be contraction of the veffels, depreffion of strength, affection of the ftomach, &c. Although the difeafe fhould arife from a caufe, the continuance of which is not neceffary for the continuance of the disease, and the disease fhould gradually increase, remain for fome time with a certain degree of violence, then gradually diminish and go off without any apparent caufe, nevertheless it must not be confidered as a fever."

The author further illuftrates his meaning, and establishes the diftinction, by examples of rheumatifm, gout, erysipelas, and shows wherein they agree or difagree with his definition of fever. In fever, he oblerves, p. 26," not only the body is affected, but the mind alfo."

In what manner the mind and body are connected, is not known. Although there feems little refemblance between mufcular motion, or bodily exercife, and thought or exertion of mind, yet their effects are in many refpects fimilar. We can no more think, than we can labour conflantly. In both actions, reft after a certain time is required to recruit the ftrength of the parts, and enable them to renew their exertions. But this is not all. When the body is tired with exceffive labour, the mind partakes of its debility, and is incapable of thinking with energy; and when the mind has been long and deeply employed in the folution of fome difficult problem, the body becomes languid, and is as incapable of making any confiderable exertion as if it had been wearied with muscular motion or labour.

It has been afked by fome philofophers, whether the labour of the mind is not continued during fleep, or whether the foul does not always think. If intenfe thinking induces weariness, and the mind requires to be recruited by reft, before it can again exert itself with energy, it would feem that this question might be answered in the negative. But as we cannot be certain whether it is the mind that is weary, or only the nerves, or inftruments it ufes in thinking, this folution of it may not be fatisfactory. After an ingenious difquifition on the powers or faculties of the mind, and on the effects of fleep, the author proceeds to defcribe the fymptoms of fever in the order in which they ufually appear.

"The first attack of fever begins," he obferves, p. 60, “more frequently by much, between fix o'clock in the morning and eight in the evening. In a continued fever, if the attack should be between fix o'clock in the morning and eight in the evening of one day, a fresh exacerbation or fudden increase of the disease takes place between five and fix in the evening of the fucceeding day."

At whatever time the fever makes its first attack, the second paroxyfm always commences in the evening, and the evening

paroxyfms,

paroxyfms, through the whole courfe of the difeafe, are always the most violent and fevere. The canfe of this has never been affigned, but is probably the fame, the author fays, whatever that may be, which renders men, even in perfect health, liable to feverish attacks in the evening, which regularly go off in the morning. We fhall not follow the author in his enumeration of the symptoms, but only notice the most prominent of them, or thofe concerning which we think his obfervations deferving particular attention.

Delirium, which is an early fymptom, the author confiders as an effect of fever, independent of any inflammation or any injury of the brain.

"He has caufed the heads of many patients who have died with very great delirium in fever, to be opened," p. 98, " and never found any marks of fuppuration. Moft commonly the brain appeared exactly as it is found in perfons who had no delirium.”

In one fpecies of delirium, where the face is florid, and the eyes inflamed, the veffels of the brain have been found turgid with blood.

Putrefaction of the juices only takes place, he fays, where there is great depreffion of the ftrength, and is confequent to fuch depreffion, and therefore not the caufe of fever, as has been fuppofed. This point is argued with great ingenuity.

Fever is either terminated by crifis; or, having attained its acmé, leaves the patient without any diftinct crifis happening; which is the most common way in this country.

After defcribing the fymptoms and progrefs of fever, the author confiders the queftion, whether it be better to fuffer a continued fever to take its courfe, only paying attention to the non-naturals, keeping the body foluble, and occafionally procuring fleep, or to attempt to check the progrefs of the fever, and extinguish it at its onfet, or as early as poffible, by fome fpecific medicine.

If any medicines were known that would invariably and conftantly extinguish fever, without materially injuring the conftitution, the author makes no hesitation in faying, fuch medicines should be employed, but does not, in this part, fay whether he conceives fuch a medicine to be known. He then proceeds to defcribe the regimen and methods proper to fupport the patient when the fever is permitted to take its courfe. Under each head of the choice of air, diet, warmth, reft, &c. we meet with much curious inveftigation and argument, in which great acutenefs and knowledge are exhibited. The method of treating continued fever, when it is propofed to check its progrefs, and thorten its duration, is to be the fubject of the. fecond part of this Differtation..

ART.

ART. VI. Lovers' Vows, a Play, in Five Acts, performing at the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden. From the German of Kot zebue. By Mrs. Inchbald. Third Edition. 8vo. Robinfons. 1798.

on

25.

THE following is the outline of the plot and conduct of this very fuccefsful drama. A young man returning from the army leave of abfence, encounters his mother in the deepest diftrefs and poverty. From her he learns, that in her early youth fhe had been feduced by a nobleman, the lord of the place and its domains, on promise of marriage, and that he was the produce of that connection. The youth, to obtain the means of providing for his mother's wants, begs the charity of paffengers, and among others of his father, with whom, not knowing him, he expoftulates for a larger proof of bounty; and, on being refufed, attempts, in a moment of despair at his mother's fituation, to rob him. He is feized by the attendants, and carried prifoner to the Baron's castle. He here difcovers whom he had attacked; and, having obtained an interview difcovers himfelf to his parent, whofe feelings are properly awakened, and the catastrophe is what it ought to be the Baron atones for his fault, by marrying her whom he had injured; and the gallant youth is recognized as his fon.

The fubordinate characters are, a daughter of the Baron's, who is in love with, and finally marries the chaplain in the family, who has acted as her tutor. A German beau, a rhyming butler, &c. &c.

