Drishane, near Castle Townsend.—The mists are slowly clearing off, and discovering the bold headlands of this fine coast, and the dark blue ocean that slumbers calm and still below them. In the foreground are trees, which grow luxuriantly on this side of the bay, from the height on which Drishane stands down to the water's edge. The graceful form of a brown doe has just emerged from a grove of myrtles and pink hydrangias near the house, and that beautiful animal is now quietly browzing the dewy grass. Through the open window, near which I am sitting, the gentle morning air greets me with the perfume of mignionette and jasmine from the garden beneath, and promises a sweet day for our expedition; if it should prove as pleasant as yesterday and the day before, I shall be satisfied.

Our journey here on Saturday was long and slow, but not tedious; as no post-horses are to be had, except at Bandon, the two stages were immensely long, and we were obliged continually to stop for the horses or post-boys to be fed; but these delays were fortunately at pretty or interesting places; there was something to engage the pencil or the mind—some ruin to examine, and some tradition to hear respecting it. About Innishannon, the country is very pretty, the banks of the winding river well wooded, and adorned with many country seats.