d, as I really am not a little
hungry. After dinner, Captain O'Brien, you shall hear my history."

His secret was confided to the whole party, upon my pledging myself for
their keeping it locked up in their own breasts, which was a bold thing
on my part, considering that two of them were ladies. The count stayed
with us for some time, and was introduced 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 moustachios, 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 P.P.C.

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 M'Grath; 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 M'Grath 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.

THE END.

Th