I've already blogged about the rain today, so we'll move on now.

Jon and I didn't have an agenda today. We slept in until 6:30 a.m., had breakfast, and left the Charles Stewart to walk down O'Connell Street toward the River Liffey. After our failure to locate Patrick Pearse's final resting place at Glasnevin, we decided to try our luck at the correct graveyard.

Arbour Hill Cemetery is located behind the National Museum of Ireland at Collins Barracks. After the 1916 Uprising, Pearse, along with other architects of the fight, were taken to Kilmainham Jail, court-marshalled and executed. The Easter Uprising of 1916 did not succeed, but the execution of the 14 leaders set in motion what their previous struggles did not. Jon and I wanted to pay our respects.

We walked directly to the Barracks and went into the information office at the entrance. I felt it was a mistake, but he confessed to the information officer how we'd failed to locate Pearse at Glasnevin. The IO glared at us for a moment, and then in a voice with all the warmth of a lump of basalt on the northern coast, said, "And who told you Patrick Pearse was buried in Glasnevin Cemetery?"

I'm not proud, but I did not want that stare focused on me any longer than necessary. I whipped my hand up and pointed a finger at Jon. The IO studied Jon who laughed and said he thought that was what he'd read. The IO didn't laugh.

"We now know he's at Arbour Hill Cemetery," Jon continued. "Will you tell us how to get there?"

"I won't tell you," The information officer said.

"Will you tell him?" Jon asked. I wasn't too happy to have the IO reminded of my presence.

"I won't," he said. "He'd just tell you."

Then he smiled, and all was forgiven. He told us how to get around to the back of the museum, navigate around the Church of the Sacred Heart, and find the cemetery. We followed his instructions and, miraculously, there it was.

The gravesite of the 14 leaders is a rectangle of bright green grass, surrounded by a terrace of Wicklow granite. A limestone wall heading the terrace has the Proclamation in Irish and English. I mounted the couple of steps to the terrace and approached the grave. Starting at the near end, I read the name of the man and thanked each one individually. Just as I got to Patrick Pearse, an orange cat trotted across the churchyard as if his only purpose in life was to guard the residents. Assured I was showing the proper reverence, he moved to check Jon. He stayed with us during our visit, offering comfort if we needed it, or a throat to scratch if we were up to it.

We toured the Barracks when we left Arbour Hill. The first time we were at the Barracks in 2008 they had a 1916 display. The display was still going on, but as Jon said, it meant so much more to us this time. We had both read more since our last visit so the names and dates felt more familiar.

We left the Barracks and made our way back toward City Center. "What should we do now?" I asked, not having any suggestions myself.

"Well, it must be going on half-eleven," Jon said. "Do you want to get lunch?"

Thank goodness for meals, they really help break up the monotony of sightseeing!

After lunch and more walking around Dublin, we decided to take in the National Leprechaun Museum on Jervis Street. This was by far my favorite museum in all of Ireland. You have to book a tour as there is no wandering on your own through the exhibits. It's far too dangerous for that.

The guide starts with an explanation of the known history of leprechauns, from the earliest records to modern misconceptions. Then we were taken on a journey down a magic tunnel where we were taller at the end than when we started. The tunnel terminated in the Giants Causeway where, as a group, we found a secret doorway into a giant's actual room. Here' the guide explained, we could feel what it must be like to be a leprechaun.

We were allowed to crawl up on the oversized chairs. Even though the group consisted entirely of adults, we were children in this room. As there were no steps up onto the furniture, we helped one another, laughing as hand-stirrups broke or rear-ends were unceremoniously pushed.

After the giant's house we were led into a faerie hill, a secret glade with a wishing well at night, and through a rainbow to see the crock of gold. Along the way there were stories lively told by the guide.

The tour ended at a gift shop, but in addition to the usual items for sale, we, as visitors, were offered a chance to give something to the museum. Tables were set up with paper and colored pencils. Every visitor to the National Leprechaun Museum is invited to become part of a living, growing display. Jon and I both drew pictures which were placed in frames on the wall. All of the drawings the museum receives are added to a flickr.com account. We were told we could check in about a week for our efforts.

It was just a little too soon to go on to our next meal, so we took a short walk in the rain in St. Stephen's Green, then went to the Quays Upstairs. We were seated by a long row of tables against the wall with "reserved" signs. A group of 27 Danes, students, were set to come in around 6:30. We were almost finished when they arrived, but we got to listen to them talk in a combination of Danish and English.

Tomorrow is our last day in Ireland. I think we're both ready to return to the States.