it," says her mistress. "It is crying. The evil eye is upon it!"


Varka takes the child, lays it in the cradle, and again begins rocking. The shadows and the green spot fade away, and there is

nothing now to set her brain going. But, as before, she wants to sleep, wants passionately to sleep. Varka lays her head on the
edge of the cradle and rocks it with her whole body so as to drive away sleep; but her eyelids droop again, and her head is
heavy.

"Varka, light the stove!" rings the voice of her master from behind the door.


That is to say, it is at last time to get up and begin the day's work. Varka leaves the cradle, and runs to the shed for wood.

She is delighted. When she runs or walks she does not feel the want of sleep as badly as when she is sitting down. She brings in
wood, lights the stove, and feels how her petrified face is waking up, and how her thoughts are clearing.



"Varka, get ready the samovar!" cries her mistress.


Varka cuts splinters of wood, and has hardly lighted them and laid them in the samovar when another order comes:


"Varka, clean your master's galoches!"


Varka sits on the floor, cleans the galoches, and thinks how delightful it would be to thrust her head into the big, deep galoche,

and slumber in it a while. And suddenly the galoche grows, swells, and fills the whole room. Varka drops her brush, but
immediately shakes her head, distends her eyes, and tries to look at things as if they had not grown and did not move in her
eyes.

"Varka, wash the steps outside; the customers will be scandalized!"


Varka cleans the steps, tidies the room, and then lights another stove and runs into the shop. There is much work to be done,

and not a moment free.

But nothing is so tiresome as to stand at the kitchen table and peel potatoes. Varka's head falls on the table, the potatoes

glimmer in her eyes, the knife drops from her hand, and around her bustles her stout, angry mistress with sleeves tucked up, and
talks so loudly that her voice rings in Varka's ears. It is torture, too, to wait at table, to wash up, and to sew. There are
moments when she wishes, notwithstanding everything around her, to throw herself on the floor and sleep.

The day passes. And watching how the windows darken, Varka presses her



petrified temples, and smiles, herself not knowing why. The darkness caresses her drooping eyelids, and promises a sound sleep

soon. But toward evening the bootmaker's rooms are full of visitors.

"Varka, prepare the samovar!" cries her mistress.


It is a small samovar, and before the guests are tired of drinking tea, it has to be filled and heated five times. After tea, Varka

stands a whole hour on one spot, looks at the guests, and waits for orders.

"Varka, run and buy three bottles of beer!"


Varka jumps from her place, and tries to run as quickly as possible so as to drive away sleep.


"Varka, go for vodka! Varka, where is the corkscrew? Varka, clean the herrings!"


At last the guests are gone; the fires are extinguished; master and mistress go to bed.


"Varka, rock the cradle!" echoes the last order.


In the stove chirrups a cricket; the green spot on the ceiling, and the shadows from the trousers and baby clothes again

twinkle before Varka's half-opened eyes; they wink at her, and obscure her brain.

"Bayu, bayushki, bayu!" she murmurs, "Nurse will sing a song to you."


But the child cries and wearies itself with crying. Varka sees again the muddy road, the men with satchels, Pelageya and father

Yélim. She remembers, she recognizes them all, but in her semi-slumber she cannot understand the force which binds her, hand
and foot, and crushes her, and ruins her life. She looks around her, and seeks that force that she may rid herself of it. But she
cannot find it. And at last, tortured, she strains all her strength and sight; she looks upward at the winking, green spot, and as
she hears the cry of the baby, she finds the enemy who is crushing her heart.

The enemy is the child.


Varka laughs. She is astonished. How was it that never before could she understand such a simple thing? The green spot, the

shadows and the cricket, it seems, all smile and are surprised at it.

An idea takes possession of Varka. She rises from the stool and, smiling broadly with unwinking eyes, walks up and down the

room. She is delighted and touched by the thought that she will soon be delivered from the child who has bound her, hand and
foot -- be delivered, and then to sleep, sleep, sleep.

