"Thursday, October 13th, returning from Halbthurn, a Hunting Seat of his," over in Hungary some fifty miles, "to the Palace Favorita at Vienna, his Imperial Majesty felt slightly indisposed,"--indigestion of mushrooms or whatever it was: had begun AT Halbthurn the night before, we rather understand, and was the occasion of his leaving. "The Doctors called it cold on the stomach, and thought it of no consequence. In the night of Saturday, it became alarming;" inflammation, thought the Doctors, inflammation of the liver, and used their potent appliances, which only made the danger come and go; "and on the Tuesday, all day, the Doctors did not doubt his Imperial Majesty was dying. ["Look me in the eyes; pack of fools; you will have to dissect me, you will then know:" Any truth in all that? No matter.] "At noon of that Tuesday he took the Sacrament, the Pope's Nuncio administering. His Majesty showed uncommonly great composure of soul, and resignation to the Divine Will;" being indeed "certain,"--so he expressed it to "a principal Official Person sunk in grief" (Bartenstein, shall we guess?), who stood by him--"certain of his cause," not afraid in contemplating that dread Judgment now near: "Look at me! A man that is certain of his cause can enter on such a Journey with good courage and a composed mind (MIT GUTEM UND DELASSENEM MUTH)." To the Doctors, dubitating what the disease was, he said, "If Gazelli" my late worthy Doctor, "were still here, you would soon know; but as it is, you will learn it when you dissect me;"--and once asked to be shown the Cup where his heart would lie after that operation.