The ftory bears a very strong refemblance to one of Florian's tales; fo ftrong, indeed, that there is great probability that the German was indebted to the French writer. The tale to which we allude is Claudine. The very extraordinary, but well-deferved fuccefs of this piece, induces us to place it among the principal articles of our Review; and the following extract will afford a fpecimen of judicious management, and of good writing.

Baron [haughtily to Frederick]. I know, young man, you plead your mother's wants in excufe for an act of defperation: but powerful as this plea might be in palliation of a fault, it cannot extenuate a crime like yours.

Frederick. I have a plea for my conduct even more powerful than a mother's wants.

Baron. What's that?

Frederick. My father's cruelty.

Baron. You have a father then?

Frederick, I have, and a rich one-Nay, one that's reputed virtuous, and honourable. A great man, poffeffing ettates and patronage in

abundance;

abundance; much efteemed at court, and beloved by his tenants; kind, benevolent, honeft, generous

Baron. And with all thofe great qualities, abandons you?

Frederick. He does, with all the qualities I mention.

Baron. Your father may do right; a diffipated, defperate youth, whom kindness cannot draw from vicious habits, feverity may.

Frederick. You are mistaken-My father does not difcard me for my vices-He does not know me-has never feen me--He abandoned me, even before I was born.

Baron. What do you say?

Frederick. The tears of my mother are all that I inherit from my father. Never has he protected me or fupported me; never protected her, Baron. Why don't you apply to his relations?

Frederick. They difown me, too-I am, they say, related to no one -All the world difclaim me, except my mother-and there again, I have to thank my father,

Baron. How fo?

Frederick. Because I am an illegitimate fon. My feduced mother has brought me up in patient mifery. Industry enabled her to give me an education; but the days of my youth commenced with hardship, forrow, and danger.-My companions lived happy around me, and had a pleafing profpect in their view, while bread and water only were my food, and no hopes joined to fweeten it. But my father felt not that!

Baron [to himself]. He touches my heart.

Frederick. After five years abfence from my mother, I returned this very day, and found her dying in the streets for want-Not even a hut to fhelter her, or a pallet of ftraw-But my father, he feels not 'that! He lives in a palace, flceps on the fofteft down, enjoys all the luxuries of the great; and when he dies, a funeral fermon will praise his great benevolence, bis Chriftian charities.

Baran [greatly agitated]. What is your father's name?

Frederick. He took advantage of an innocent young woman, gained her affections by flattery and falfe promifes; gave life to an unfortunate being, who was on the point of murdering his father. Baron [buddering]. Who is he?

Frederick. Baron Wildenhaim.

[The Baron's emotion expreffes the fenfe of amazement, guilt, fhame, and

borror.]

Frederick. In this houfe did you rob my mother of her honour; and in this houfe I am a facrifice for the crime. I am your prifoner 1 will not be free-I am a robber-I give myfelf up. You fall de liver me into the hands of juftice-You fhall accompany me to the fpot of public execution. You fhall hear in vain the chaplain's confolation and injunctions. You fhall find how I, in defpair, will, to the last moment, call for retribution on my father.

Baron. Stop! Be pacified

Frederick. And when you turn your head from my extended corfe, you will behold my weeping mother-Need I paint how her eyes will greet you?

Baron. Defift-barbarian, favage, top!

Enter

Enter Anhalt, alarmed.

Anhalt. What do I hear? What is this? Young man, I hope you have not made a fecond attempt.

Frederick. Yes; I have done what it was your place to do. I have made a finner tremble. [points to the Baron, and exit.]

Anhalt. What can this mean I do not comprehend

Baron. He is my fon!-He is my fon !-Go, Anhalt,—advise me -help me-Go to the poor woman, his mother-He can fhow you the way-make hafte-speed to protect her→→→

Anhalt. But what am I to

Baron. Go. Your heart will tell you how to act. [Exit Anhalt.] [Baron diftractedly.] Who am I? What am I? Mad-raving-no—I have a fon-Ă fon! The bravest-I will-I must-oh! [with tenderness.] Why have I not embraced him yet? [increafing his voice.] Why not preffed him to my heart? Ah! fee-[looking after him]-He flies from the caftle-Who's there? Where are my attendants? [Enter two fervants.] Follow him-bring the prifoner back. But obferve my commandtreat him with refpect-treat him as my fon-and your mafter. [Exit." P. 71.

This fcene, when we take into confideration that the Baron has, throughout the drama, difplayed ftrong marks of compunction for the very crime with which he is reproached, and every fymptom of a feeling and generally virtuous mind, is highly natural, as well as affecting. The effect on the audience is prodigious.

The character of Amelia is charmingly fupported, and the author has exhibited great good fenfe, and a thorough knowledge of the taste of an English audience, in the alterations fhe has made from the German original. A very neat and well-written Preface, exhibits an apology for the liberties which have been taken. This feemed to us unneceffary; yet the following fpirited apoftrophe deserves attention.

"If, difdaining the conftruction of fentences, the precife decorum of the cold grammarian, fhe has caught the fpirit of her author; if, in every altered fcene, ftill adhering to the nice propriety of his meaning, and ftill keeping in view his great catastrophe, fhe has agitated her audience with all the various paffions he depicted, the rigid criticifm of the clofet will be but a flender abatement of the pleasure re fulting from the fanétion of an applauding theatre."

For our parts, who have both witneffed and contributed 10 the fanction of the applauding theatre," and carefully allo perufed this production in the closet, we think Mrs. Inchbald entitled to unreferved commendation; which, with fincere wishes for the continued exercise of her charming talents, we thus willingly communicate.