been his useful and laudable attempt; and we have the utmost fatisfaction in pronouncing our opinion that he has completely. fucceeded.

ART. III. The Jew: A Comedy. Performed at the Theatre Royal, Drury-lane. By Richard Cumberland, Efq. Third Edition. 8vo. 1s. 6d. Dilly, 1795.

THE HE writers of the Drama are subject to laws, which, however upheld by general criticism, are fometimes fuperfeded by public feeling. We deem the comedy before us an example of this generous licence; and cannot but refer a confiderable portion of the applause it has acquired, to the peculiar circumftances under which it addreffes the humanity of the public. The fable is grounded upon certain incidents, which tend to place in an honourable light a description of people too generally ftigmatized as bafe and corrupt. The defign is, therefore, deferving of every encomium; and the extraordinary fuccefs with which it has been attended, may be esteemed a proof, that liberal sentiment holds no mean rank in the catalogue of our national virtues.

As a drama, however, the production before us cannot claim any distinguished merit. The events are not combined with perfect art, nor are the characters moulded with fufficient attention to probability. That a Jew fhould poffefs the feelings of a man and the virtues of a Chriftian; that such a Jew, if opulent and wealthy, fhould be fecretly charitable, and make an indigent Christian his heir, are furely probable things, in defiance of vulgar prejudice; but that with qualities like thefe fhould be connected avarice abroad and parfimony at home, ufury in his contracts and cruelty to his domeftics; that his good deeds fhould take fo perfectly the refemblance of bad ones; and that his humanity, alive to ftrangers, fhould be dead to those of his own household, are circumstances which appear to pass the line of probable events. Admitting them credible, they would offer fuch an unnatural alliance of the beft, with the worst qualities, as would effectually violate the properties of comedy; whofe office it is to reflect the features of human life in its more ufual and general forms.

The brawling of a hungry knave, which occurs in several fcenes, forms alfo fo ftrong a feature in the plot, that we cannot confider the Jew as having completely performed his part, in omitting at the general difclofure of his virtues, to explain pr improve the establishment of his kitchen.

The

The language and fentiments are indeed, throughout, correct and animated. The expreffions of Sheva are abundant in feeling and philanthropy. His concluding addrefs is rendered with the greatest felicity of thought and language.

"Sir. S. It is a mine of wealth.

(Speaking of the wealth which Sheva has made over to Charles, his fon-in-law.)

Sheva. Excufe me, goot Sir Stephen, it is not a mine, for it was never out of fight of those who fearch'd for it: the poor man did not dig to find it; and where I now beltow it, it will be found by him again. I do not bury it in a fynagogue, or any other coftly pile; I do not wafte it upon vanity or public works: I leave it to a charitable heir, and build my hofpital in the human heart.". P. 75.

The following scene, which developes ftill more the charac ter of this benevolent Jew, will ferve as a proper fpecimen of the piece.

"Sheva. Aha! I am very much fatigued: there is great throng and prefs in the offices at the Bank, and I am aged and feeble.

Sir S. Hold, Sir!-Before I welcome you within these doors, or fuffer you to fit down in my prefence, I demand to know explicitly, and without prevarication, if you have furnish'd my fon with money fecretly, and without my leave?

Sheva. If I do lend, ought I not to lend in fecret? If I do not ask your leave, Sir Stephen, may I not difpofe of my own monies according to my own liking? But if it is a crime, I do wish to ask you who is my accufer? that, I believe, is juftice every where, and in your happy country I do think it is law likewife.

Sir S. Very well, Sir, you fhall have both law and juftice. The information comes from your own fervant Jabal. Can you controvert it?

Sheva. I do prefume to fay my fervant ought not to report his mafter's fecrets; but I will not fay he has not fpoken the truth.

Sir S. Then you confefs the fact

Sheva. I humbly think there is no call for that: you have the information from my foot-boy-I do not deny it.

