"There appeared in these our days, a man of great virtue, named Jesus Christ, who is yet living amongst us, and of the Gentiles he is accepted as a Prophet of Truth; but his disciples call him the Son of God. He raiseth the dead, and cureth all manner of diseases: a man of stature somewhat tall and comely, with very reverend countenance, such as beholders may both love and fear: his hair is of the colour of the chestnut, full ripe, plain to his ears, whence downward it is more orient, curling and waving about his shoulders; in the middle of his head is a seam or partition of his hair, after the manner of the Nazarites; his face without spot or wrinkles, beautified with a living red; his nose and mouth so formed as nothing can be represented; his beard thickish, in colour like his hair, not very long, but forked; his look innocent and mature; his eyes grey, clear, and quick. In reproving he is terrible; in admonishing, courteous and fair spoken--pleasant in conversation, mixed with gravity. It cannot be recollected that any have seen him laugh, but many have seen him weep. In proportion of body most excellent; his hands and arms most delectable to behold; in speaking, very temperate, modest, and wise. A man for his singular beauty far surpassing the children of men." VERITAS. * * * * * BRIGHTON IN 1743. [Illustration: Brighton in 1743.] (Whoever has enjoyed the natural beauties or artificial luxuries of BRIGHTON--the _Daphne_ of our metropolis--will feel some curiosity respecting its origin and progress from an obscure fishing-town to such a focus of wealth and fashion as at this moment it presents. The celebrity of Brighton, we may observe, extends throughout the empire, and is almost as well known to the plodding and stay-at-home townsman of the north as to the luxurious idler ever and anon in quest of new pleasures. As the occasional abode of the Royal Family, its name has figured in the Court records of the last half century. Of late years, however, Brighton has assumed an extent and importance which may be referred to a spirit of speculative enterprise unparalleled in the fortunes of any other town in the United Kingdom. Not only has a palace, but squares of palatial mansions, terraces, crescents, and streets, nay, very towns of splendid houses, have sprung up with fairy-like rapidity; and Brighton has thus become, not merely a fashionable resort for the season, but a place of permanent residence for a very large proportion of wealthy individuals. Our present purpose is, however, to illustrate the past obscurity and not the present high palmy state of Brighton. Our own recollections would carry us back nearly a score of years, when the Pavilion or Marine Palace was a plain, neat, villa-like building, with verandas to command a prospect of the sea; and when the Steines scarcely merited the designation of enclosures: when a roomy yellow-washed mansion occupied the upper end