Shall I confess the truth? Never did an Irish cadet start for a scene of glory with less enthusiasm. In the retirement of my father’s house, every newspaper that arrived had brought with it fresh details of British victory,--and I longed, like another Norval, “to follow to the field” any honest gentleman who would hwe taken the trouble to show me the shortest way of getting a quietus--miscalled, the road to glory. A few months had, however, wrought a marvellous alteration; and but for the shame of the thing, I verily believe, I should hwe exchanged with some Captain Bailey of the day, and, without requiring “the difference,” forsworn the trade of arms, excepting the bloodless duty appertaining to country quarters. Now I was regularly committed. The dullest spirit would catch a noble impulse. The fields of Roliça, Busaco, and Salamanca rose in glorious recollection; another feeling succeeded the regret attendant on a first separation from the object of a first love; and, before the second sun went down, I should hwe scorned an ignoble return, until “with war’s red honours on my crest,” I could hwe proudly claimed my affianced one. Speedily the true mercurial temperament of the Green island returned. I joined the reckless merriment of all around: we drank, and laughed, and sang. Nothing could be more prosperous than the voyage. “On, on the vessel flies; the land is gone, And winds are rude in Biscay’s sleepless bay. ‘Four days are sped, but with the fifth, anon, New shores descried make every bosom gay; And Cintra’s mountain greets them on their way; And Tagus dashing onward to the deep, His fabled golden tribute bent to pay; And soon on board the Lusian pilots leap, And steer ‘twixt fertile shores where yet few rustics reap.” On the sixth evening we disembarked at Belem; and with my foster brother, Mark Antony O’Toole, I sprang from the frigate’s launch, and, for the first time, set foot on that scene of British glory--the Peninsula. CHAPTER XXVII. I JOIN THE CANTONMENTS OF THE ALLIED ARMY--LIEUTENANT CROTTY’S INTERVIEW WITH LORD WELLINGTON. “Sir James. Surely you exaggerate a little? Papillon. Yes--yes, this interview will sink him. Young Wilding. True to the letter, upon my honour.” “Why he will tell you more lies in an hour than all the circulating libraries put together will publish in a year.”--The Liar.