And smiling and blinking, and threatening the green spot with her fingers, Varka steals to the cradle and bends over it with

outspread fingers which afterward close tightly. Then, laughing with joy at the thought that now she can sleep, in a moment she
sleeps as soundly as the dead child.
 

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مدیر بازنشسته
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The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

Found among the papers of the late Diedrech 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 squirrel-shooting 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 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. 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. 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.

The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback, without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War, and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance. Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the trooper having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak.

Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and the spectre is known at all the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.

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 every one 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.

I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud for it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there embosomed in the great State of New York, that population, manners, and customs remain fixed, while the great torrent of migration and improvement, which is making such incessant changes in other parts of this restless country, sweeps by them unobserved. They are like those little nooks of still water, which border a rapid stream, where we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current. Though many years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet I question whether I should not still find the same trees and the same families vegetating in its sheltered bosom.

In this by-place of nature there abode, in a remote period of American history, that is to say, some thirty years since, a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned, or, as he expressed it, "tarried," in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the children of the vicinity. He was a native of Connecticut, a State which supplies the Union with pioneers for the mind as well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its legions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters. The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock perched upon his spindle neck to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.
His schoolhouse was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of old copybooks. It was most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a *withe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against the window shutters; so that though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in getting out, --an idea most probably borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an eelpot. The schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a formidable birch-tree growing at one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard in a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a beehive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice of the master, in the tone of menace or command, or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth to say, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim, "Spare the rod and spoil the child." Ichabod Crane's scholars certainly were not spoiled.
I would not have it imagined, however, that he was one of those cruel potentates of the school who joy in the smart of their subjects; on the contrary, he administered justice with discrimination rather than severity; taking the burden off the backs of the weak, and laying it on those of the strong. Your mere puny stripling, that winced at the least flourish of the rod, was passed by with indulgence; but the claims of justice were satisfied by inflicting a double portion on some little tough wrong headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled and grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch. All this he called "doing his duty by their parents;" and he never inflicted a chastisement without following it by the assurance, so consolatory to the smarting urchin, that "he would remember it and thank him for it the longest day he had to live."
When school hours were over, he was even the companion and playmate of the larger boys; and on holiday afternoons would convoy some of the smaller ones home, who happened to have pretty sisters, or good housewives for mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard. Indeed, it behooved him to keep on good terms with his pupils. The revenue arising from his school was small, and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him with daily bread, for he was a huge feeder, and, though lank, had the dilating powers of an anaconda; but to help out his maintenance, he was, according to country custom in those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers whose children he instructed. With these he lived successively a week at a time, thus going the rounds of the neighborhood, with all his worldly effects tied up in a cotton handkerchief.​
 

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The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

That all this might not be too onerous on the purses of his rustic patrons, who are apt to considered the costs of schooling a grievous burden, and schoolmasters as mere drones he had various ways of rendering himself both useful and agreeable. He assisted the farmers occasionally in the lighter labors of their farms, helped to make hay, mended the fences, took the horses to water, drove the cows from pasture, and cut wood for the winter fire. He laid aside, too, all the dominant dignity and absolute sway with which he lorded it in his little empire, the school, and became wonderfully gentle and ingratiating. He found favor in the eyes of the mothers by petting the children, particularly the youngest; and like the lion bold, which whilom so magnanimously the lamb did hold, he would sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradle with his foot for whole hours together.
In addition to his other vocations, he was the singing- master of the neighborhood, and picked up many bright shillings by instructing the young folks in psalmody. It was a matter of no little vanity to him on Sundays, to take his station in front of the church gallery, with a band of chosen singers; where, in his own mind, he completely carried away the palm from the parson. Certain it is, his voice resounded far above all the rest of the congregation; and there are peculiar quavers still to be heard in that church, and which may even be heard half a mile off, quite to the opposite side of the mill-pond, on a still Sunday morning, which are said to be legitimately descended from the nose of Ichabod Crane. Thus, by divers little makeshifts, in that ingenious way which is commonly denominated "by hook and by crook," the worthy pedagogue got on tolerably enough, and was thought, by all who understood nothing of the labor of headwork, to have a wonderfully easy life of it.
The schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance in the female circle of a rural neighborhood; being considered a kind of idle, gentlemanlike personage, of vastly superior taste and accomplishments to the rough country swains, and, indeed, inferior in learning only to the parson. His appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion some little stir at the tea-table of a farmhouse, and the addition of a supernumerary dish of cakes or sweetmeats, or, peradventure, the parade of a silver teapot. Our man of letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in the smiles of all the country damsels. How he would figure among them in the churchyard, between services on Sundays; gathering grapes for them from the wild vines that overran the surrounding trees; reciting for their amusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones; or sauntering, with a whole bevy of them, along the banks of the adjacent mill-pond; while the more bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior elegance and address.

