passed away; but pride, hypocrisy, and arrogance, are by no means exhausted. The vices which characterized the Franciscans of Buchanan's time, have passed, under somewhat different shapes, into men of other professions, and of more worldly-wisdom in our own. The tyrants of opinion, whoever they may be,-those who demand from the public a deference which is not due either to their talents or their virtues,-those who wrap themselves in the mantle of superciliousness, and lie in wait at corners to entrap the reverence of the inexperienced, all quacks, of whatever pretensions, and under whatever disguises, many take to themselves as much as they please of the ridicule and contempt of Buchanan.

"Vestra nec incauto pateant mendacia vulgo, Nec videat crassos Plebs Tunicata dolos; Et nova sub patribus tironum turba severis Inveniat quaestus ingeniosa novos."

The indignation of our poet was kindled against the lazy monks of his time, because he conceived that their errors and vices had been the chief means of bringing religion itself into contempt, among the greater proportion of the cultivated men who were his contemporaries. Had he lived in our days his wrath might have vented itself upon a very different generation of delinquents; his love for the Truth would, under any circumstances, have been the same; and he would have crushed the open enemies, with the same irresistible arm which he directed against the hypocritical champions of Christianity.

Buchanan, then, has written poems of the most different species, and all apparently with enviable success; but, surely, in some of these he has been less at home than in others. His genius must have had some favourite walk, and the superior freedom and elegance of its motions may perhaps betray the secret. He can assume the appearance of tenderness, levity, or wit; he can charm us by the melting softness of his elegy, the joyous negligence of his jeux d'esprit, or the sharpness of his ridicule; but the careful reader will soon discover, that in none of these lies the native element of Buchanan. His mind was cast by nature in a grave and serious mould ;his passions and caprices might at times make him appear unlike himself, but the resting place of his spirit was in

the pure and lofty regions of patriotism, morality, and religion. The vehemence of offended purity, the whirlwind of virtuous wrath, the calmness of devout contemplation, or the extacies of holy hope;-it was in these that the man delighted, and it is in these that the best triumphs of the poet are made manifest.

We shall resume this subject next month, and offer a few remarks on the political and historical writings of Buchanan.

THE STORY OF SHAKRAK AND THE MAGICIAN OF CONSTANTINOPLE;

Being a Subject for a Melo-drama.

MR EDITOR,

BEING fond of melo-dramas and fine spectacles, I regularly attend the theatres when any thing of that kind is going forward.

On these occasions I have observed, that although the children seemed to feel some interest in the rational and natural parts of the story, the grown-up persons felt none. They waited with impatience for scenes which revolted probability, and were calculated to scatter the lethargic associations of ordinary life; for before evening arrives, most busy people are heartily tired of the real world.

Hence it occurred to me, that in these pieces the tastes of the graver part of the audience (such as judges and members of parliament) had not been sufficiently consulted, and that melo-dramas were not in general sufficiently absurd. I therefore resolved to take up the pen myself, and attempt something for the "deeper sort," as Lord Bacon calls them; and I accordingly produced the following tale, to serve as the foundation of a brilliant after-piece. Before throwing it into a dramatic form, I shewed it to different managers in London, whose names I will not particularize, but found them as deaf as adders, and cold as stones. They rejected my proposals. After having been so shockingly used, I was going to throw the shining morsel into the fire, when it occurred to me, that if it were printed, the public could not fail to perceive what treasures of stageeffect it contained, and thrust it down the throats of the managers by main force. Trusting to the friendly efforts

of persons in high station upon the bench and elsewhere, I am, sir, yours, &c. London, St Paul's, 24th May 1818.

FRANCIS FINEGLARE.

affected to receive Shakrak with ceremonious politeness. Each, in his turn, embraced him, in spite of his struggles to avoid the compliment: but more than all the rest, the genius with the six horns seemed studious of grace and gentility in his deportment, as if

and his Pastimes.-Shakrak is carried off.

ONCE, in Constantinople, there lived a very skilful magician, whose name was Nakoonar. This man was of a cruel and proud disposition, and nourished in his bosom a sullen scorn of mankind. His appearance was ugly and frightful; and the rapid additions which, by means of hard study, he every day made to his power, were employed in executing the most wanton, wicked, and absurd tricks he could think of.

