On entering the amphitheatre, new objects of wonder presented
themselves. On a level spot in the centre was a company of odd-looking
personages playing at nine-pins. They were dressed in a quaint
outlandish fashion; some wore short doublets, others jerkins, with
long knives in their belts, and most of them had enormous breeches, of
similar style with that of the guide's. Their visages, too, were
peculiar: one had a large beard, broad face, and small piggish eyes:
the face of another seemed to consist entirely of nose, and was
surmounted by a white sugar-loaf hat, set off with a little red cock's
tail. They all had beards, of various shapes and colors. There was one
who seemed to be the commander. He was a stout old gentleman, with a
weather-beaten countenance; he wore a laced doublet, broad belt and
hanger, high crowned hat and feather, red stockings, and high-heeled
shoes, with roses in them. The whole group reminded Rip of the figures
in an old Flemish painting, in the parlor of Dominie Van Shaick, the
village parson, and which had been brought over from Holland at the
time of the settlement.
What seemed particularly odd to Rip was, that though these folks
were evidently amusing themselves, yet they maintained the gravest
faces, the most mysterious silence, and were, withal, the most
melancholy party of pleasure he had ever witnessed.
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