From his half-itinerant life, also, he was a kind of traveling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to house, so that his appearance was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed by the women as a man of great erudition, for he had read several books quite through, and was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's "History of New England Witchcraft," in which, by the way, he most firmly and potently believed.

He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvelous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his residence in this spell-bound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow. It was often his delight, after his school was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover bordering the little brook that whimpered by his school-house, and there con over old Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of evening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as he wended his way by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination, --the moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside, the boding cry of the tree toad, that harbinger of storm, the dreary hooting of the screech owl, to the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. The fireflies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's token. His only resource on such occasions, either to drown thought or drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes and the good people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled with awe at hearing his nasal melody, "in linked sweetness long drawn out," floating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road.

Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was to pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listen to their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of Connecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-turvy!

But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly cuddling in the chimney corner of a chamber that was all of a ruddy glow from the crackling wood fire, and where, of course, no spectre dared to show its face, it was dearly purchased by the terrors of his subsequent walk homewards. What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path, amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! With what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from some distant window! How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path! How often did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! and how often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly scourings!

All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness; and though he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the Devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was--a woman.

Among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in each week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a booming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked as one of her father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal a little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set of her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmother had brought over from Saar dam; the tempting stomacher of the olden time, and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round.

Ichahod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the ***; and it is not to be wondered at, that so tempting a morsel soon found favor in his eyes, more especially after he had visited her in her paternal mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect picture of a thriving, contented, liberal-hearted farmer. He seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or his thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own farm; but within those everything was snug, happy and well-conditioned. He was satisfied with his wealth, but not proud of it; and piqued himself upon the hearty abundance, rather than the style in which he lived. His stronghold was situated on the banks of the Hudson, in one of those green, sheltered, fertile nooks in which the Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. A great elm tree spread its broad branches over it, at the foot of which bubbled up a spring of the softest and sweetest water, in a little well formed of a barrel; and then stole sparkling away through the grass, to a neighboring brook, that babbled along among alders and dwarf willows. Hard by the farmhouse was a vast barn, that might have served for a church; every window and crevice of which seemed bursting forth with the treasures of the farm; the flail was busily resounding within it from morning to night; swallows and martins skimmed twittering about the eaves; an rows of pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if watching the weather, some with their heads under their wings or buried in their bosoms, and others swelling, and cooing, and bowing about their dames, were enjoying the sunshine on the roof. Sleek unwieldy porkers were grunting in the repose and abundance of their pens, from whence sallied forth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air. A stately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys were gobbling through the farmyard, and Guinea fowls fretting about it, like ill-tempered housewives, with their peevish, discontented cry. Before the barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a husband, a warrior and a fine gentleman, clapping his burnished wings and crowing in the pride and gladness of his heart, --sometimes tearing up the earth with his feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry family of wives and children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had discovered.

The pedagogue's mouth watered as he looked upon this sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his devouring mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roasting-pig running about with a pudding in his belly, and an apple in his mouth; the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of crust; the geese were swimming in their own gravy; and the ducks pairing cosily in dishes, like snug married couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce. In the porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon, and juicy relishing ham; not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up, with its gizzard under its wing, and, peradventure, a necklace of savory sausages; and even bright chanticleer himself lay sprawling on his back, in a side dish, with uplifted claws, as if craving that quarter which his chivalrous spirit disdained to ask while living.

