PRIZE ADDRESS.

Written by Dr. Henry Myers, of Richmond, Va., and pronounced by Mrs. George Jones, at the opening of the Avon Theatre in Norfolk, Va.

To him who grasp'd that magic wand, the pen,
And wove his spells around the hearts of men;
To him whose genius spread its mighty wing
From Heaven's high arch its richest tint to bring,
Or plunged "into the bottom of the deep"
To gather treasures that within it sleep;
Beneath whose sway e'en Passion fiercer grew,
Or weeded Sorrow wore a sadder hue;
Whose bidding drew from Pity's eye the tear,
Or Love made bold to clasp the one most dear;
At whose command Revenge swept to his prey,
Or cowering Fear in silence shrunk away :-
Grim Murder stood unmask'd-or Wit and Mirth
In merry mood drew peals of laughter forth :-'
Even to him-to Avon's Bard we raise
The Muse's temple with the song of praise;
To glorious Shakspeare! for whose brow each brook
Nourish'd a garland in its shady nook;
Forest and mountain, verdant field and vale
Spread their bright blossoms to the passing gale:
And man, proud man, in admiration gazed,
The while the meteor undiminish'd blazed.

And where should Pocsy select a home,
Or Talent seek to rear her glittering dome,
Save here?-where to the senses Ocean bears
Music which thrills the list'ner while he hears;
Where Heaven smiles with many a fadeless gem,
And Nature wears her brightest diadem;
Where erst the din of battle clove the air,
And watch-fires gleam'd with ghastly, lurid glare;
Where dealing death, th' artillery boom'd aloud,
And 'midst the flashes roll'd war's sulphur cloud;
When in each peal the song of Freedom rose,
Or rung the knell of Tyrants and of foes:--
The weary Drama perches on the spot,
Her pinions closed, and all her woes forgot.

Still, Avon! Fancy hies her to thy stream,
Whose waters with a thousand mem'ries teem;
Thou lav'st the birthplace of the good and great,
Thy banks are to the Poet consecrate.
The gazer turns from thee with moisten'd eye
To that lone spire towering towards the sky,
Which marks the spot, whereon its form uprears,
The Sepulchre of him the world reveres.
And yet, what tho' his bones lie mould'ring there?
Be silent all! his spirit hovers here!
A voice in upper air now floats along,

Yet dwells upon the ear like some sweet song.
What then remains? Speak, where does duty point?
Let us not say "the time is out of joint."
It is for us to watch the kindled flame
That writes in glowing characters his name;
It is for us to guard the altar's fire,
Not let it light the Drama's funeral pyre;
Enclose our shrine as with a human wall,
And save-or perish 'neath its mighty fall:
Yet fall it cannot, for, while Beauty cheers,
And native taste prevails-away with fears-
With generous patrons, such as greet her here,
The Drama smiles content,-her path is clear;
Thus welcom'd from the heart, she asks no more,
Her Mecca reach'd-her pilgrimage is o'er,

REJECTED ADDRESS. Presented as a competitor for the prize offered for "the best address," on the opening of the "Avon Theatre," Norfolk.

BY A CITIZEN OF RICHMOND.

When storm and tempest sweep the troubled sky,
And the winged lightnings o'er the heavens' fly;
How bright to see, above the tempest's might,
The rainbow shed its soft and hallowed light,
Spanning in beauty every ill beneath,
Like Faith's calm smile above the couch of death.
Thus with the Drama when the spoiler's hand
Threw gloom and terror o'er each classic land;
When fettered Science wept and clanked her chain,
In the long night of Superstition's reign.-
But lo! the morn of Reason shed its ray,
And chased each fiend of midnight gloom away.
Then rose the Drama like a morning bird,
And waved its proud wing, and its song was heard
Like tones of mingled music; and it flew

To England's shores, and found a welcome too!
IMMORTAL SHAKSPEARE! to thy mind was given
To paint with pencil dipt in hues of heaven;
To soar aloft on bold and tireless wing,
And trace each passion to its hidden spring.
England may well be proud, that e'er she gave
That name to fame which triumphs o'er the grave:
Yea, towers may moulder, cenotaphs may fall,
But our own Shakspeare's name survives them all!
Yet not alone to England's isle belong
Th' undying triumphs of our Shakspeare's song:
Wherever mind immortal has a shrine-
A worshipper-oh, Bard, that land is thine!

