was silent for some minutes, when he sprang to his feet, and said he would like a bath, and went to the bathing room. In half an hour, he returned, went to the tea table, ate sparingly, came into the parlor, went to the window, and knelt and prayed in whisper tones. The clouds had suddenly dispersed, and the moon was full, whose soft rays rested on the sad face of McDonald. He then got the Bible, and read a chapter, and was absorbed in a second prayer, just above a whisper, when a transient boarder (from Boston) entered the parlor, and sat on the sofa, and began a spirited conversation with a friend who had long been waiting for him. McDonald, while engaged in prayer, in a kneeling posture, sprang to his feet, and rushed towards the two gentlemen in lively conversation on the sofa, and told them that if they did not cease to laugh, and talk so loudly, he would smite them on the spot. They were amazed and terrified, and dared not speak. McDonald then rapidly paced the parlor, and exclaimed: “I am only 40 years old, with nearly half the period often allotted to man yet to run, and I am near my journey’s close.” And then, with a sudden halt in the centre of the parlor, he again riveted his wild eyes on the gentlemen seated on the sofa, who had excited his ire, and stamped, and most violently exclaimed: “How dare you talk and laugh in God’s holy hour? This is the all-glorious Sabbath, and it is sacrilege to talk and laugh beyond a whisper. Do it again, and as sure as my name is McDonald Clarke, I will paralyse you where you sit. Silence, I say, (stamping,) silence!” The two gentlemen then arose, and left the parlor, in pursuit of Mr. Goss, and McDonald went to the window, and delivered a glowing apostrophe to the moon and stars, and asked me to play sacred music on the piano, which I did, and he strove to sing, but his voice was severely weakened, and nearly lost, by his nervous excitement, and through his severe anathema of the two gentlemen who had just left the parlor. As I played, he stood beside me, and hummed and beat time with his hands. I closed the piano, and he went to the window, and prayed again, and breathed the most eloquent and touching soliloquy I ever heard. Such melting pathos and purity of language never flowed from human lips. He rose to the highest inspiration in his allusion to his departed mother, and his anticipated joy at his early reunion with her in Heaven. I have always regretted that I had no pencil and paper on this sad occasion, so that I could have preserved his supernatural soliloquies, which impressed me with the profoundest solemnity. Mr. Goss now came into the parlor, and asked McDonald where he boarded, and he said he had no home. Goss then asked him if he had any friends. He said that James Gordon Bennett was his friend, and had been kind and generous towards him, and had given him money and apparel, and published his poetry in the _Herald_. He also