el'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-jack--yielding, 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 the
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
meantime, 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 for