One chose “a whip,” and the other “cakes,” and then we thought poor Moll had her quantum, and that she might proceed on her journey. But so thought not Moll. Confident of her retentive powers and strength of frame, she seemed determined to test herself to the utmost: and before she left the house, she descended to the lower regions to offer her services to the dignitaries of the kitchen. She was expected, it seemed, for cook had a lot of “kitchen stuff” to be disposed of in town, the butler to send for a new razor, the housemaid to have a letter put into the post-office, directed to “John Fitz-Garald, at Mr Crosbie’s, esquire, Dublin, Great Britain-street, Ireland,” and the kitchen-maid to send for a wire comb to support her redundant tresses. “Any thing else, now?” demanded the messenger, her foot on the threshold of the outer door. “No! no! no!” exclaimed all the voices at once; “away with ye, an’ God speed ye!” “Amin!” muttered the market-woman, striding up the steep stone steps, through the yard, and down the avenue, without “casting a longing, lingering look behind.” I will not say how often we children teased our dear, good, angel-tempered grandmother with “when will Moll Miskellagh return?” Suffice it to say, we thought of nothing but Moll, looked for no one but Moll; and until we actually beheld Moll panting up the steep avenue with a prodigious load on her back, a huge basket on one arm, and the post-bag on the other, her two pockets or rather wallets filled to the brim, we never gave ourselves or others rest or peace! But the market-woman was triumphant! Not one single commission did she forget, and every one was satisfied with her dealings and bargains except the butler, whose razor was base metal, instead of steel, or even iron! But who could blame Moll Miskellagh? Abler persons, and of the sex that used such scrapers, had been imposed on ere then. Witness-- Being well lathered from a dish or tub, Hodge now began with grinning face to scrub, Just like a hedger cutting furze; ’Twas a vile razor! Then the rest he tried-- All were imposters! “Ah!” Hodge sighed, “I wish my eighteen-pence within my purse!” Yes! our market-woman was triumphant! and for many years she retained her situation, exhibiting the same strength of memory, fidelity, and honesty, to the last. But I must mention how nicely we nicked our grandpapa for his indiscreet attempt to puzzle our purveyor on her first essay. Ever after, we regularly called upon him for “means to test the market-woman’s memory,” and he good-humouredly always complied with the demand. Then, oh! what an interesting object Moll became to us! How we used to watch for the first glimpse of the huge white load resting on her back, and rising considerably above her head! And how often in our eagerness we mistook white cows, ladies dressed in white, and white horses, for our dearly beloved Moll Miskellagh!