As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled his great green eyes over the fat meadow lands, the rich fields of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy fruit, which surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains, and his imagination expanded with the idea, how they might be readily turned into cash, and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized his hopes, and presented to him the blooming Katrina, with a whole family of children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded with household trumpery, with pots and kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, setting out for Kentucky, Tennessee, --or the Lord knows where!​
 

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The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

When he entered the house, the conquest of his heart was complete. It was one of those spacious farmhouses, with high- ridged but lowly sloping roofs, built in the style handed down from the first Dutch settlers; the low projecting eaves forming a piazza along the front, capable of being closed up in bad weather. Under this were hung flails, harness, various utensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the neighboring river. Benches were built along the sides for summer use; and a great spinning-wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed the various uses to which this important porch might be devoted. From this piazza the wondering Ichabod entered the hall, which formed the centre of the mansion, and the place of usual residence. Here rows of resplendent pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner stood a huge bag of wool, ready to be spun; in another, a quantity of linsey-woolsey just from the loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of dried apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, mingled with the gaud of red peppers; and a door left ajar gave him a peep into the best parlor, where the claw-footed chairs and dark mahogany tables shone like mirrors; andirons, with their accompanying shovel and tongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops; mock- oranges and conch - shells decorated the mantelpiece; strings of various-colored birds eggs were suspended above it; a great ostrich egg was hung from the centre of the room, and a corner cupboard, knowingly left open, displayed immense treasures of old silver and well-mended china.

From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end, and his only study was how to gain the affections of the peerless daughter of Van Tassel. In this enterprise, however, he had more real difficulties than generally fell to the lot of a knight-errant of yore, who seldom had anything but giants, enchanters, fiery dragons, and such like easily conquered adversaries, to contend with and had to make his way merely through gates of iron and brass, and walls of adamant to the castle keep, where the lady of his heart was confined; all which he achieved as easily as a man would carve his way to the centre of a Christmas pie; and then the lady gave him her hand as a matter of course. Ichabod, on the contrary, had to win his way to the heart of a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims and caprices, which were forever presenting new difficulties and impediments; and he had to encounter a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood, the numerous rustic admirers, who beset every portal to her heart, keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other, but ready to fly out in the common cause against any new competitor.

Among these, the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the country round which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arrogance From his Herculean frame and great powers of limb he had received the nickname of BROM BONES, by which he was universally known. He was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at all races and cock fights; and, with the ascendancy which bodily strength always acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with an air and tone that admitted of no gainsay or appeal. He was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than ill-will in his composition; and with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish good humor at bottom. He had three or four boon companions, who regarded him as their model, and at the head of whom he scoured the country, attending every scene of feud or merriment for miles round. In cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a country gathering descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking about among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones and his gang!" The neighbors looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good-will; and, when any madcap prank or rustic brawl occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it.

This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries, and though his amorous toyings were something like the gentle caresses and endearments ofa bear, yet it was whispered that she did not altogether discourage his hopes. Certain it is, his advances were signals for rival candidates to retire, who felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours; insomuch, that when his horse was seen tied to Van Tassel's paling, on a Sunday night, a sure sign that his master was courting, or, as it is termed, " sparking," within, all other suitors passed by in despair, and carried the war into other quarters.


Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had to contend, and, considering, all things, a stouter man than he would have shrunk from the competition, and a wiser man would have despaired. He had, however, a happy mixture of pliability and perseverance in his nature; he was in form and spirit like a supple-jackÄyielding, but tough; though he bent, he never broke; and though he bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet, the moment it was away--jerk!--he was as erect, and carried his head as high as ever.


