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performers, like all others forming these kind of companies, are possessed of very moderate talents. Now and then a star of superior lustre and magnitude to the common twinklers in the theatrical hemisphere will stroll from the capital, and draw a few people together for a night or two; it is rarely that they do more.

But Brighton is not a place for encouraging amusements of this kind; the tragic or the comic Muse, or their midwives, the players, who bring their bantlings to light, have little attraction here. The chequered dies of Mercury, and the midnight revels of the deluding Venus, engage the kind of company that frequent this place.

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Many do it from propensity, others from fashion and imitation, and they are seldom at a loss for an example.

The Assembly-room is capacious, elegant, and well situated; the lustres are uncommonly brilliant, and the ornamental fancies judiciously conceived. On viewing the external part of this room, the mind becomes prejudiced, until you explore its interior beauties; for, from an outside view, it presents to the eye an unfavorable aspect, like that of a well-looking barn, ornamented with a set of handsome windows.

The equinoctial winds, when they blow high from a north-west point, produce a tremendous and formida


ble sea; so that many of the houses

; on the cliff have been often considered in danger from the waves, which will sometimes overtop them, and distribute the spray of the ocean all over the Stein.

Brighton is in the county of Sussex. There are two roads to it, and the post-towns from London are Epsom, Darking, Horsham, Steyning, and so on to Brighton. This road is sixty miles.

The other road is through Sutton, Riegate, Crawley, and Cuckfield.This to Brighton is only fifty-two miles and a half.

While a visitor at Brighton, I was intreated by a friend at Bath, who had heard much of its beauties, to give him a true idea of it in rhyme; accordingly I sent him the following verses.


You say you fain would wish to hear

inducements we have here,
That coaxes all our courtiers down,
And half depopulates the town;
Like Bath, you think our streets are finey
Our squares and crescents all divine;
You think our hills and vales produce
The pomegranate, or nectar juice;
In rhyme you wish me to relate
The wonders of its present state.
Tho' you're a critic, yet I'll try
To give it you in poetry.


This town, or village of renown,
Like London-Bridge, half broken down,
Few years ago was worse than Wapping,
Scarce fit for human soul to stop in,
But now, like to a worn-out shoe,
By patching well, the place will do.
You'd wonder much, I'm ure, to see
How 'tis becramm'd with quality :


Here Lords and Ladies oft carouse
Together in a tiny house;
Like Joan and Darby in their cot,
With stool and table, spit and pot;
And what in town they would despise,
His Lordship praises to the skies;
But such the ton is, such the case,
You'll see the first of rank and place
Step from his carriage all profuse,
Duck at his door-way like a goose;
The humble bearn was fix'd so low,
Perhaps, to teach some clown to bow.

The air is pure as pure can be,
And such an aspect

of the

As you, perhaps, ne'er saw before,
From off the cliff of any shore:
On one hand Ceres spreads the plain,
And on the other, o'er the man

A bark majestic often laves;
Far distant on the buoyant waves ;
The hills all mantlid o'er with green,
A friendly shelter to the Stein,
When'er the rugged Boreas blows,
Array'd in hyperborean snows;
Such is the place and situation;
Such is the reigning seat of fashion.

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