After it was dark, his hour of recreation came on. He had constructed one of those wooden horses which were at one time so much used by magicians, and so much celebrated over all the East. He mounted it every night, and shot from a window, to gallop about in the murky vacuity above Constantinople. He delighted to see the city stretched below him, while he was taking violent exercise in all directions; sometimes shooting straight up the firmament, sometimes skimming close to the smoke of the city.

These exertions used to put the old fellow into good humour, and make him quite frolicsome, so that he would occasionally dip down with his horse, and pick up from the streets some lonely individual, to carry home and frighten with strange sights and enchanted entertainments.

One night he saw a slave gazing about in a very stupid manner, and carried off the poor fellow, who uttered loud howls of terror as he rose in the atmosphere. Nakoonar had invited some other magicians to partake of a sumptuous entertainment. He accordingly ushered Shakrak, the slave, into a superb banqueting-room, where there were sitting five figures, with great white beards, and a mock severity of countenance; as also an huge evil genius, with six horns, and an aspect otherwise unpromising. The five magicians rose from their chairs, and

person, and saluted him with a bow to the very ground. When they had placed themselves at table, they found it loaded with a variety of fruits, whose juice exuded like amber through their golden rinds. Other articles were intermixed: of course there was wood of aloes burning, and every sort of finery. Shakrak, who now began to suspect in what sort of company he was, could hardly be prevailed upon to touch any thing. He resolved to confine himself to the fruits, as having the closest resemblance to nature, and being probably the most innocent in their composition.

Nakoonar then told him to rise and fetch a vessel of sherbet which was on the sideboard. While his back was turned, the magicians made use of the opportunity to change their faces into the appearance of elephants and rhinoceroses. Shakrak gave a great roar, and let fall the sherbet; upon which they immediately resumed their old shapes, and joined in a hearty laugh.

Shakrak began to persuade himself that they intended no serious mischief, but was again annoyed by his friend the evil genius, who wished to pledge him with a cup of wine. The cups were filled, and the evil genius, with an ironical cough, drank " To our better acquaintance." Shakrak found the wine very pleasant, but could not empty the cup, which seemed to replenish as fast as he gulped at it. The gentleman with the six horns winked to the rest, and insisted upon his seeing the bottom. Then it was that Shakrak, after a violent effort, uttered his first words. "Most noble sir," said he, tremulously, "the wine increases upon me, insomuch that I cannot hold it. Your excellent worship knows that, and is pleased to be merry." "Come, come," said the genius, "I perceive you are a wag, and wish to play upon us.' Whereupon there was another loud roar of merriment. Shakrak being now somewhat elevated, ventured to put in a good-natured bray of his own; but

they immediately stopped and erected their eyebrows, so that he was obliged to set the cup again to his head, to conceal his confusion.

Nakoonar then told him again to rise and fetch another bottle. While Shakrak was stretching forth his hand to do so, the bottle changed into a beautiful young woman, who ran away. "Never mind these accidents," cried Nakoonar; "catch her, and she will resume her old shape again." The slave, with a good-humoured smile, pursued her round the table, but all in vain. She was graceful and light of foot, and looked back upon him, over her shoulder. Shakrak followed, panting and smiling, and thought this was the best joke of the whole. In the meantime, the magicians encouraged him to increase his speed, which he did with sparkling eyes and outstretched arms. But unfortunately, when passing behind the chair of the gentleman with six horns, something caught his foot. He fell, the vision disappeared, and he rose from the floor with a wounded nose. The magicians affected great concern; but having got as much sport as they wished, they took a short leave, and went off through the window.

Nakoonar searched the pockets of Shakrak, under pretence of looking for something to staunch the wound, and he found a letter written as follows:-"To-morrow night I will speak to you from the window, at a quarter from twelve. You are to behave with the utmost discretion, or never expect to see me again."

Nakoonar put on a stern countenance, and made Shakrak follow him to another chamber, where there was nothing but a small lamp burning. "Vile slave!" said he, "disclose to me the history of this note, for my curiosity is excited. If you falsify, I shall immediately know by that lamp's going out; after which I have only to push you into the next passage, where there is a monster, who will make his supper of you." Shakrak declared that the note was addressed to his master, a young merchant in Constantinople, and that it was written by the daughter of a certain emir in the city. The lamp continued to burn. The magician withdrew, and bolted the door after him, resolving to have a finger in the concern; a resolution which boded no good to the lovers.

