Oscar's Revenge. A Legend of France. Hushed were the winds around Marseilles, No single zephyr fanned the sails For ten long months the noble craft For ten long months each straining raft And now at length when home is near, Elate with hope, or bowed with fear, Whilst eager eyes towards the shore And eager arms would clasp once more The boatswain pipes his shrilly cry, The sailors dip the oar; And lustily and cheerily They pull towards the shore. But Oscar's bursting heart could brook As towards the land his ardent look He sprang from off the vessel's side, In eager haste to meet his bride, But Oscar's frame was hale and light, His every hope on her was cast, And now when all his toils were past, Five years-five long and tedious years Had passed in current slow; Since Oscar kissed away the tears His parting caused to flow. For five long years 'mid breeze and storm, Had Oscar's thoughts towards one dear form, And when, amidst the battle's rage, How bravely had this hero fought! Led on to fame by one bright thought But how had sped these anxious years At first she wept as weeps a child And oft in lamentations wild But faintly, and more faintly yet, Was heard her sad bewailing, Until at length in mute regret Alone she showed her feeling. Thus passed two years; and with them passed Lucille allowed herself at last Numerous suitors flocked around, The Comte St. Luc for fourscore years His tottering steps bespeak he nears But his lands are broad, his gold is bright, And love is never true; So Lucille decks with merry light Her laughing eyes of blue. Ten thousand motley guests attend Ten thousand lusty cheers ascend The Comte St Luc is never scant Of store, nor lack of gold; And well repays each sycophant His praise a hundred-fold. So once again a deafening cheer Resounds throughout the hall, As each one in his bridal gear For fair Lucille doth call. She comes at length: no star more bright Than this fair maid all robed in white No cloud sits heavy on her brow, No tears upon her rest, No thought of Oscar troubles now With many a sunny smile she meets With tottering steps he takes her hand, Until before the priest they stand, Who soon shall make them one. The words are said, the knot is tied, The feast is o'er, the guests are gone, The bride and bridegroom left alone Days pass on, so swiftly gliding, And months give place to years; Whilst fair Lucille 'neath smiles is hiding Deep, disappointed tears. Wealth has she and a broad domain, Each pleasure at command; How gladly to be free again She'd cast them from her hand. Too late, alas! too late remorse Bound to a living corpse for life, And days pass on, and now three years Since thousands echoed back the cheers Three years of wedded life have cast On Lucille's brow, and still'd at last One morn, one memorable morn, The hapless bride, her heart strings torn, In sad and solitary woe, Had listless wandered o'er Her thoughts were all of Oscar now; Her sailor boy, and tell him how Oh, could she heave one single sigh At Oscar's feet forgiven, How gladly would she straightway die, Sudden she hears a cry prolonged, The vessel nears the port; Lucille 'Twas his dear form, his, only his- Has come midst all her miseries, She sees him leap into the waves, His own betrothed; with joy she raves, To be continued. "The Colleen Bawn." The True Story. THE all-popular drama of "The Colleen Bawn," the beautiful novel of "The Collegians," and the tale of "The Poor Man's Daughter," are each founded on a murder which occurred in Ireland more than forty years ago, and which, denuded of those fictional palliations with which the dramatist and novelist have softened down the real affair, was about as heartless and brutal a crime as ever was committed. Unlike the misled lover in “The Colleen Bawn" and the story of "The Collegians," the real instigator of the atrocious deed had not one redeeming feature in his guilt: he was an utter villain of the deepest dye, living without a conscience, and dying at the gallows with falsehood on his tongue. One might as well have made a romantic hero of Thurtell or Palmer. John Scanlan, Esq., this same instigator and and the chief culprit, though not the actual murderer, was the son of a highlyrespectable gentleman and landed proprietor of the county of Limerick, and was allied to many persons of the first distinction. He lost his father in his infancy; and thus at an early age became the possessor of a handsome competency. When he grew up he entered the army, and attained the rank of lieutenant. Stephen Sullivan, the other culprit, who, on his own confession, actually committed the murder, was also a native of the. county of Limerick, and was a soldier in Lieut. Scanlan's regiment, and under his command. At the conclusion of the war in 1815, Scanlan went upon halfpay, and Sullivan, being also discharged with a pension, accompanied him home, in the capacity of his servant. Sullivan was at the time not more than thirty-two years of age, and yet was much older than his master, who had not reached his twenty-fifth year. Young Scanlan, on his way to Limerick, where he proposed permanently residing, stopped for some time in Cork; and while there, he chanced to meet and fall in love with a girl in much humbler life than himself, named Ellen Hanley. She was only fifteen years of age, of good character, modest, and extremely beautiful. She had been adopted and brought up by her uncle, Mr. John Conery, a ropemaker—or as one account says, a shoemaker, in a small town in the county of Limerick. The gentle |