To have taken the field openly against his rival would have been madness; for he was not a man to be thwarted in his amours, any more than that stormy lover, Achilles. Ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a quiet and gently insinuating manner. Under cover of his character of singing-master, he made frequent visits at the farmhouse; not that he had anything to apprehend from the meddlesome interference of parents, which is so often a stumbling-block in the path of lovers. Balt Van Tassel was an easy indulgent soul; he loved his daughter better even than his pipe, and, like a reasonable man and an excellent father, let her have her way in everything. His notable little wife, too, had enough to do to attend to her housekeeping and manage her poultry; for, as she sagely observed, ducks and geese are foolish things, and must be looked after, but girls can take care of themselves. Thus, while the busy dame bustled about the house, or plied her spinning-wheel at one end of the piazza, honest Balt would sit smoking his evening pipe at the other, watching the achievements of a little wooden warrior, who, armed with a sword in each hand, was most valiantly fighting the wind on the pinnacle of the barn. In the mean time, Ichabod would carry on his suit with the daughter by the side of the spring under the great elm, or sauntering along in the twilight, that hour so favorable to the lover's eloquence.


I profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and won. To me they have always been matters of riddle and admiration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable point, or door of access; while others have a thousand avenues, and may be captured in a thousand different ways. It is a great triumph of skill to gain the former, but a still greater proof of generalship to maintain possession of the latter, for man must battle for his fortress at every door and window. He who wins a thousand common hearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a hero. Certain it is, this was not the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones; and from the moment Ichabod Crane made his advances, the interests of the former evidently declined: his horse was no longer seen tied to the palings on Sunday nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between him and the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow.


Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his nature, would fain have carried matters to open warfare and have settled their pretensions to the lady, according to the mode of those most concise and simple reasoners, the knights-errant of yore, -- by single combat; but lchabod was too conscious of the superior might of his adversary to enter the lists against him; he had overheard a boast of Bones, that he would "double the schoolmaster up, and lay him on a shelf of his own schoolhouse;" and he was too wary to give him an opportunity. There was something extremely provoking, in this obstinately pacific system; it left Brom no alternative but to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play off boorish practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod became the object of whimsical persecution to Bones and his gang of rough riders. They harried his hitherto peaceful domains, smoked out his singing- school by stopping up the chimney, broke into the schoolhouse at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings of withe and window stakes, and turned everything topsy-turvy, so that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the witches in the country held their meetings there. But what was still more annoying, Brom took all Opportunities of turning him into ridicule in presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to whine in the most ludicrous manner, and introduced as a rival of Ichabod's, to instruct her in psalmody.

In this way matters went on for some time, without producing any material effect on the relative situations of the contending powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool from whence he usually watched all the concerns of his little literary realm. In his hand he swayed a ferule, that sceptre of despotic power; the birch of justice reposed on three nails behind the throne, a constant terror to evil doers, while on the desk before him might be seen sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons, detected upon the persons of idle urchins, such as half-munched apples, popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant little paper game-cocks. Apparently there had been some appalling act of justice recently inflicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon their books, or slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept upon the master; and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout the schoolroom. It was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a negro in tow-cloth jacket and trowsers. a round-crowned fragment of a hat, like the cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which he managed with a rope by way of halter. He came clattering up to the school-door with an invitation to Ichabod to attend a merry - making or "quilting-frolic," to be held that evening at Mynheer Van Tassel's; and having, delivered his message with that air of importance and effort at fine language which a negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering, away up the Hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his mission.

All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet schoolroom. The scholars were hurried through their lessons without stopping at trifles; those who were nimble skipped over half with impunity, and those who were tardy had a smart application now and then in the rear, to quicken their speed or help them over a tall word. Books were flung aside without being put away on the shelves, inkstands were overturned, benches thrown down, and the whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual time, bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing about the green in joy at their early emancipation.


The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed only suit of rusty black, and arranging his locks by a bit of broken looking-glass that hung up in the schoolhouse. That he might make his appearance before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman of the name of Hans Van Ripper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth like a knight- errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet I should, in the true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks and equipments of my hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was a broken-down plow-horse, that had outlived almost everything but its viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck, and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his master's, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the country.