Lo! here, in our own forest-land, we raise
An altar, and a temple to thy praise,-
And with them blend the dearest name on earth
To Poet's soul,-the spot that gave thee birth.
"Sweet Avon!" here thy classic shaft shall stand,
Like yon blest lighthouse on the wave-beat strand--
To guide the bark of Genius to the spot
Where worth is cherished, and its ills forgot.
And you, ye worthy sons of noble sires
Whose spirits glowed with freedom's hallowed fires,
And taught the Tyrant of a far off shore,
That God ordained-and his proud reign was o'er :
Say, will ye not, on this auspicious hour,
Cheer with your favor Avon's budding flower?
Say, will ye not your smiles, your sanction, give,
And bid the modest trembler bloom and live?
Shall cruel bigotry decree its death?
Shall Superstition's pestilential breath-
Shall the dark spirit of unhallowed thought-
Shall demon prejudice with malice fraught?
Shall wild fanaticism shriek its doom,
And mark our column as bright Genius' tomb?
Oh, no! we read the answer in your eyes
Which bids the glad song of our triumph rise!
And you, sweet sisters, with soft glance of light,
Man's sun by day, his star of joy by night;
Bright spirits, sent by mercy's guiding hand
To tell our souls of that "far better land;"
One smile from you, we ask one little smile,
To cheer our labors and our task beguile.
We see it beam, like love's all quick'ning glance
Above the death-couch and the dreamy trance;
We see it in one concentrated blaze-

A thousand bright eyes lend their kindling rays; While hope's sweet voice, more sweet than Dorian reed, Bids us LOOK UP!-we must, we shall succeed!

CATALEPSY.

[The readers of the Messenger will remember, that in our July number we published an article containing a somewhat extraordinary account of a case of Catalepsy, and that we vouched that its author was a gentleman of unimpeachable honor and veracity, and of high standing as a member of the medical profession. We said moreover, that if his statements were controverted, he pledged himself in a private letter to substantiate them by testimony of a high character. Those statements have been controverted by a writer in South Carolina, whose communication we lay before the public, and which, notwithstanding its anonymous character, we determined to submit to our medical friend and await, his action on the subject. With the frankness and honor for which he is characterized, our friend and correspondent has come forward in his own proper person to vindicate his statements, and we do not hesitate to say that even "Doubt" can no longer be incredulous on the subject. Following the letter of the doubting South-Carolinian, we publish Dr. Buck's letter, with the certificate of Mr. Lay and the communication of Dr. Carmichael. Mr. Lay is well known in Richmond and his testimony is unimpeachable. Dr. Carmichael is an eminent practitioner of surgery and medicine.]— Editor.

nication was anonymous and unsustained by "evidence which, in relation to matters less extraordinary and unnatural, would be sufficient to produce conviction," and calls upon the author "to lay his proofs before the public.”

I am, therefore, constrained to re-assert the truth of the facts

under my proper signature, and to exhibit a part of the evidence which I could procure in relation to them.

The following is an extract of a letter addressed to me by a highly respectable Physician, who was in consultation with me

in the case :

"The July number of the Southern Literary Messenger,'

I have not been able to obtain until yesterday. I read with renewed interest the account therein published of a most extraordinary case of Catalepsy, which occurred in the daughter of one of my most intimate an testeemed friends, and almost under quainted from personal observation: and all the phenomena of my own eye. With some of the facts related I was well ac this wonderful case, of which I was not an eye witness, were related to me as they occurred, by yourself and others who were then present.

have seen such a case, I should not be surprised if your account "To some, (even of our own profession,) who may never of it should appear marvellous, nay altogether incredible; but its fidelity, if questioned, can be verified by many most respectable witnesses, whose testimony (if their characters were known,) would remove every doubt."

