said that he ate, and sometimes slept, at a Dentist’s in Park Place, and that he would now go there. I asked him if I should accompany him, and he warmly thanked me, and he put on his cloak and cap, and very carefully adjusted his large red comforter around his neck, and took my arm, and I accompanied him to the residence of his dentist friend in Park Place. I rang the bell, and the servant came, and said the dentist was out, and McDonald then shook my hand, and bade me an affectionate good night, and walked in and closed the door, which was my last communion with poor McDonald Clarke. I called the next day, and the servant told me that McDonald left in half an hour after my departure on the previous night, and had not returned. I went in pursuit of him, but could not find him. The next I heard of him was through the newspapers, which stated that he was found at midnight, by a Policeman, in Broadway, near St. Paul’s Church, in a terrible storm, and in a state of raving insanity, with his apparel partially gone,—that he was conveyed to the Tombs,—that neither the Policemen nor any of the officers at the Tombs knew McDonald, nor was he sane enough to disclose his name,—that on going to feed him in the morning, his place of confinement was partially filled with icy water, (in which he was bathing himself,) which had been running all night, and which gave him a chill of death,—that he was finally recognised by one of the Tombs’ officers, and conveyed to the Alms House Hospital, where he soon died. I called to see him before he died, but he did not know me. His reason entirely returned just prior to his death, when he called for a custard, (of which he was always extremely fond,) and he ate a little, and said he was glad his hour had come, as he was tired of earth. He bade his nurse an affectionate farewell, and died without a contortion or a moan. His sudden and pauper death produced great excitement, and the newspapers severely lashed his murderers, who strove to make him think that Miss Jones loved him dearly, and had invited him to her aristocratic parties. But the names of the villains were not published, (as they should have been,) because they belonged to the upper circles. Some kind friends erected a monument to his memory, on the very spot McDonald had selected, by the Silver Lake in Greenwood, for which they received much praise. And thus closes my sad allusion to poor McDonald Clarke. (To be continued to my last sun.) ------------------------------------ A Melodious Fragment! TO ALL WHO LOVE ENTRANCING MUSIC.