mer, but a still greater
proof of generalship to maintain possession of the latter, for a man
must battle for his fortress at every door and window. He that 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 at 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 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 Ichabod was too
conscious of the superior might of his adversary to enter the lists
against him; he had overheard the boast of Bones, that he would "double
the schoolmaster up, and put him on a shelf"; 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
scepter of despotic power; the birch of justice