I have also received a letter from a Professor of one of the first institutions of our country, who married a sister of the Ca

taleptic patiert, and whose wife was in constant attendance during the progress of the disease. I extract the following:

"On returning from a long journey, which I have just completed, I found your acceptable letter and a pamphlet containing a paper on Catalepsy. This paper must be highly interesting to strangers, and is, of course, far more so to us who know the circumstances, however incredible, to be true. M. (his wife) 'thinks that in one or two cases you have made the statements less wonderful than the facts would warrant, but I presume you feared to make the account too marvellous.'

but unbelief.

If the circumstances as stated be true, they certainly do present some very extraordinary views of the nature and structure of mind, and of its relations with matter,--views totally at variance with all the received systems of inertal philosophy. The opera tions of mind as detailed in that communication, are violations of every known and acknowledged law of the intellectual structure, and have no analogies but in the alleged phenomena of animal magnetism. I myself am one who will admit the possibility that there may be an abnormal state of the human mind, in which phenomena may be exhibited, not referable to its known laws of operation. I have seen too much on this subject, from well au. thenticated quarters, not to go thus far. At the same time, evidence, which, in relation to matters less extraordinary and unna. tural, (as we would say in reference to the known laws of nature) would be sufficient to cause conviction, but when applied to phenomena like these, is insufficient to produce anything but doubt a state in which the mind neither affirms nor denies the truth of the proposition.

If these are facts, the philosopher must begin his work anew; for no events like these have ever, heretofore, been even "dreampt of in our philosophy." The author of the article alluded to, in a note on the first page, declared (if his statement was received with doubt, or improbability) his ability and willingness to substantiate the whole of it, by the most irrefragable testimony. Now, in reference to the extraordinary part of his story, the most favorable comment I have heard upon it, was the expression of doubt as to the possibility of its truth, while many profess to have no other opinion on the subject, than that of unbe lief. Under these circumstances, I think it would be as well for the author to lay his proofs before the public. DOUBT.

WASHINGTON, D. C., Nov. 3, 1839. Mr. T. W. White: When I communicated the article on "Catalepsy," I had no intention of disclosing my name, except to yourself and a few other friends.

But the letter under the signature of "Doubt," from South Carolina, expresses disbelief of the facts, because the commu.

I do not feel authorized to publish the names of these gentlemen, lest the intelligent and sensitive lady who is the subject of the article, might make inquiries which would lead to a discovery of her former affliction, of which, I believe, she is now ignorant. I will, however, enclose to you the letters, that you may be justified in assuring the public that they are genuine. The hand-writing is known to gentlemen in your city, which I will thank you to show them.

I also enclose the original letters of the lady. I could multiply proofs, if necessary (and there were no fears of imparting unpleasant information to the lady), but I feel assured that these will satisfy the public and remove the incredulity even of "Doubt." Most respectfully,

MARCUS C. BUCK, M. D.

RICHMOND, VA., Nov. 14, 1839.

I certify that I have read the letter addressed to Dr. Marcus C. Buck by Professor J. W. B., with whose hand writing I am well acquainted, and declare that the following is a correct extract therefrom. "On returning from a long journey, which I have just completed, I found your very acceptable letter with the ac companying pamphlet containing your paper on Catalepsy. This paper must be deeply interesting to strangers, and is, of course, far more so to us who know the circumstances, however incredible, to be true. M. thinks that in one or two cases you have made the statement less wonderful than the facts would warrant, but I presume you feared to make the account too marvellous." JOHN O. LAY.

To T. W. WHITE, ESQ.

RICHMOND, Nov. 15, 1839.

Sir: The case detailed in your July number of the Messenger, on Catalepsy, from its unusual character, has been doubtingly received in and out of the profession.

