"Here I am, dying of a hundred good symptoms," he replied to some flattering report, but his mind was beginning to wander.

He complained of seeing things as through a curtain.

"What's that ?" he said, pointing to the air, and then, with a smile of great pleasure, added softly, "'twas a vision." His religious sentiments still edified his hearers.

"I am so certain," he said, "of the soul's being immortal, that I seem to feel it within me, as it were by intuition;" and early one morning he rose from bed and tried to begin an essay upon immortality, apparently in a state of semi-delirium.

On his last day he sacrificed, as Chesterfield rather cynically observes, his cock to AEsculapius.