When Jemmy placed himself upon the hob, he saw that some peculiarly
good fortune had conducted him to so comfortable a resting-place. Ho
considered this as a good omen; and felt, in fact, much relieved, for
the sense of loneliness among strangers was removed.

The house evidently belonged to a wealthy farmer, well to do in
the world; the chimney was studded with sides upon sides of yellow
smoke-dried bacon, hams, and hung beef in abundance. The kitchen tables
were large, and white as milk; and the dresser rich in its shining array
of delf and pewter. Everything, in fact, was upon a large scale. Huge
meal chests were ranged on one side, and two or three settle beds on
the other, conspicuous, as I have said, for their uncommon cleanliness;
whilst hung from the ceiling were the _glaiks_, a machine for churning;
and beside the dresser stood an immense churn, certainly too unwieldy to
be managed except by machinery. The farmer was a ruddy-faced Milesian,
who wore a drab frieze coat, with a velvet collar, buff waistcoat,
corduroy small-clothes, and top-boots* well greased from the tops
down. He was not only an agriculturist, but a grazier--remarkable for
shrewdness and good sense, generally attended fairs and markets, and
brought three or four large droves of fat cattle to England every year.
From his fob hung the brass chain and almost rusty key of a watch, which
he kept certainly more for use than ornament.

* This in almost every instance, is the dress of
wealthy Irish farmer.

"A little sup o' this," said he, "won't take your life," approaching
Jemmy with a bottle of as good poteen as ever escaped the eye of an
exciseman; "it'll refresh you--for you're tired, or I wouldn't offer