This morning I had presented to me, the letter of an old and esteemed friend-long a successful practitioner of medicine, and a man of probity, and with whom I frequently met in professional duties, and to whose worth I make this tribute of respect,

confirming the statement of the author of that paper. "Having often," as he expresses it, "witnessed theextraordinary facts," and what he did not see, he heard from other sources of the highest credit. He goes farther, and thinks that the marvellousness of the case exceeds the description given. His signature I know to be genuine.

To this statement I make an extract from a letter to me from the brother of the subject affected, now holding high official station :

"We concluded that you should address a letter to the Editor of the Southern Literary Messenger, affirming for us the truth of the account of Catalepsy, and to which my father, my brothers and sisters, have often stated as correct, with the exception of its being more wonderful than therein detailed."

Knowing all concerned in this report, it is but a proper duty on my part to make this statement, as they desire it, and to confirm the authenticity of the case.

Most respectfully, your ob't serv't,

EDWARD H. CARMICHAEL.

KOULI KHAN.

The attempts on India by the reigning sovereign of Persia bring to our recollection the fate of the most memorable of Persian warriors. In the year 1739, exactly a century ago, the famous Kouli Khan, the Shah of Persia, invaded India, and, after defeating the Mogul army in a great battle, took possession of Delhi. He spared the lives of the leading people, a singular instance of lenity in Asiatic war, and so wholly opposite to his own reckless polity, that it was accounted for only by a mysterious influence. But his original habits soon returned; and, on his determination being known to put a large number of the inhabitants of the capital to the sword, his tent was attacked by five Indians, in the midst of his army; and after a desperate defence, in which he killed two of them, he was struck to the heart

The Persians are coming,

The Persians are come; The banners are flying,

And thunders the drum ; And bright as a sunbeam Rides forth in the van, The king of all kings,

Kouli Khan, Kouli Khan !

The hills and the valleys
Of corpses are full;
There lies the pale Tartar,
There lies the Mogul.
There the elephant bleeds
From his forests afar;
For the arrows of Persia
Have finish'd the war.
And now with his omrahs
He sits on his throne,
With kings for his captains,
The East for his own.
The gems on his turban,

The gems on his shawl
Flash fire-but his glance
Flashes brighter than all.

There, proud Aurungzebe!

Stand thy princes in chains, But, though fallen, they remember Thy blood in their veins : With toil and with battle

Their faces are wan;

But their frown is as haughty
As thine, Kouli Khan.

Then gazed the dark Sultan,
His bosom heaved high,
For he ponder'd the thought-
Shall they live? shall they die?
"Let them die"-from its scabbard
His dagger outsprang;

"Let them live"-in the scabbard 'Twas dash'd with a clang.

Then the herald came forth,
He thrice bow'd to the throne;
Like a pillar of topaz

He gloriously shone.
He thrice blew the trumpet,
The heavens gave reply;
Then proclaim'd to the captives,-
"Thus live, or thus die;"
"The Shah asks three questions:-
If answer'd, ye stand;
If unanswer'd, ye fall-
Each head and each hand
On the ramparts of Delhi
Shall bleed to the sun;
This moment is yours-
Now, be saved, or undone !"
All was silent as midnight,

Then out broke the words"Hear, princes of Cachmire!

Hear, Delhi's proud lords! The manes of your steeds

Are like banners unfurl'd; But what hours would it cost you To ride round the world? "Next, reckon the wealth

Of the king of all kings-
His crowns and his sceptres,
His arms and his rings.
Last, tell the high thought,

That now beams in his eye,
Or your death-lot is drawn,
There your corpses shall lie."
Then the squadrons of archers
Wheel'd round, wing to wing,
And a thousand keen arrows
Were laid on the string.
Yet there stood the princes,

Though fetter'd and lone,

In their ranks still and stately,
Like statues of stone.

"They must die." But a yell Pierced thro' heart and thro' ear,

And wild as a leopard

In sprang a Faquier :

His visage was ebon,

His beard to the ground, Wrath burn'd in his glance

As it darted around.

