It was built by “Frederick Filipse and his wife Katrina Van Cortland in 1690.”  The material is partly of stone and partly of brick brought from Holland.  It stands as an appropriate sentinel near the entrance to the burial-yard where Irving sleeps.  After entering the gate our way leads past the graves of the Ackers, the Van Tassels, and the Van Warts, with inscriptions and plump Dutch cherubs on every side that often delighted the heart of Diedrich Knickerbocker.  How many worshippers since that November day in 1859, have come hither with reverent footsteps to read on the plain slab this simple inscription:  “Washington Irving, born April 3, 1783.  Died November 28, 1859,” and recall Longfellow’s beautiful lines: 

  “Here lies the gentle humorist, who died
    In the bright Indian Summer of his fame. 
    A simple stone, with but a date and name,
  Marks his secluded resting place beside
  The river that he loved and glorified. 
    Here in the Autumn of his days he came,
    But the dry leaves of life were all aflame
  With tints that brightened and were multiplied. 
  How sweet a life was his, how sweet a death;
  Living to wing with mirth the weary hours,
    Or with romantic tales the heart to cheer;
  Dying to leave a memory like the breath
  Of Summers full of sunshine and of showers,
    A grief and gladness in the atmosphere.”

* * *

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.

    Washington Irving.

* * *

Sleepy Hollow Church, like Sunnyside, is hidden away from the steamer tourist by summer foliage.  Just before reaching Kingston Point light-house, a view, looking northeast up the little bay to the right, will sometimes give the outline of the building.  Beyond this a tall granite shaft, erected by the Delavan family, is generally quite distinctly seen, and this is near the grave of Irving.  A light-house, built in 1883, marks the point where the Pocantico or Sleepy Hollow Creek joins the Hudson: 

  Pocantico’s hushed waters glide
    Through Sleepy Hollow’s haunted ground,
  And whisper to the listening tide
    The name carved o’er one lowly mound.

To one loving our early history and legends there is no spot more central or delightful than Tarrytown.  Irving humorously says that Tarrytown took its name from husbands tarrying too late at the village tavern, but its real derivation is Tarwen-Dorp, or Wheat-town.  The name of the old Indian village at this point was Alipconck (the place of elms).  It has often occurred to the writer that, more than any other river, the Hudson has a distinct personality, and also that the four main divisions of human life are particularly marked in the Adirondacks, the Catskills, the Highlands and Tappan Bay: