"SIR-Thinking Mr. Colman a very sufficient judge of his duty, and as I agree in his conclusion, (from the account he has given me of the tragedy called Alasco,') I do conclude, that at this time, without considerable omissions, the tragedy should not be acted; and whilst I am persuaded that your intentions are upright, I conceive that it is precisely for this reason (though it may not strike authors) that it has been the wisdom of the legislature to have an examiner appointed, and power given to the chamberlain of the household to judge whether certain plays should be acted at all, or not acted at particular times. "I do not mean to enter into an argument with you, sir, on the subject, but think that your letter, conceived in polite terms to me, calls upon me to return an. answer, shewing that your tragedy has been well considered. “I remain, Sir, with esteem, your obedient Servant, "MONTROSE." The result of the Lord Chamberlain's interdiction was the immediate publication of the tragedy, under the following title:"Alasco; a Tragedy, in five Acts, by Martin Archer Shee, Esq., R. A.-Excluded from the Stage by the Authority of the Lord Chamberlain." In the preface, the author put forward the alleged hardship of his case in strong and animated terms; with that independent fearlessness of spirit, in fact, which marked the criticisms of his earlier years. It is no part of our province to discuss the propriety of maintaining a restrictive power over the stage; a power, the exercise of which in every modern instance, has certainly done at least as much mischief to the public mind, as the evils it is supposed to remedy. In France, some years later, a similar act of authority, exerted in the case of a drama of Victor Hugo's, Le Roi s'amuse, during the latter years of the Bourbon dynasty, produced a similar result, viz-the immediate publication of the interdicted piece, with an indignant and powerful remonstrance from the author, whereby a degree of notice and popularity was secured for the literary performance, which, with all its merits, it would scarcely have commanded had it been suffered to take its ordinary course uninterfered with. The abstract question, we say, we will leave as we find it. Power must rest somewhere, and for certain purposes, to restrain the license of public exhibitions. Whether it might not be enough to render them amenable to the ordinary laws of England in the ordinary way, without the summary intervention of an irresponsible judge, whose authority must always be looked upon with a jealous eye by a free people, we pretend not to determine; but it will be admitted that there are particular junctures at which what is perfectly innocuous at other times, may be injurious and dangerous; and that no power, either ordinary or extraordinary, which deals with such questions, can view them abstracted from the circumstances connected with them and the occasion out of which they arise; but this, as it appears to us, is so far an argument against the reposing of a power so arbitrary and indeterminate, in any hands less trustworthy than those of the Constitution itself. It may be worth while to give a few of the passages from the drama in question, marked as inadmissible by Mr. Colman, the Lord Chamberlain's deputy. "What little skill the patriot sword requires, We shall not heed, whose hearts are in the fray- "When Roman crimes prevail, methinks 'twere well, "Tis not rebellion to resist oppression; 'Tis virtue to avenge our country's wrongs, "The blood-stained board becomes a glorious stage, Whereon to act the noblest part of man- My death may serve the cause my life has failed in." The reader who is accustomed to the unrestricted license of the "Young Ireland" language of our day, will smile at the idea of such passages, occurring in a composition of which the scene was completely removed in time and place from the present, being taken notice of by the eye of authority at all. Is it that twenty years have done so much to liberalize the public mind? Or that we have ceased to be scared by the visionary thunders of the tongue and the pen, and, seeing so little come of so much noise, now dismiss all such fulminations with the observation-" words, words, mere words?" Since the publication of Alasco, our author has given the world a new specimen of the versatility as well as the extent of his powers, in a novel, named "Oldcourt," which appeared in the year 1829, and was much admired; and has besides, we believe, at various times delivered discourses in his official character, which have appeared in print, though not in a collected form. We close this rapid sketch of the literary career of the artist with the following tribute to his poetical merits, from the pen of one who may be considered as no mean authority on matters connected with literature-we mean Chalmers. In alluding to a work of Barry's, he thus speaks of our author :— "The same train of ideas has been since pursued by Mr. Shee in his poetical works, which suggest a doubt, great and superior as the productions of his pencil are, that if he had been a writer, and only a writer, he would not have been the first man of his age in the philosophy of his art, in exquisite fancy and taste, and that variety of imagery and illustration which belongs only to poets of the highest class." We now return once more to Shee's professional life, which we quitted while he was enjoying unbounded popularity as an academician, and as a painter of portraits. In the year 1830, Sir Thomas Lawrence, the President of the Royal Academy, died; and two academicians were proposed to fill the vacant chair-Sir William Beechey and Mr. Shee. The ballot terminated in the election of the latter, and he was accordingly presented with the Royal Diploma under the sign manual, investing him with the office of President of the Royal Academy. The diploma was forwarded to him by Mr. Secretary Peel, accompanied by a letter couched in the most flattering terms. The election took place in January, and in the July following, Mr. Shee received the honour of knighthood. Thus was our countryman, by the manly and unaided exertion of his own talents, raised to the highest honour his profession had it in its power to bestow; an eminence reached without the forfeiture of a single principle, or the sacrifice of a single friend. We believe there has been no instance of a man thus eminent with fewer to envy his elevation; and this fact, in one whose life has been passed before the world, and in a large and fluctuating society, speaks in itself more emphatically, perhaps, than express words could do, for the personal character of the man. The truth is, Sir Martin Shee has been, and been justly, beloved as much as admired all through his life. A spirit of kindness and liberality has ever pervaded his conduct both in public and private; and had he been less marked by these honourable evidences of Irish blood, he had been now, perhaps, a richer man than he is, though certainly not a happier or a better one. A gratifying proof of the feeling of that distinguished body over which he has presided for so many years, has lately been given. Sir Martin's years and declining health caused him to feel less competent to discharge the duties of his office than he wished; and accordingly, last year he tendered his resignation. The Academy, after consulting how they could act in the manner most flattering to the feelings of their venerable President, and most gratifying to their own, decided on requesting him to retain for life the dignity he enjoyed, without the necessity of performing the ordinary duties of the office; and moreover, agreed to appropriate to his use an annuity of £300, should the queen approve of such a disposition of their funds. It is unnecessary to say that her majesty, with her accustomed discriminating liberality, was pleased at once to sanction the appropriation, so that this income, with a pension of £200 per annum already granted to Lady Shee on the civil list, will serve to render the relinquishment of his professional labours less embarrassing, and enable the father of a large family to maintain that independent position, which the actual prosperity of his sons* does not render less jealously coveted by him. Indeed, the yearly sum of £300 is only an anticipation of an annuity of the like amount, left to the President for the time being of the Royal Academy by the late Sir Francis Chantrey, and which is to commence on the death of his widow, who is still living. A word might be deemed necessary in closing this sketch, on the professional works of this eminent artist; but we are obliged reluctantly to restrict ourselves. His talents indeed were held in such constant requisition as a portrait painter, that resembling Reynolds in this respect-his avocations allowed him comparatively rarely to exercise them on the higher subjects of historical interest; and hence his fame will rest principally on those numerous and beautiful works in which he has perpetuated the personal lineaments of the aristocracy of his day. There is scarcely a private gallery in England where family portraits are preserved, in which Shee's performances are not to be found side by side with Lawrence's, Reynolds's, Kneller's, and Lely's; and there they are treasured up to form the historic illustrations of a future day. One of his noblest productions we of this metropolis will shortly have an opportunity of judging of for ourselves, in the engraving now in progress for the Royal Irish Art Union, from his diploma picture of Belisarius. The Royal Hibernian Academy, of which Sir Martin Shee is an honorary member, succeeded on one occasion in procuring a portrait from his pencil for its annual exhibition.