a motion of the head; bowing almost to the ground, and stamping
with his foot whenever a fresh couple were to start.

Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon his
vocal powers. Not a limb, not a fibre about him was idle; and to
have seen his loosely hung frame in full motion, and clattering
about the room, you would have thought St. Vitus himself, that
blessed patron of the dance, was figuring before you in person.
He was the admiration of all the negroes; who, having gathered,
of all ages and sizes, from the farm and the neighborhood, stood
forming a pyramid of shining black faces at every door and
window, gazing with delight at the scene, rolling their white
eyeballs, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear.
How could the flogger of urchins be otherwise than animated and
joyous? The lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and
smiling graciously in reply to all his amorous oglings; while
Brom Bones, sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding
by himself in one corner.

When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to a
knot of the sager folks, who, with Old Van Tassel, sat smoking
at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former times, and
drawing out long stories about the war.

This neighborhood, at the time of which I am speaking, was one
of those highly favored places which abound with chronicle and great
men. The British and American line had run near it during the
war; it had, therefore, been the scene of marauding and infested
with refugees, cowboys, and all kinds of border chivalry. Just
sufficient time had elapsed to enable each storyteller to dress