She is a little fat old
      lady, with blue eyes and a red face, and wears a huge cap like a
      sugar-loaf, ornamented with purple and yellow ribbons. Her dress
      is of orange-colored linsey-woolsey, made very full behind and
      very short in the waist—and indeed very short in other respects,
      not reaching below the middle of her leg. This is somewhat thick,
      and so are her ankles, but she has a fine pair of green stockings
      to cover them. Her shoes—of pink leather—are fastened each with a
      bunch of yellow ribbons puckered up in the shape of a cabbage. In
      her left hand she has a little heavy Dutch watch; in her right
      she wields a ladle for the sauerkraut and pork. By her side there
      stands a fat tabby cat, with a gilt toy-repeater tied to its
      tail, which “the boys” have there fastened by way of a quiz. The boys themselves are, all three of them, in the garden
      attending the pig. They are each two feet in height. They have
      three-cornered cocked hats, purple waistcoats reaching down to
      their thighs, buckskin knee-breeches, red stockings, heavy shoes
      with big silver buckles, long surtout coats with large buttons of
      mother-of-pearl. Each, too, has a pipe in his mouth, and a little
      dumpy watch in his right hand. He takes a puff and a look, and
      then a look and a puff. The pig—which is corpulent and lazy—is
      occupied now in picking up the stray leaves that fall from the
      cabbages, and now in giving a kick behind at the gilt repeater,
      which the urchins have also tied to his tail in order to make him
      look as handsome as the cat. Right at the front door, in a high-backed leather-bottomed armed
      chair, with crooked legs and puppy feet like the tables, is
      seated the old man of the house himself. He is an exceedingly
      puffy little old gentleman, with big circular eyes and a huge
      double chin. His dress resembles that of the boys—and I need say
      nothing farther about it. All the difference is, that his pipe is
      somewhat bigger than theirs and he can make a greater smoke. Like
      them, he has a watch, but he carries his watch in his pocket. To
      say the truth, he has something of more importance than a watch
      to attend to—and what that is, I shall presently explain. He sits
      with his right leg upon his left knee, wears a grave countenance,
      and always keeps one of his eyes, at least, resolutely bent upon
      a certain remarkable object in the centre of the plain. This object is situated in the steeple of the House of the Town
      Council. The Town Council are all very little, round, oily,
      intelligent men, with big saucer eyes and fat double chins, and
      have their coats much longer and their shoe-buckles much bigger
      than the ordinary inhabitants of Vondervotteimittiss. Since my
      sojourn in the borough, they have had several special meetings,
      and have adopted these three important resolutions:

      “That it is wrong to alter the good old course of things:”

      “That there is nothing tolerable out of Vondervotteimittiss:”
      and—

      “That we will stick by our clocks and our cabbages.”

      Above the session-room of the Council is the steeple, and in the
      steeple is the belfry, where exists, and has existed time out of
      mind, the pride and wonder of the village—the great clock of the
      borough of Vondervotteimittiss. And this is the object to which
      the eyes of the old gentlemen are turned who sit in the
      leather-bottomed arm-chairs. The great clock has seven faces—one in each of the seven sides of
      the steeple—so that it can be readily seen from all quarters. Its
      faces are large and white, and its hands heavy and black. There
      is a belfry-man whose sole duty is to attend to it; but this duty
      is the most perfect of sinecures—for the clock of
      Vondervotteimittis was never yet known to have anything the
      matter with it. Until lately, the bare supposition of such a
      thing was considered heretical. From the remotest period of
      antiquity to which the archives have reference, the hours have
      been regularly struck by the big bell. And, indeed the case was
      just the same with all the other clocks and watches in the
      borough. Never was such a place for keeping the true time. When
      the large clapper thought proper to say “Twelve o’clock!” all its
      obedient followers opened their throats simultaneously, and
      responded like a very echo. In short, the good burghers were fond
      of their sauer-kraut, but then they were proud of their clocks. All people who hold sinecure offices are held in more or less
      respect, and as the belfry—man of Vondervotteimittiss has the
      most perfect of sinecures, he is the most perfectly respected of
      any man in the world. He is the chief dignitary of the borough,
      and the very pigs look up to him with a sentiment of reverence. His coat-tail is very far longer—his pipe, his shoe-buckles, his
      eyes, and his stomach, very far bigger—than those of any other
      old gentleman in the village; and as to his chin, it is not only
      double, but triple. I have thus painted the happy estate of Vondervotteimittiss:
      alas, that so fair a picture should ever experience a reverse! There has been long a saying among the wisest inhabitants, that
      “no good can come from over the hills”; and it really seemed that
      the words had in them something of the spirit of prophecy. It
      wanted five minutes of noon, on the day before yesterday, when
      there appeared a very odd-looking object on the summit of the
      ridge of the eastward. Such an occurrence, of course, attracted
      universal attention, and every little old gentleman who sat in a
      leather-bottomed arm-chair turned one of his eyes with a stare of
      dismay upon the phenomenon, still keeping the other upon the
      clock in the steeple. By the time that it wanted only three minutes to noon, the droll
      object in question was perceived to be a very diminutive
      foreign-looking young man. He descended the hills at a great
      rate, so that every body had soon a good look at him. He was
      really the most finicky little personage that had ever been seen
      in Vondervotteimittiss. His countenance was of a dark
      snuff-color, and he had a long hooked nose, pea eyes, a wide
      mouth, and an excellent set of teeth, which latter he seemed
      anxious of displaying, as he was grinning from ear to ear. What
      with mustachios and whiskers, there was none of the rest of his
      face to be seen. His head was uncovered, and his hair neatly done
      up in papillotes.