Page 34 - THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

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

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