The count stayed with us for some time, and was introduced by me everywhere. It was impossible to discover that he had not been bred up in a court, his manners were so good. He was a great favourite with the ladies; and his mustachios, bad French, and waltzing—an accomplishment he had picked up in Sweden—were quite the vogue. All the ladies were sorry when the Swedish count announced his departure by a PPC.

Before I left town, I called upon the First Lord of the Admiralty, and procured for Swinburne a first-rate, building—that is to say, ordered to be built. This he had often said he wished, as he was tired of the sea, after a service of forty-five years. Subsequently, I obtained leave of absence for him every year; and he used to make himself very happy at Eagle Park. Most of his time was, however, passed on the lake, either fishing or rowing about; telling long stories to all who would join him in his water excursions.

A fortnight after my assuming my title, we set off for Eagle Park: and Celeste consented to my entreaties, that the wedding should take place that day month. Upon this hint O’Brien spake; and to oblige me, Ellen consented that we should be united on the same day.

O’Brien wrote to Father McGrath; but the letter was returned by post, with “dead” marked upon the outside. O’Brien then wrote to one of his sisters, who informed him, that Father McGrath would cross the bog one evening when he had taken a very large proportion of whisky; and that he was seen out of the right path, and had never been heard of afterwards.

On the day appointed, we were all united; and both unions have been attended with as much happiness as this world can afford. Both O’Brien and I are blessed with children, which, as O’Brien observed, have come upon us like old age, until we now can muster a large Christmas party in the two families. The general’s head is white, and he sits and smiles, happy in his daughter’s happiness, and in the gambols of his grandchildren.

Such, reader, is the history of Peter Simple, Viscount Privilege, no longer the fool, but the head of the family, who now bids you farewell.

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