† But his works are, comparatively speaking, but little known in this country; and whatever Ireland might have done in fostering the early talent of the worthy President while he continued a resident artist, candour obliges us to confess, that it has been left in a great measure to England to patronize and avail itself of his matured skill and genius. Of the sketches of Sir Martin Archer Shee which we have seen, we prefer, in point of execution and expression, that engraved by Fry, from the painting by J. Jackson, A.R. A. As a likeness, we have not the means of judging of it. There is a spirited but rough outline prefixed to the number of the European Magazine already referred to. The etching to which this notice is appended, is from a sketch by Mr. Bridgford, considered to be a good likeness. In all, there is the intellectual vigour, the animation, and the goodnature for which he was always remarkable, and which, we rejoice to believe, yet distinguish the veteran artist in his 78th year. * Of Sir Martin's three sons the eldest has the superintendence of the branch of the Bank of England at Hull, and the second and third hold creditable situations, one in the India House, the other in the Custom House. † This was a whole length portrait of General Vicars, in the possession of the La Touche family. Through the kindness of a distinguished brother-artist of Sir Martin's, we are enabled to subjoin a list of a few of the President's more celebrated works: Full length portrait of the late Duke of Leinster. Do. Do. do. do. Half length do. Full length do. of Lord Monteagle, painted for the Chamber of Commerce in Limerick. of Dean Kirwan. of the late Lord Avonmore. of William the Fourth, painted for the Hall of the Exchange at Liverpool. of Gen. Egerton, painted for the Waterloo Gallery at Windsor. of Queen Adelaide, at Buckingham Palace. of Lord Vivian. of Lord William Fitzgerald. Do. do. of the present Duke of Leinster. of Thomas Moore, Esq. A picture, Mary Magdalene, in Lord De Dunstanville's collection. Do. Infant Bacchus, in Mr. Vernon's collection. THE BLACK PROPHET-A TALE OF IRISH FAMINE. BY WILLIAM CARLETON. CHAPTER I.-GLENDHU, OR THE BLACK GLEN; SCENE OF DOMESTIC AFFECTION. This SOME twenty and odd years ago there stood a little cabin at the foot of a round hill, that very much resembled a cupola in shape, and which from its position and great height commanded a prospect of singular beauty. hill was one of a range that ran from north to south-west; but in consequence of its standing, as it were, somewhat out of the ranks, its whole appearance and character as a distinct feature of the country were invested with considerable interest to a scientific eye, especially to that of a geologist. An intersection or abrupt glen divided it from those which constituted the range or group we have alluded to; through this, as a pass in the country, and the only one for miles, wound a road into an open district on the western side, which road, about half a mile after its entering the glen, was met by a rapid torrent that came down from the gloomy mountains that rose to the left. The foot of this hill, which on the southern side was green and fertile to the top, stretched off and was lost in the rich land that formed the great and magnificent valley it helped to bound, and to which the chasm we have described was but an entrance; the one bearing to the other, in size and position, much the same relation that a small bye-lane in a country town bears to the great leading street which constitutes its principal feature. Noon had long passed, and the dim sun of a wet autumnal day was sloping down towards the west through clouds and gloom, when a young girl about twentyone or twenty-two years of age came out of the cabin we have mentioned, and running up to the top of a little miniature hill or knoll that rose beside it, looked round in every direction, as if anxious to catch a glimpse of some one whom she expected. It appeared, however, that she watched in vain; for after having examined the country in every direction with an eye in which might be read a combined expression of ea gerness, anger, and disappointment, she once more returned to the cabin with a slow and meditating step. This she continued to do from time to time for about an hour and a half, when at length a female appeared approaching, whom she at once recognized. The situation of this hovel, for such, in fact, it must be termed, was not only strikingly desolate, but connected also with wild and supernatural terrors. From the position of the glen itself, a little within which it stood, it enjoyed only a very limited portion of the sun's cheering beams. As the glen was deep and precipitous, so was the morning light excluded from it by the north-eastern hills, as was that of evening by those which rose between it and the west. Indeed, it would be difficult to find a spot marked by a character of such utter solitude and gloom. Naturally barren, it bore not a single shrub on which a bird could sit or a beast browse, and little, of course, was to be seen in it but the bare gigantic projections of rock which shot out of its steep sides in wild and uncouth shapes, or the grey, rugged expanses of which it was principally composed. Indeed, we feel it difficult to say whether the gloom of winter or the summer's heat fell upon it with an air of lonelier desolation. It mattered