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The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed . He rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers'; he carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged on, the motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of forehead might be called, and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out almost to the horses tail. Such was the appearance of Ichabod and his steed as they shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it was altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad daylight.

It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden 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.


The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and frolicking from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety around them. There was the honest cockrobin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen, with its loud querulous 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 its 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 symptom 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 odor of the beehive, and as he beheld them, soft anticipations stole over his mind of dainty slap-jacks, well buttered, and garnished with honey or treacle, by the delicate little dimpled hand of Katrina Van Tassel.


Thus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and "sugared suppositions," he journeyed along the sides of a range of hills which look out upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mighty Hudson. The sun gradually wheeled his broad disk down in the west. The wide bosom of the Tappan Zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting that here and there a gentle undulation waved and prolonged the blue shallow 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 greater 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 gleamed along the still water, it seemed as if the vessel was suspended in the air.


It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle of the Heer Van Tassel, 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, long waisted short-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 ribbon, or perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms of city innovation. 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, wellbroken 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 parlor of Van Tassel's mansion. Not those of the bevy of buxom lasses, with their luxurious display of red and white; but the ample charms 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! There was the doughty doughnut, the tender olykoek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and honey cakes, and the whole family of cakes. And then there were apple pies, and peach pies, and pumpkin pies; besides slices of ham and smoked beef; and moreover delectable dishes of preserved plums, and peaches, and pears, and quinces; not to mention broiled shad and roasted chickens; together with bowls of milk and cream, all mingled higgledy- pigglely, pretty much as I have enumerated them, with the motherly teapot sending up its clouds of vapor from the midst-- Heaven bless the mark! I want breath and time to discuss this banquet as it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story. Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his historian, but did ample justice to every dainty.


He was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart dilated in proportion as his skin was filled with good cheer, and whose spirits rose with eating, as some men's do with drink. He could not help, too, rolling his large eyes round him as he ate, and chuckling with the possibility that he might one day be lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable luxury and splendor. Then, he thought, how soon he 'd turn his back upon the old schoolhouse; snap his fingers in the face of Hans Van Ripper, and every other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogue out of doors that should dare to call him comrade!


Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests with a face dilated with content and goodhumor, 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 "fall to, and help themselves."


And now the sound of the music from the common room, or hall, summoned to the dance. The musician was an old gray-headed negro, who had been the itinerant orchestra of the neighborhood for more than half a century. His instrument was as old and battered as himself. The greater part of the time he scraped on two or three strings, accompanying every movement of the bow with a motion of the head; bowing almost to the ground, and stamping with his foot whenever a fresh couple were to start.


Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon his vocal powers. 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. He was the admiration of all the negroes; who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, from the farm and the neighborhood, stood forming a pyramid of shining black faces at every door and window; gazing with delight at the scene; rolling their white eye-balls, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear. How could the flogger of urchins be otherwise than animated and joyous? the lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling graciously in reply to all his amorous oglings; while Brom Bones, sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself in one corner.

When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to a knot of the sager folks, who, with Old V an Tassel, sat smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former times, and drawing out long stories about the war. This neighborhood, at the time of which I am speaking, was one of those highly favored places which abound with chronicle and great men. The British and American line had run near it during the war; it had, therefore], been the scene of marauding and infested with refugees, cow-boys, and all kinds of border chivalry. Just sufficient time had elapsed to enable each story-teller to dress up his tale with a little becoming fiction, and, in the indistinctness of his recollection, to make himself the hero of every exploit.
There was the story of Doffue Martling, a large blue-bearded Dutchman, who had nearly taken a British frigate with an old iron nine-pounder from a mud breastwork, only that his gun burst at the sixth discharge. And there was an old gentleman who shall be nameless, being too rich a mynheer to be lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of White Plains, being an excellent master of defence, parried a musket-ball with a small-sword, insomuch that he absolutely felt it whiz round the blade, and glance off at the hilt; in proof of which he was ready at any time to show the sword, with the hilt a little bent. There were several more that had been equally great in the field, not one of whom but was persuaded that he had a considerable hand in bringing the war to a happy termination.