CHAP. II.-The Monster and the Bar of Iron.-Shakrak is engaged in an extraordinary Adventure.

SHAKRAK, being now left alone, said unto himself, "Woe's me! I fear some evil is intended to my mistress. Stupid wretch that I was, to loiter so long on the streets with her note! But who would have thought of a wooden horse? Woe's my heart! what shall I do?" So saying, he looked round the apartment, and saw no window or outlet-nothing but the door of the passage wherein there was a monster.

Shakrak was impelled by irresistible curiosity to take a peep into the closet. He found that the door had a small glass window in it, through which some light proceeded. Upon looking in, he perceived that the passage led off into a spacious lighted gallery. The monster's head, somewhat resembling that of an enormous crocodile, projected from the wall of the passage, and lay across the floor, close behind the door.

This was a shocking sight, but Shakrak was desperate. He found a large bar of iron lying in the room; and having opened the door, presented himself before the eyes of the monster. Its pupils dilated, and it opened its scaly jaws, which were about two yards long. Shakrak immediately placed his bar upright within its mouth. The upper jaw descended upon it, and was unable to close; leaving an enormous hiatus, and shewing its rows of polished teeth on both sides. The monster seemed astonished, but was too stupid to know how to relieve itself; being in the habit of leading a pampered life, without ever exercising its faculties. Shakrak therefore prepared for a very bold attempt. He took hold of the bar with one hand, and nimbly sprung through between its jaws, leaving the horrid animal utterly astonished at not being able to swallow him.

He found himself alone in a stately gallery, at one end of which a door appeared, over which was inscribed, in large letters, "The stable of the wooden horse;" for it is well known that magicians take great care of their unnatural machinery, however unfeeling they may be towards human beings.

Shakrak had never seen so fine a

stable. The door was ornamented with marble pillars; its valves were covered with crimson velvet, and studded with large golden nails; so that he thought he was going into the antichamber of a princess. Upon entering, he found it was a noble saloon, with the wooden horse standing at one end. Two grooms, also carved out of wood, were beside him. One of them knelt with a basket full of pearls, by way of offering him food, although the magician probably knew well enough that his pearls were quite safe, and would never be tasted. The other held a curry-comb, as if about to apply it to his back, which had already been made smooth enough by the rider's own body. Perhaps these vain appearances might be necessary, according to the rules of magic; but if they were not, I think the magician must have been making a mock of his horse; which was the more unmanly, on account of its being unable to see his drift. Yet let us pause before we condemn him. It is impossible for us to decide whether the wooden grooms formed an indispensable concomitant or not. In all arts and mysteries there are certain particulars, which, to the ignorant, appear superfluous, and perhaps foolish; but which, at the same time, form necessary links, or quasi vincula, without which the whole would be void and inept.

The rest of the apartment was fitted up with a sort of remote but magnificent resemblance to a stable; and in a corner Shakrak found as many different kinds of switches, as if they had belonged to a lad of fifteen. From a table he took up a small pocket volume, entitled, "Rules for managing the Wooden Horse ;" and after reading a few pages, the principles began to open upon him in a much clearer manner than he expected; insomuch, that, being eager to escape, and tenderly anxious for the safety of his mistress, he resolved to mount and take his

chance.

In the room there was a large window reaching down to the floor, and unfolding upon hinges. It was evidently meant for letting out persons on horseback. Shakrak opened it, and found a small platform without, from which he had a prospect of the starry sky, and the whole of Constantinople at an immense distance below him. There he shed a flood of tears on ac

count of his hapless condition, saying, "Oh, my dear young lady! do not vex your soft bosom, nor allow the peach-bloom to steal out of your cheeks. Your lover is as true as the stars, which keep the courses whether they be seen or not, come cloud or clear sky. I am going to ride a very strange sort of horse; but if I break my neck, it will be for your sake. So here goes."

So saying, he went in trembling; whereupon the wooden groom laid down his curry-comb, and held the stirrup. Shakrak gave a great cry, and again consulted the book, where he found these words, page 15, " The wooden groom will hold your stirrup, and do any thing you wish in mounting." Perceiving that this procedure was quite regular, Shakrak was again summoning up resolution, when he caught the sound of steps advancing towards a different door from that by which he had entered; and presently Nakoonar's voice was heard asking, "Who cried out a little while ago? Was it Mephistopheles wanting me? Open the door." One of the wooden grooms immediately went to open the door, and Shakrak, in attempting to stop him, was thrown down, for there is no possibility of stopping contrivances of that sort; but he immediately recovered his feet, and scampered off along the gallery, darted through the jaws of the monster, and got back to his own apartment.

