said, “I have always heard, Madam, that women in your country have very easy labours; but I could not have believed it was so well as I see.”  The other story is of Prince Edward.  The King, before he went away, sent Stainberg to examine the Prince’s children in their learning.  The Baron told Prince Edward, that he should tell the King, what great proficiency his Highness had made in his Latin, but that he wished he would be a little more perfect in his German grammar, and that would be of signal use to him.  The child squinted at him, and said, “German grammar! why any dull child can learn that.”  There, I have told you royalties enough!

My Pigwiggin dinners are all over, for which I truly say grace.  I have had difficulties to keep my countenance at the wonderful clumsiness and uncouth nicknames that the Duke has for all his offspring:  Mrs. Hopefull, Mrs. Tiddle, Puss, Cat, and Toe, sound so strange in the middle of a most formal banquet!  The day the peace was signed, his grace could find nobody to communicate joy with him:  he drove home, and bawled out of the chariot to Lady Rachael, “Cat!  Cat!” She ran down, staring over the balustrade; he cried, “Cat!  Cat! the peace is made, and you must be very glad, for I am very glad.”

I send you the only new pamphlet worth reading, and this is more the matter than the manner.  My compliments to all your tribe.  Adieu!

P. S. The divine Asheton has got an ague, which he says prevents his coming amongst us.

551 Letter 253 To sir Horace Mann.  Arlington Street, June 7, 1748.

Don’t reproach me in your own Mind for not writing, but reproach the world for doing nothing; for making peace as slowly as they made war.  When any body commits an event, I am ready enough to tell it you; but I have always declared against inventing news; when I do, I will set up a newspaper.

The Duke of Newcastle is not gone; he has kissed hands, and talks of going this week:  the time presses, and he has not above three days left to fall dangerously ill.  There are a thousand wagers laid against his going:  he has hired a transport, for the yacht s not big enough to convey all the tables and chairs and conveniences that he trails along with him, and which he seems to think don’t grow out of England.  I don’t know how he proposes to lug them through Holland and Germany, though any objections that the map can make to his progress don’t count, for he is literally so ignorant, that when one goes to take leave of him, he asks your commands into the north, concluding that Hanover is north of Great Britain, because it is in the northern province, which he has just taken:  you will scarce believe this, but upon my honour it is true.

The preliminaries wait the accession of Spain, before they can ripen into peace.  Niccolini goes to Aix-la-Chapelle, and will be much disappointed if his advice is not asked there:  he talks of being at Florence in October.