The dispute has lately taken political turn.  It seems ours is the aristocratic theatre.  The democrats at the New Theatre are commanded by the Moral Lecture manager. Mr. Powell informs his fellow-citizens, that on Monday evening will be performed the tragedy of the Battle of Bunker’s Hill.—­The English in this town affect to laugh at the eagerness with which the Bostonians swallow certain passages of this play.  I laugh too, but justice obliges me to confess, that John Bull can swallow a fulsome clap trap as voraciously at any Yankee of them all.] theatre is a stupendous wooden building, that will contain one tenth of the inhabitants of the whole town.

The favourite promenade of the Bostonians, is the Mall, which has trees on each side, as in St. James’s Park, London.  This walk commands some beautiful prospects of the adjacent continent.

Immediately opposite is the village and university of Cambridge.

To open an immediate communication between Boston and the university, the New Bridge was built on the plan of Mr. Cox during his absence in Ireland; a great undertaking, including the causeways, which are covered in the same manner as the water.  This bridge is within a few feet of a mile in length, by means of which, the bridge at Charleston, and the neck of the peninsula, our communication with the continent is so complete, that we feel but few inconveniences from our insular situation.  —­We have a plentiful supply of provision.  Our fish-market is an excellent one:  the following species are larger than I remember seeing them in Europe; viz. hallibut, cod, mackarel, smelts, and lobsters.  The first is often brought to market weighing two hundred pounds.  Dr. Belknap, in his History of New Hampshire, says, that when full grown, they often exceed five hundred pounds weight.  The cod are from seventy to eighty pounds.  Mackarel often exceed four, and lobsters sometimes thirty-five pounds weight.  I have preserved a claw of one of the latter, which weighed thirty pounds:  this I shall bring home with me, lest my friends should think that, in this particular, I take too liberal an advantage of the traveller’s privilege, which I assure you I do not, when I subscribe myself

Your sincere friend.

* * * * *

Boston, December 27th, 1796.

DEAR FRIEND,

There is no calamity the bostonians so much, and justly dread, as fire.  Almost every part of the town exhibits melancholy proofs of the devastation of that destructive element.  This you will not wonder at, when I inform you that three fourths of the houses are built with wood, and covered with shingles, thin pieces of cedar, nearly in the shape, and answering the end of tiles.  We have no regular fire-men, or rather mercenaries, as every master of a family belongs to a fire-company:  there are several in town, composed of every class of citizens, who have entered into a contract to turn out with two buckets at the first fire alarm, and assist to the utmost of their power in extinguishing the flames, without fee or reward.