I will hurry this painful narrative to a close. I have but a vague idea of the events that occurred during the next few weeks. I remember being told, as I lay in bed, by a young woman who attended me, that I had been found by some workpeople, on the night above referred to, in the vicinity of my former residence, and conveyed thither, and that I had been attacked by the brain fever, and that my life had been despaired of by my medical attendant. The body which had been found in the stream, and which was supposed to be mine, was that of my dear friend, Hoffmeister. In his agitation, previously to his committing the dreadful act of suicide, he had inadvertently mistaken my garments for his own. When I became convalescent, I determined upon leaving, as soon as possible, the scene of my recent suffering. Before doing so, I proceeded to the village which I had previously visited. I called upon the gentleman who had not recognized me on a former occasion; but, strange to say, he now remembered me perfectly, and received me very kindly indeed. I referred to the circumstance of our late interview, but he had no recollection of it. While we were thus conversing, a third person entered the room, the very image of my friend, and who, it appeared was his brother. An explanation at once ensued. These matters I have thought it necessary to explain. There are, however, occurrences in the narrative, of which I can give no solution, though I may premise, that my conviction is, that those which took place in the village, arose from natural causes, with which I am nevertheless unacquainted. The body of the man, who, I have reason to believe, was not quite dead when he was brought to me, I conveyed with me to Berlin. The old woman I never again beheld. THE SUN. (FROM CHAMBERS’S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.)