Sir S. And the fum

Sheva. I do not talk of the fum, Sir Stephen, that is not my practice; neither, under favour, is my foot-boy my cafhier. If he be a knave, and liften at my key-hole, the more fhame his; I am not in the fault.

Sir S. Not in the fault! Wretch, mifer, ufurer! you never yet let loose a fingle guinea from your gripe, but with a view of doubling it at the return. I know you what you are.

Sheva. Indeed! 'tis more than I will fay of myself.-I pray you, goot Sir Stephen, take a little time to know my heart, before you rob me of my reputation. I am a Jew, a poor defenceless Jew; that is enough to make me mifer, ufurer-Alas! I cannot help it.

Sir S. No matter; you are caught in your own trap: I tell you now my son is ruin'd, difinherited, undone. One confolation is that you have loft your money.

Sheva. If that be a confolation, you are very welcome to it. If my monies are loft, my motives are not.

Sir S. I'll never pay one farthing of his debts; he has offended me for life; refus'd a lady with ten thousand pounds, and married a poo mifs without a doit.

Sheva. Yes, I do understand your fon is married.

Sir S. Do you fo? By the fame token I understand you to be a vil lain.

Sheva. Aha! that is a very bad word-villain. I did never think to hear that word from one, who fays he knows me. I pray you now permit me to speak to you a word or two in my own defence. I have done great deal of bufinefs for you, Sir Stephen; have put a pretty deal of monies in your pocket by my pains and labors; I did never wrong you of one fixpence in my life: I was content with my lawful commiffion.-How can I be a villain?

Sir S. Do you not uphold the fon against the father?

Sheva. I do uphold the fon, but not against the fader; it is not natural to fuppofe the oppreffor and the fader one and the fame perfon. I did fee your fon ftruck down to the ground with forrow, cut to the heart: I did not stop to ask whose hand had laid him low; I gave him mine, and rais'd him up.

Sir S. You! you to talk of charity!

Sheva. I do not talk of it; I feel it.

Sir S. What claim have you to generofity, humanity, or any manly virtue? Which of your money-making tribe ever had fenfe of pity? Shew me the terms on which you have lent this money, if you dare! Exhibit the dark deed, by which you have mesh'd your victim in the fnares of ufury; but be affured I'll drag you to the light, and publifh your base dealings to the world. [Catches him by the fleeve. Sheva. Take your hand from my coat-my coat and I are very old, and pretty well worn out together-There, there! be patient-moderate your paffions, and you fhall fee my terms; they are in little compafs: fair dealings may be comprifed in few words.

Sir S. If they are fair, produce them.

Sheva, Let me fee, let me feel-Ah, poor Sheva!-I do so tremble, I can hardly hold my papers-So, fo! Now I am right-Aha! here it is.

Sir S. Let me fee it.

Sheva. Take it-do you not fee it now? Have you caft your eye over it? Is it not right? I am no more than broker, look you: if there is a mistake, point it out, and I will correct it.

Sir S. Ten thoufand pounds invested in the three per cents. money of Eliza, late Ratcliffe, now Bertram!

Sheva. Even fo! a pretty tolerable fortune for a poor disinherited fon not worth one penny.

Sir S. I'm thunderstruck!

Sheva. Are you fo? I was ftruck too, but not by thunder. And

what has Sheva done to be call'd villain?-I am a Jew, what then? Is that a reason none of my tribe fhou'd have a sense of pity? You have no great deal of pity yourself, but I do know many many noble British merchants that abounds in pity, therefore I do not abuse your tribe.

Sir S. I am confounded and afham'd; I fee my fault, and most fincerely ask your pardon.

Sheva. Goot lack, goot lack! that is too much. I pray you, goot Sir Stephen, fay no more; you'll bring the blush upon my cheek, if you demean yourself fo far to a poor Jew, who is your very humble fervant to command.

Sir S. Did my fon know Mifs Ratcliffe had this fortune?

