It was with feelings of regret that I was now on the eve of quitting the first battalion of the Connaught Rangers, but, before doing so, I resolved to spend a few days with my old friend and companion, Captain Graham. He was attached to the 21st Portuguese Regiment, quartered in a large convent half-way between Leomil and Lamosa; and here, for the first time, I had a full specimen of the manners and habits of the priesthood of Portugal. I had, it is true, met them occasionally before, and always found them pleasant, agreeable companions; but I had little idea of the depraved state they lived in until I became, in a manner, an inmate of the convent where my friend was quartered. Dinner was about to be announced when some five or six priests entered, each carrying under his arm a small pig-skin of wine. They were all merry, gay lads, and looked as if they had—which I have no doubt of—tasted the contents of their _fardeau_. All were agreeable men; they talked upon all subjects; but the fair sex “had the call.” My friend asked where the others were who had promised to come. He was told they were on duty; but what that “duty” was, I could not exactly define. Be this as it may, dinner was scarcely over when three monks entered the apartment. One, who seemed to be the provider, was loaded with an enormous pig-skin of wine, which he carried on his back; and, so soon as the door was flung open, he, with some difficulty, placed it in a corner, and then, with his two companions, joined our festive board. Now, at the time I am speaking of, I was a very young lad. I had, nevertheless, seen something of the world; I had mixed in society, high and low; I had read books—some of them moral, some the contrary; but in all that I had ever seen, read, or heard of, I never could suppose that, amongst any set of men—much less priests—so great a scene of blackguardism could be amalgamated together as I witnessed on this night. Their songs and talk were as indecent as can be imagined. The fellows were so pleasant that, if you could forget they were priests, it would have been well enough; but it is disgraceful to see men in this calling adopt the manners and habits of the most profligate, by which means they not only disgrace themselves, but the religion they profess. I took leave of my old regiment, and, with two hundred and sixty-five dollars in my pocket, bent my way towards Lisbon. My old friend D‘Arcy accompanied me, and my man, Dan Carsons, took charge of our baggage-mule, which carried our kits. This, indeed, was a sort of sinecure to him; for, to say the truth, we were not overstocked with many extras. Little occurred worthy of notice until we reached Lisbon, and there we met with our companion, Simon Fairfield, so well known to the army.[37] Maurice Quill was also there, and as they were both, like ourselves, waiting for a passage home by the first fleet that was to leave the Tagus for England, we thought we could not do better than “club” together.