the Spaniards can sign no peace:  and [of] one thing take notice, that a general peace can hardly be finished these two months, so as to be proclaimed here; for, after signing, it must be ratified; that is, confirmed by the several princes at their Courts, which to Spain will cost a month; for we must have notice that it is ratified in all Courts before we can proclaim it.  So be not in too much haste.  Nite MD.

17.  The Irish folks were disappointed that the Parliament did not meet to-day, because it was St. Patrick’s Day; and the Mall was so full of crosses that I thought all the world was Irish.  Miss Ashe is almost quite well, and I see the Bishop, but shall not yet go to his house.  I dined again with Lord Treasurer; but the Parliament being prorogued, I must keep what I have till next week:  for I believe he will not see it till just the evening before the session.  He has engaged me to dine with him again to-morrow, though I did all I could to put it off; but I don’t care to disoblige him.  Nite dee sollahs ’tis late.  Nite MD.

18.  I have now dined six days successively with Lord Treasurer; but to-night I stole away while he was talking with somebody else, and so am at liberty to-morrow.  There was a flying report of a general cessation of arms:  everybody had it at Court; but, I believe, there is nothing in it.  I asked a certain French Minister how things went.  And he whispered me in French, “Your Plenipotentiaries and ours play the fool.”  None of us, indeed, approve of the conduct of either at this time; but Lord Treasurer was in full good-humour for all that.  He had invited a good many of his relations; and, of a dozen at table, they were all of the Harley family but myself.  Disney is recovering, though you don’t care a straw.  Dilly murders us with his if puns.  You know them. . . . [26] Nite MD.

19.  The Bishop of Clogher has made an if pun that he is mighty proud of, and designs to send it over to his brother Tom.  But Sir Andrew Fountaine has wrote to Tom Ashe last post, and told him the pun, and desired him to send it over to the Bishop as his own; and, if it succeeds, ’twill be a pure bite.  The Bishop will tell it us as a wonder that he and his brother should jump so exactly.  I’ll tell you the pun:—­If there was a hackney coach at Mr. Pooley’s[27] door, what town in Egypt would it be?  Why, it would be Hecatompolis; Hack at Tom Pooley’s.  “Sillly,” says Ppt.  I dined with a private friend to-day; for our Society, I told you, meet but once a fortnight.  I have not seen Fanny Manley yet; I can’t help it.  Lady Orkney is come to town:  why, she was at her country house; hat[28] care you?  Nite darling (?) dee MD.