CHAPTER IX.

Journey to Miltown Malbay.—Dromoland castle.—Pathetic
appeal of a Friar of Quin Abbey to a Lady O'Brien in the
olden time.—Irish wit over a shop door.—The old Countess
of Desmond.

Miltown Malbay, — Tuesday Morning,—A
change of place since I wrote last. I am sitting
in a little whitewashed room, writing at a ricketty
table; a turf fire is burning in the grate behind
me, and a large battered kettle is singing on it
to make tea for our breakfast. AU this sounds
homely, and perhaps uncomfortable, but it is
not so. Though the window is curtainless and
the room bare, it looks out upon the glorious
Atlantic, the intensely blue sea; and white
breakers are foaming among the rocks, and the
whole scene without is grand   and   beautiful.

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