“Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas’d? “Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow? “Raze out the written troubles of the brain? “And with some sweet oblivious antidote, “Cleanse the full bosom of that perilous stuff, “Which weighs upon the heart.” To which Dr. Brocklesby readily answered from the same great poet, “------------therein the patient “Must minister unto himself.” Johnson expressed himself much satisfied with the application. On another day after this, when talking on the same subject of prayer, Dr. Brocklesby repeated from Juvenal, “Orandum est ut sit mens sana in corpore sano,” and so on to the end of the tenth satire; but in running it quickly over, he happened in the line “Qui spatium vitæ extremum inter munera ponat,” to pronounce “supremum,” for “extremum;” at which Johnson’s critical ear infirmly took offence, and discoursing vehemently on the unmetrical effect of such a lapse, he shewed himself as full as ever of the spirit of the grammarian. Having no near relations, it had been for some time Johnson’s intention to make a liberal provision for his faithful servant, Mr. Francis Barber, whom he had all along treated truly as an humble friend. Having asked Dr. Brocklesby what would be a proper annuity to bequeath to a favourite servant, and being answered that it must depend on the circumstances of the master; and that in the case of a nobleman fifty pounds a-year was considered as an adequate reward for many years faithful service. “Then,” said Johnson, “shall I be nobilissimus, for I mean to leave Frank seventy pounds a-year, and I desire you to tell him so.” It is strange, however, to think, that Johnson was not free from that general weakness of being averse to execute a will, so that he delayed it from time to time; and had it not been for Sir John Hawkins’s repeatedly urging it, it is probable that his kind resolution would not have been fulfilled. Amidst the melancholy clouds which hung over the mind of the dying Johnson, his characteristical manner shewed itself on different occasions. A man whom he had never seen before was employed one night to sit up with him. Being asked next morning how he liked his attendant, his answer was, “Not at all, Sir. The fellow is an idiot; he is as awkward as a turnspit when first put into the wheel, and as sleepy as a dormouse.” (_To be concluded in our next._) * * * * * * * * * _For the +New-York Weekly Magazine+._ * * * THE FUNERAL--A FRAGMENT. “Fresh in my mind the uncheery scenes arise, “Each _groan_ again I hear! each piercing _cry!_ “Each _languid look_ I see! the _dawn_ of _death_, “And the sad beatings of the death-bell still “Hum slow and solemn in my frighted ear!” MRS. FAUGERES.