He obeyed, and having formed a litter for the lady, she was borne on the shoulders of four stout Turks. When they arrived at the postern gate, Sophronia told the captain that he, with his men, must first enter the castle, and then kill the sentinels and wardens, after which he would be enabled to give admittance to all his friends. The Turks strictly obeyed the lady, who before the affair began hastened with Annis to her apartment in order to await the issue of her plot. The Turks entered the castle by hundreds, killing all they met, and were soon masters of the place. Meanwhile, Sophronia and Annis, both dreadfully agitated, heard from their chamber the dying groans of the poor Christians. Sometimes the clashing of swords was distinguished, as if a number of persons were engaged in combat; sometimes the loud lamentations of women intervened; and sometimes the voices of the conquerors were alone heard in exultation. At length the door of Sophronia's room burst open, and Abdurachman rushed in to seize her, while Annis, nearly dead with terror, calmly submitted to the grasp of a common soldier who accompanied the captain. The dreadful scene was acted and over; the Turks were possessors of the famed castle of Abydos, and Sophronia's father, the governor, was hanged. Alas! deluded Sophronia! The faithless Abdurachman, whom she supposed to have seen in a dream, regarded her not; even lots were cast for her, and she fell to the share of one whom she did not know. The beautiful Sophronia took poison and expired. G.W.N. * * * * * SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS. * * * * * THE LIBERTINE'S CONFESSION. _In Imitation of the Writers of the Sixteenth Century._ I'm sad and sore afraid, That fickle, and forsworn, I've sported life away, And now am left forlorn. Poor fool! I dreamt the years Of youth would never fly, And pleasure's brimming bowl Methought could ne'er run dry. That woman's bounteous love Should e'er wax cold for me! It seem'd that she must first A woman cease to be. Her fondest smiles I thought My rights by charter were; Her sighs, her tears, forsooth,-- Whilst I--was free as air. I've knelt at many a shrine, Of wit and beauty too; I've lisp'd light vows to all, And sworn that all were true. My pastime was to gain Their young and grateful love, Then break the heart I won, And straight to others rove. Ah! wild wit, now at last Thy vagrancies are o'er; The ear and gazing eye That you enthrall'd before. No longer hear or see; Whilst those you now would woo, The time-worn truant slight, Nor dream of love with you. _New Monthly Magazine._ * * * * * Dublin is a great city. Dublin, as the late Lord L----th used to say, is "one of the tay-drinkenest, say-bathinest, car-drivinest places in the world; it flogs for _divarsion._"