I have seen “Creusa,"(477) and more than agree with you:  it is the only new tragedy that I ever saw and really liked.  The plot is most interesting, and, though so complicated quite clear and natural.  The circumstance of so much distress being brought on by characters, every one good, yet acting consistently with their principles towards the misfortunes of the drama, is quite new and pleasing.  Nothing offended me but that lisping Miss Haughton, whose every speech is inarticulately oracular.

I was last night at a little ball at Lady Anne Furnese’s for the new Lords, Dartmouth and North, but nothing passed worth relating; indeed, the only event since you left London was the tragicomedy that was acted last Saturday at the Opera.  One of the dramatic guards fell flat on his face and motionless in an apoplectic fit.  The Princess(478) and her children were there.  Miss Chudleigh, who apparemment had never seen a man fall on his face before, went into the most theatric fit of kicking and shrieking that ever was seen.  Several other women, who were preparing their fits, were so distanced that she had the whole house to herself; and, indeed such a confusion for half an hour I never saw!  The next day, at my Lady Townshend’s, old Charles Stanhope asked what these fits were called?  Charles Townshend replied, “The true convulsive fits, to be had only of the maker.”  Adieu! my dear Sir.  To-day looks summerish, but we have no rain yet.

(476) One of the daughters and coheiresses of the Lord Mohun, killed in a duel with Duke Hamilton.

(477) William Whitehead’s tragedy of “Creusa” was brought out at Drury Lane theatre with considerable applause.  Mrs. Pritchard performed the character of Creusa with great effect; and as Garrick and Mossop also took parts in it, the performance was so perfect, that it was hardly possible for it not to succeed in the representation; yet it has seldom been revived.-E.

(478) The Princess of Wales, mother to George the Third.-E.

]206 Letter 99 To John Chute, Esq.  Arlington Street, May 14, 1754.

My dear sir, I wrote to you the last day of last month:  I only mention it to show you that I am- punctual to your desire.  It is my only reason for writing to-day, for I have nothing new to tell you.  The town is empty, dusty, and disagreeable; the country is cold and comfortless; consequently I daily run from one to t’other’, as if both were so charming that I did not know which to prefer.  I am at present employed in no very lively manner, in reading a treatise on commerce, which Count Perron has lent me, of his own writing:  this obliges me to go through with it, though the subject and the style of the French would not engage me much.  It does not want sense.