Sheva. When ladies are so handsome, and so goot, no generous man will ask about their fortune.

Sir S. 'Tis plain I was not that

generous man.

Sheva. No, no, you did ask about nothing else.

Sir S. But how, in the name of wonder, did the come by it?

Sheva. If you did give me money to buy stock, wou'd you not be much offended were I to afk you how you came by it?

Sir S. Her brother was my clerk. I did not think he had a fhilling in the world.

Sheva. And yet you turn'd him upon the world, where he has found a great many fhillings: The world, you fee, was the better mafter of the two. Well, Sir Stephen, I will humbly take my leave. You wifh'd your fon to marry a lady with ten thousand pounds, he has exactly fulfill'd your wishes; I do prefume you will not think it neceffary to turn him out of doors, and difinherit him for that.

Sir S. Go on, I merit your reproof. I fhall henceforward be afham'd to look you or my fon in the face.

Sheva. To look me in the face is to fee nothing of my heart; to look upon your fon, and not to love him, I fhou'd have thought had been impoffible.-Sir Stephen, I am your very humble fervant. Sir S. Farewell, friend Sheva!-Can you forgive me? Sheva. I can forgive my enemy, much more my friend."

Upon the whole, while we cenfure the dramatic defects, with which we think this comedy chargeable, we cannot but unite in the public approbation of its laudable defign. Mr. Cumberland has fufficiently fecured his rank in the temple of dramatic fame, not to be cenfured for defcending occafionally from his claffic elevation to facrifice at the altar of humanity.

The general moral of the piece is well conveyed in four lines of the author's own prologue.

'Tis but this fimple leffon of the heart-
Judge not the man by his exterior part:
Virtue's strong root in every foil will grow,
Rich ores lie buried under piles of fnow.

ART. IV. Practical Observations on the Natural History ana Cure of the Venereal Difeafe. In Three Volumes. Vol. III. By John Howard, Surgeon. 8vo. 231 pp. 6s. Baldwin, 1794.

T HE two former volumes of these observations have been long before the public, and are defervedly in high eftimation In this volume, which concludes the work, the author has given the history and cure of Gonorrhoea. This part appears to be executed with equal perfpicuity and judgment. On the question fo long and fo often agitated, whether gonorrhoea is a branch of, and derived from the venereal disease, the author gives no decided opinion, but evidently inclines to those who believe it is; although there are fome ftrong difcriminating fymptoms. The regular lues venerea, is rarely attended with inflammation, which is a conftant fymptom of gonorrhoea. The lues venerez is never cured fpontaneously, but always goes on, more or lefs rapidly ravaging the conftitution, until it is oppofed, and its power fubdued by mercury, its only fpecific. Gonorrhoea, on the contrary, frequently ceafes fpontaneously, and may be generally cured by a moderately antiphlogistic regimen. Mercury being, perhaps, never abfolutely neceffary to its cure.

The author first takes a view of the doctrines that have prevailed in the cure of gonorhoea, and particularly examines thofe of Sydenham, Boerhave, and Aftruc, which, although defective in fome points, deferve ftill to be studied, as containing almost every thing that is now known on the fubject,

He divides gonorhcea into two ftages. The first continues until inflammation begins to fubfide. The fecond is again divided. In the first part of this stage, although inflammation is fubfiding, it may be eafily revived, on the application of any irritating caufe. In the fecond part there remains only the gleet. A different mode of cure, the author fays, muft be adapted for each of thefe ftages.

As inflammation is the first and most urgent fymptom, giving energy to the poifon, increafing its virulence, and power of injuring the parts, the first indication is to appeafe and quiet this fymptom. For this purpose the author conceives, bleeding to be invariably neceffary; in full habits, from the arm, and afterwards by leeches applied to the hæmorhoids: in very weak and debilitated habits, the latter may be fufficient. The diet fhould be low and cooling; and as complete a state of reft and quiet as can be complied with, fhould be injoined.

The