But all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and apparitions that succeeded. The neighborhood is rich in legendary treasures of the kind. Local tales and superstitions thrive best in these sheltered, long settled retreats; but are trampled under foot by the shifting throng that forms the population of most of our country places. Besides, there is no encouragement for ghosts in most of our villages, for they have scarcely had time to finish their first nap and turn themselves in their graves, before their surviving friends have travelled away from the neighborhood; so that when they turn out at night to walk their rounds, they have no acquaintance left to call upon. This is perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts except in our long-established Dutch communities.
 

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The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving

The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of supernatural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing to the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow. There was a contagion in the very air that blew from that haunted region; it breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all the land. Several of the Sleepy Hollow people were present at Van Tassel's, and, as usual, were doling out their wild and wonderful legends. Many dismal tales were told about funeral trains, and mourning cries and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the unfortunate Major Andre was taken, and which stood in the neighborhood. Some mention was made also of the woman in white, that haunted the dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often heard to shriek on winter nights before a storm, having perished there in the snow. The chief part of the stories, however, turned upon the favorite spectre of Sleepy Hollow, the Headless Horseman, who had been heard several times of late, patrolling the country; and, it was said, tethered his horse nightly among the graves in the churchyard.

The sequestered situation of this church seems always to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust, trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent, whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like Christian purity beaming through the shades of retirement. A gentle slope descends from it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps may be caught at the blue hills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead might rest in peace. On one side of the church extends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a fearful darkness at night. Such was one of the favorite haunts of the Headless Horseman, and the place where he was most frequently encountered. The tale was told of old Brouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in ghosts, how he met the Horseman returning from his foray into Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him; how they galloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they reached the bridge; when the Horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old Brouwer into the brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clap of thunder.


This story was immediately matched by a thrice marvellous adventure of Brom Bones, who made light of the Galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey. He affirmed that on returning one night from the neighboring village of Sing Sing, he had been overtaken by this midnight trooper; that he had offered to race with him for a bowl of punch, and should have won it too, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow, but just as they came to the church bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash of fire.


All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with which men talk in the dark, the countenances of the listeners only now and then receiving a casual gleam from the glare of a pipe, sank deep in the mind of Ichabod. He repaid them in kind with large extracts from his invaluable author, Cotton Mather, and added many marvellous events that had taken place in his native State of Connecticut, and fearful sights which he had seen in his nightly walks about Sleepy Hollow.


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. 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 sallied forth, after no very great interval, with an air quite desolate and chapfallen. Oh, these women! these women! Could that girl have been playing off any of her coquettish tricks? Was her encouragement of the poor pedagogue all a mere sham to secure her conquest of his rival? Heaven only knows, not I! Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fair lady's heart. Without looking to the right or left to notice the scene of rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to the stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his steed most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which he was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover.


It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travels 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 Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the 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 opposite shore 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 farmhouse 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 the 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- starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strange sights, and doleful lamentations, told concerning it.


As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle; he thought his whistle was answered; it was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something white, hanging in the midst of the tree: he paused, and ceased whistling but, on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a groan--his teeth chattered, and his knees smote against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another, as they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him.


About two hundred yards from the tree, a small brook crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly-wooded glen, known by the name of Wiley's Swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream. On that side of the road where the brook entered the wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grape-vines, threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It was at this identical spot that the unfortunate Andre was captured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. This has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the school-boy who has to pass it alone after dark.

As he approached the stream, his heart began to thump he summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead of starting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement, and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary foot: it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles and alder-bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with a suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller.

The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror. What was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late; and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded in stammering accents, " Who are you?" He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides of the inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a bound stood at once in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He made no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and waywardness.


Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind, --the other did the same. His heart began to sink within him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless! but his horror was still more increased on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle! His terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion the slip; but the spectre started full jump with him. Away, then, they dashed through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank body away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his flight.


They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it, made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong down hill to the left. This road leads through a sandy hollow shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story; and just beyond swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church.
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