CHAP. III.-Nakoonar watches in the

Garden.-The result.

NEXT night, about half an hour from twelve, Nakoonar came to the stable, saying, “I have heard that this Safie is a very choice young damsel, and of rare beauty; but if she merely shews herself at the window, I shall not be able to seize her. An holy dervis has placed in her apartment so powerful an amulet, that nothing wicked dare enter. However, I shall repair to the spot, and if her lover comes, I may perhaps overhear some conversation that will suggest to me by what means I may bear away the prize."

He mounted, took several turns, and perceiving that the emir's garden was silent and solitary, dropt down, and concealed himself and horse in an arbour. The night was extremely beautiful. The full moon shone

brightly over the garden wall. The walks were adorned on each side with long rows of lilies, which, although the air felt somewhat cold, did not cease to pour forth a fragrant smell. The blossoms of the arbour also enchanted him with their odour; and the long tendrils of climbing plants, glittering with moisture, trembled at the least breath of wind. Nakoonar was visited with the remembrance of his earlier days, when the passion of love had visited him for the first time, and made the blood tingle in his veins with a sweetness to which he had for long been a stranger.

A total silence pervaded the garden as well as the house, which was quite near. The walls were white, and reflected the moonshine strongly. The lowest row of windows was not more than a yard from the ground. While Nakoonar sat looking and listening, one of the sashes was thrown open, and the beautiful Safie put out her head cautiously, as if to see whether any person was there. Finding that nothing stirred, she withdrew. Her mind was probably in a state of sanguine restlessness and expectation, which would not allow her to suppose that any thing could detain her lover, although she had not heard from him, and which overcame her with sweet throes of tenderness, intermingled with anxiety.

Shortly afterwards she appeared a second time. She leant out over the roses which grew beside the window, and listened attentively. In the meantime, Nakoonar had an opportunity of observing the beauty of her neck, which was very white and smooth, and of her cheek, which did not appear to have much red, but only a gentle and modest crimson, set off by two or three dark curls. Her hands were also very white; and it grieved Nakoonar to consider the roughness of the stone before her, which, in her thoughtfulness, she was grasping and rubbing unconsciously. Cruel and unworthy wretch! whose mind was, at the same time, filled with the most sinister intentions.

When she could not hear any steps, she opened the window a little more. At this juncture, the cunning magician made a rattling with the bridle of his horse; and the idea occurred to her, that perhaps her lover was not far off, but, owing to the negligence or

stupidity of her slave, had not been instructed how to lift the latch of a certain wicket. This idea came, and went, and came again. Could she venture out at the window? No, no, no. Only a few steps? No, no. Yet there was no great impropriety. She would only tell him how to come in. She would immediately return; and by the time he had unfastened the wicket, she would be safe within the window.

So she reasoned, and found, that, in her present mood, she could not withdraw contentedly and go to sleep. She endeavoured to remember the advices of the holy dervis; but they passed over her mind without bringing back good resolutions.

The fair Safie, believing that no eye observed her, put forth her slender foot upon a stone seat beneath the window, and took what might be called a very improper step, of which she soon felt the consequences. Nakoonar, perceiving that all obstacles were removed, got hold of her immediately. He mounted his horse, and away they flew.

CHAP. IV.-Shakrak falls in with the Gentleman with the Six Horns.He again sees his Mistress. In the meantime, Shakrak having spent the whole day in a most disconsolate manner, without tasting any food, except a few dates which were brought him by the magician, resolved, when night came on, to make a second attempt to escape. He accordingly passed once more through the jaws of the monster, and repaired to the stable, but found the horse gone. Upon opening the door at which Nakoonar had knocked on a former occasion, he found it led into another suite of apartments, which probably served Nakoonar as a workshop for carrying on the different branches of his art. They were full of very extraordinary articles. In the last room, Shakrak found the gentleman with the six horns pounding at a huge mortar, and venting, from time to time, lamentable groans and complaints against the absent magician; for, by means of spells, he had been forced to become Nakochar's servant, and was kept very closely at work.

No sooner did he perceive Shakrak, than, throwing down his pestle, he