Morton (Oliver Perry, American Statesman), 1823-1877. "I am dying, I am worn out," to Dr. Thompson who was standing by his bed and holding his hand.
Mothe le Vayer de la (This learned man's favorite amusement consisted in the study of distant countries), 1588-1672. "Well, my friend, what news from the Great Mogul?" The question was addressed to Bernier, the traveller, who had entered his room to bid him an affectionate and last farewell.
Motley (John Lothrop, distinguished historian), 1814-1877. "I am ill—very ill, I shall not recover."
About two o'clock in the day he complained of a feeling of faintness, said he felt ill and should not recover; and in a few minutes was insensible with symptoms of ingravescent apoplexy. There was extensive hemorrhage into the brain, as shown by postmortem examination, the cerebral vessels being atheromatous. The fatal hemorrhage had occurred into the lateral ventricles, from rupture of one of the middle cerebral arteries.
Sir William W. Gull's account of Motley's death.
Mozart (Johann Chrysostom Wolfgang Amadeus, one of the most eminent of musical composers), 1756-1792. The last words which he addressed to Sophie Haibl were, "I have the flavour of death on my tongue. I taste death; and who will support my dearest Constanze if you do not stay with her?" Later he conversed with Süssmayer over the Requiem and was heard to say, "Did I not say that I was writing the Requiem for myself?" This he said with tears in his eyes as he looked at the notes.
Just before death he demanded to hear again the Requiem. Dr. Clossel, his physician, nodded his consent. Süssmayer sat down at the piano, Schack sang the soprano, Hofer the tenor, Gorl the bass, and the dying Mozart the alto. Softly swelled forth the ineffable music of the sweet, sorrowful, sacred death song. After this the chamber was silent as the grave. Only the clock ticked softly on the shelf, as it marked the weary hours of the passing night.—Condensed from Sill's translation of Rau's Biographical Romance of Mozart.
After all consciousness had gone, still Mozart's fancies were busy with the Requiem, blowing out his cheeks to imitate the trumpets and drums. Toward midnight he raised himself, opened his eyes wide, then lay down with his face to the wall and seemed to fall asleep. At one o'clock he expired.
The swelling of Mozart's body after death led to the suspicion that he had been poisoned. But there was no other ground for the suspicion than Mozart's diseased fancies, which gave rise to the most shameful and unfortunate distrust of Salieri, who, it was reported, acknowledged upon his deathbed having administered poison to Mozart. All these suspicions were fully laid to rest by Carpani in the Biblioteca Italiana, 1824.[37]
Muhlenberg (Rev. William Augustus, founder of St. Luke's Hospital in New York, and author of the hymn, "I would not live alway"), 1796-1877. "Good morning," spoken to a friend who entered the room.