At last, on Monday the 16th of May, when I was sitting in Mr. Davies’ back-parlor, after having drunk tea with him and Mrs. Davies, Johnson unexpectedly came into the shop; and Mr. Davies having perceived him through the glass-door in the room in which we were sitting, advancing toward us, he announced his awful approach to me, somewhat in the manner of an actor in the part of Horatio, when he addresses Hamlet on the appearance of his father’s ghost,—­“Look, my lord, it comes.”  I found that I had a very perfect idea of Johnson’s figure from the portrait of him painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds soon after he had published his Dictionary, in the attitude of sitting in his easy-chair in deep meditation; which was the first picture his friend did for him, which Sir Joshua very kindly presented to me, and from which an engraving has been made for this work.  Mr. Davies mentioned my name, and respectfully introduced me to him.  I was much agitated, and recollecting his prejudice against the Scotch, of which I had heard much, I said to Davies, “Don’t tell where I came from.”—­“From Scotland,” cried Davies, roguishly.  “Mr. Johnson” (said I), “I do indeed come from Scotland, but I cannot help it.”  I am willing to flatter myself that I meant this as light pleasantry to soothe and conciliate him, and not as an humiliating abasement at the expense of my country.  But however that might be, this speech was somewhat unlucky; for with that quickness of wit for which he was so remarkable, he seized the expression “come from Scotland,” which I used in the sense of being of that country; and as if I had said that I had come away from it, or left it, retorted, “That, sir, I find, is what a very great many of your countrymen cannot help.”  This stroke stunned me a good deal; and when he had sat down, I felt myself not a little embarrassed, and apprehensive of what might come next.  He then addressed himself to Davies:—­“What do you think of Garrick?  He has refused me an order for the play of Miss Williams, because he knows the house will be full, and that an order would be worth three shillings.”  Eager to take any opening to get into conversation with him, I ventured to say, “Oh, sir, I cannot think Mr. Garrick would grudge such a trifle to you.”  “Sir,” (said he, with a stern look) “I have known David Garrick longer than you have done; and I know no right you have to talk to me on the subject.”  Perhaps I deserved this check; for it was rather presumptuous in me, an entire stranger, to express any doubt of the justice of his animadversion upon his old acquaintance and pupil.  I now felt myself much mortified, and began to think that the hope which I had long indulged of obtaining his acquaintance was blasted.  And in truth, had not my ardor been uncommonly strong, and my resolution uncommonly persevering, so rough a reception might have deterred me for ever from making any further attempts.  Fortunately, however, I remained upon the field not wholly discomfited; and was soon rewarded by hearing some of his conversation, of which I preserved the following short minute, without marking the questions and observations by which it was produced.