not what change of season came, the place presented no appearance of man or his works. Neither bird, nor beast, was seen or heard, except rarely, within its dreary bosom, the only sounds it knew being the monotonous murmurs of the mountain torrent, or the wild echoes of the thunder-storms that pealed among the hills about it. Silence and solitude were the characteristics which predominated in it, and it would not be easy to say whether they were felt more during the gloom of November or the glare of June. In the mouth of this glen, not far from the cabin we have described, two murders had been committed about twenty years before the period of our narrative, within the lapse of a month. The one was that of a carman, and the other of a man named Sullivan, who had also been robbed, as it was supposed the carman had been, for the bodies of both had been made away with, and were never found. This was evident in the one case by the horse and cart of the carman remaining at the grey stone in question, on which the traces of blood were long visible; and in the other by the circumstance of Sullivan's hat and part of his coat having been found near the cabin in question on the following day, in a field through which his path home lay, and in which was a pool of blood, where his foot-marks were deeply imprinted, as if in a struggle for life and death. For this latter murder a man named Dalton had been taken up, under circumstances of great suspicion, he having been the last person seen in the man's company. Both had been drinking together in the market, a quarrel had originated between them about money matters, blows had been exchanged, and Dalton was heard to threaten him in very strong language. Nor was this all. He had been observed following or rather dogging him on his way home, and although the same road certainly led to the residence of both, yet when his words and manner were taken into consideration, added to the more positive proof that the foot-marks left on the place of struggle exactly corresponded with his shoes, there could be little doubt that he was privy to Sullivan's murder and disappearance, as well probably as to his robbery. At all events the glen was said to be haunted by Sullivan's spirit, which was in the habit, according to report, of appearing near the place of murder, from whence he was seen to enter this chasm-a circumstance which, when taken in connexion with its dark and lonely aspect, was calculated to impress upon the place the reputation of being accursed, as the scene of crime and supernatural appearances. We remember having played in it when young, and the feeling we experienced was one of awe and terror, to which might be added, on contemplating the "dread repose" and solitude around us, an impression that we were removed hundreds of miles from the busy ongoings and noisy tumults of life, to which, as if seeking protection, we generally hastened with a strong sense of relief, after having tremblingly gratified our boyish curiosity. The young girl in question gave the female she had been expecting any thing but a cordial or dutiful reception. In personal appearance there was not a point of resemblance between them, although the tout ensemble of each was singularly striking. and remarkable. The girl's locks were black as the raven's wing; her figure was tall and slender, but elastic and full of symmetry. The ivory itself was not more white nor glossy than her skin; her teeth were bright and beautiful, and her mouth a perfect rosebud. It is unnecessary to say that her eyes were black and brilliant, for such ever belong to her complexion and temperament; but it is necessary to add, that they were piercing and unsettled, and you felt that they looked into you rather than at you or upon you. In fact, her features were all perfect, yet it often happened that their general expression was productive of no agreeable feeling on the beholder. Sometimes her smile was sweet as that of an angel, but let a single impulse or whim be checked, and her face assumed a character of malignity that made her beauty appear like that which we dream of in an evil spirit. The other woman, who stood to her in the relation of stepmother, was above the middle size. Her hair was sandy, or approaching to a pale red; her features were coarse, but regular; and her whole figure that of a wellmade and powerful woman. In her countenance might be read a peculiar blending of sternness and benignity, each evidently softened down by an expression of melancholy-perhaps of suffering-as if some secret care lay brooding at her heart. The inside of the hovel itself had every mark of poverty and destitution about it. Two or three stools, a pot or two, one miserable standing-bed, and a smaller one gathered up under a rug in the corner, were almost all that met the eye on entering it; and simple as these meagre portions of furniture were, they bore no marks of cleanliness.or care. On the contrary, every thing appeared to be neglected, squalid, and filthy-such, precisely, as led one to |