Dear Molly, I open this to say that I have made my will; for, if Divine Providence doesn't befriend me, your poor Jemima will be in paradise before this reaches you! I have left you my black satin with the bugles, and my brown bombazine, which, when it is dyed, will be very nice mourning for common wear. I also bequeath to you the things you 'll find in the oak press in my own room, and ten silver spoons, and a fish-knife marked with the McCarthy arms, which, not to be too particular, I have put down in the will as "plate and linen." I leave you, besides, my book of "Domestic Cookery," "The Complete Housewife," and the "Way to Glory," by St. Francis Xavier. There are marks all through them with my own pen; and be particular to observe the receipt for snow pancakes, and the prayers for a "Plenary" after Candlemas. It will be a comfort to your feelings to know that I am departing from this life in peace and charity with every one. Tell Mat I forgive him the fleece he stole out of the hayloft; and though he swears still he never laid hand on it, who else was there, Molly? You can give Kitty Hogan the old shoes in the closet, for, though she never wears any, she 'd like to have them for keepsakes! K. I. cared too little for my peace here to suppose that he will think of my repose hereafter, so that Father John can take the yearling calf and the two ewes out in masses! My feelings is overcoming me, Molly, and I can't go on!--breathing my last, as I am, in a far-away land, and sinking under the cruelty of a hard-hearted man! I think it would only be a decent mark of respect to my family if the M'Carthy arms was hung up over the door, to show I was n't a Dodd. The crest is an angel sheltering a fox, or a beast like a fox, under his wing; but you 'll see it on the spoons. When you sell the piggs--maybe I ought n't to put two g's in them, but my head is wandering--pay old Judy Cobb two-and-sevenpence for the yarn, and say that I won't stop the ninepence out of Betty's wages. Maybe, when I 'm gone, they 'll begin to see what they 've lost, and maybe E. I. will feel it too, when he finds no buttons on his shirts and the strings out of his waistcoat; and what's far worse, nobody to contradict him, and control his wilful nature! That's the very struggle that's killing me now! Nobody knows, nor would believe, the opposition I 've given him for twenty years. But _he_ 'll feel it, Molly, and that before I'm six weeks in the grave. I don't know my age to a day or a month, but you can put me down at thirty-nine, and maybe the "Blast of Freedom" would say a word or two about my family. I 'd like that far better than to be "deeply regretted," or "to the inexpressible grief of her bereaved relations."