"Kouli Khan! thou art conqueror,

Sheathe thy red sword;

Kouli Khan! take thy choice,

To be cursed or adored!"
All gazed in strange wonder,
And dagger and spear
Were aim'd at his breast,
But loud laughed the Faquier.

"I will answer, dark Sultan, Thy questions of blood." His staff swept a ring

Round the spot where he stood.
Then he pour'd out a goblet,
And mutter'd a name;
To the gold-sculptured roof
Sprang a colum of flame.

Then his voice spoke in thunder:
"What hours shall it take
To ride round the world?-
Dark Sultan, awake!

-Take the wings of the morning,
And ride with the sun,

In a day and a night

Shall thy journey be done! "Then-what is thy wealth?

Were it mountains of gold,
'Tis not worth one true heart-
Now, two questions are told.
Hear the third. Is it evil,

Or good to forgive?—
Know that Hell gives us death,
But Heaven bids us live."
Then loud swe I'd the trumpet,
And high clash'd the spear,
And a purse filled with diamonds
Was flung to the seer.

And to hail him the emrahs
And chieftans all ran,
And none look'd on the throne,
Though there sat Kouli Khan.

But one, and the proudest,

Dared pluck his white beard:
The Faquier shot a glance,
Not a murmur was heard!
But one grasp at his throat,

And the omrah lay low;
And the whole jewell'd circle
Recoil'd from the blow.
"Still the axe," said the Sultan,

"Must smite the Vizier, For the blood of my bravest Has reek'd on his spear." "What, tiger! more blood? Well, what prize shall be mine,

If he stand on this spot

Ere yon sun shall decline ?" "Take the half of my throne!" -"Mighty Shah, he is here!" -The beard was cast off,

But there stood no Faquier. For the form bow'd to earth, And the forehead so pale, There stood in his beauty

A youth sheathed in mail. Still brighter and brighter

He grew, while they gazed;
Still loftier his stature,

His eye keener blazed.
In his hand was the sword,
On his brow was the plume.
-Is he come from the skies,
Is he come from the tomb?

"I am Uriel," he spake

From sultan to slave,
All were bow'd to the dust,

All was still as the grave"I am sent from the heights

Of the star-studded throne, The Angel of Mercy,

To save the undone.

"They are saved-Thou art saved!
For each drop of their gore
Would have burn'd on thy soul,
Like the red molten ore.
Now, farewell, and be wise,
Thou son of the worm!"
-He upsprang, and the sound
Was like ocean in storm.

And the rolling of chariots,
And clanging of bows,
Of the warriors of heaven
Were heard as he rose :
And voices of sweetness

And sweepings of strings;
And the gleamings were seen
Of tiaras and wings.

And the perfumes of Paradise
Fell in a stream;

And their senses were steep'd

In delight, like a dream! Then all woke.-For a year The dagger was sheathed, The hand of the bride

In the bridegroom's was wreathed. And the vine hid the cottage,

The sheep fill'd the fold, And the merchant was safe With his silk and his gold. And the infant was glad,

And the man without fear. And age met the tomb,

Like the corn in the ear. But then came dark Eblis,

The tempter of kings, And the Sultan was wrapt

In the shade of his wings; Wine madden'd his soul,

The fiend fill'd the manThou'rt a corpse in thy tent, Kouli Khan, Kouli Khan !

Revels at My Castle in the Air.

No. I.

A delicious Autumn day ;-an Indian Summer day! I have just returned from a stroll of some miles up the country, leaving this bank-ridden town to take up its notes- -before three o'clock. I thank God now every day, about noontide, that my lot has not been cast on the Waters of Commerce; and that it has been so ordered that I can pick up my bread and butter without reference to price of Sugar or the rise of Stocks.

So as I was saying-I started for a walk--and after a long tramp over the Peninsula on whose slender finger--fort MCHENRY is set like a pretty mural ring,