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Page 12
The capacious pulpit, with its wide-spreading sounding-board, were
likewise early importations from Holland; as also the communion-table,
of massive form and curious fabric. The same might be said of a
weather-cock perched on top of the belfry, and which was considered
orthodox in all windy matters, until a small pragmatical rival was set
up on the other end of the church above the chancel. This latter bore,
and still bears, the initials of Frederick Filipsen, and assumed great
airs in consequence. The usual contradiction ensued that always exists
among church weather-cocks, which can never be brought to agree as to
the point from which the wind blows, having doubtless acquired, from
their position, the Christian propensity to schism and controversy.
Behind the church, and sloping up a gentle acclivity, was its capacious
burying-ground, in which slept the earliest fathers of this rural
neighborhood. Here were tombstones of the rudest sculpture; on which
were inscribed, in Dutch, the names and virtues of many of the first
settlers, with their portraitures curiously carved in similitude of
cherubs. Long rows of grave-stones, side by side, of similar names,
but various dates, showed that generation after generation of the same
families had followed each other and been garnered together in this last
gathering-place of kindred.
Let me speak of this quiet grave-yard with all due reverence, for I owe
it amends for the heedlessness of my boyish days. I blush to acknowledge
the thoughtless frolic with which, in company with other whipsters, I
have sported within its sacred bounds during the intervals of worship;
chasing butterflies, plucking wild flowers, or vying with each other
who could leap over the tallest tomb-stones, until checked by the stern
voice of the sexton.
The congregation was, in those days, of a really rural character. City
fashions were as yet unknown, or unregarded, by the country people
of the neighborhood. Steam-boats had not as yet confounded town with
country. A weekly market-boat from Tarry town, the "Farmers' Daughter,"
navigated by the worthy Gabriel Requa, was the only communication
between all these parts and the metropolis. A rustic belle in those days
considered a visit to the city in much the same light as one of our
modern fashionable ladies regards a visit to Europe; an event that may
possibly take place once in the course of a lifetime, but to be hoped
for, rather than expected. Hence the array of the congregation was
chiefly after the primitive fashions existing in Sleepy Hollow; or if,
by chance, there was a departure from the Dutch sun-bonnet, or the
apparition of a bright gown of flowered calico, it caused quite a
sensation throughout the church. As the dominie generally preached by
the hour, a bucket of water was providently placed on a bench near the
door, in summer, with a tin cup beside it, for the solace of those who
might be athirst, either from the heat of the weather, or the drouth of
the sermon.
Around the pulpit, and behind the communion-table, sat the elders of the
church, reverend, gray-headed, leathern-visaged men, whom I regarded
with awe, as so many apostles. They were stern in their sanctity, kept
a vigilant eye upon my giggling companions and myself, and shook a
rebuking finger at any boyish device to relieve the tediousness of
compulsory devotion. Vain, however, were all their efforts at vigilance.
Scarcely had the preacher held forth for half an hour, on one of his
interminable sermons, than it seemed as if the drowsy influence of
Sleepy Hollow breathed into the place; one by one the congregation sank
into slumber; the sanctified elders leaned back in their pews, spreading
their handkerchiefs over their faces, as if to keep off the flies; while
the locusts in the neighboring trees would spin out their sultry summer
notes, as if in imitation of the sleep-provoking tones of the dominie.
I have thus endeavored to give an idea of Sleepy Hollow and its church,
as I recollect them to have been in the days of my boyhood. It was in
my stripling days, when a few years had passed over my head, that I
revisited them, in company with the venerable Diedrich. I shall never
forget the antiquarian reverence with which that sage and excellent man
contemplated the church. It seemed as if all his pious enthusiasm for
the ancient Dutch dynasty swelled within his bosom at the sight.
The tears stood in his eyes, as he regarded the pulpit and the
communion-table; even the very bricks that had come from the mother
country, seemed to touch a filial chord within his bosom. He almost
bowed in deference to the stone above the porch, containing the names
of Frederick Filipsen and Katrina Van Courtlandt, regarding it as the
linking together of those patronymic names, once so famous along the
banks of the Hudson; or rather as a key-stone, binding that mighty Dutch
family connexion of yore, one foot of which rested on Yonkers, and the
other on the Groton. Nor did he forbear to notice with admiration, the
windy contest which had been carried on, since time immemorial, and with
real Dutch perseverance, between the two weather-cocks; though I could
easily perceive he coincided with the one which had come from Holland.
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