At the earliest opportunity, Benjamin presented the Governor with an inventory of the articles necessary in setting up the printing business.

“And what will be the probable expense of all these?” inquired the Governor.

“About one hundred pounds sterling, as nearly as I can estimate,” he replied.

“But would it not prove an advantage for you to be there yourself, to select the types, and see that everything is good?”

“I suppose it would, though such a thing as going to England is scarcely possible with me.”

“That remains to be seen,” continued Governor Keith. “Another advantage of your being there is, that you could form acquaintances, and establish correspondence in the bookselling and stationery line.”

“That would certainly be an advantage,” replied Benjamin.

“Then get yourself ready to go in the Annis,” said the Governor. The Annis was the annual ship that sailed between Philadelphia and London, and the only one, at that time, which performed this voyage. Instead of there being scores of vessels sailing between these two ports, as now, there was only this solitary one, going and returning once a year.

“It is not necessary to prepare immediately,” answered Benjamin, “since it is several months before the Annis will sail.”

“True; I only meant that you should be in readiness when the ship sails. It will be necessary for you still to keep the matter secret while you continue to work for Keimer.”

Keimer, for whom Benjamin worked, was a singular man in some respects, and liked to draw him into discussions upon religious subjects. At one time he thought seriously of originating a new sect, and proposed to Benjamin to join him, as his masterly powers of argumentation would confound opponents. He wore his beard long, because it is somewhere said in the Mosaic Law, “Thou shalt not mar the corners of thy beard.” Also, he kept the seventh, instead of the first day of the week, as a Sabbath. Benjamin opposed him on these points, and their discussions were frequent and warm. Keimer often exhorted him to embrace his own peculiar views on these subjects. Finally, Benjamin replied, “I will do it, provided you will join me in not eating animal food, and I will adhere to them as long as you will stick to a vegetable diet.”

Benjamin was here aiming at some diversion, since Keimer was a great eater, and thought much of a savoury dish. Benjamin wanted to starve him a little, as he thought some of his preaching and practice did not correspond.

“I should die,” said Keimer, “if I adopt such a diet; my constitution will not bear it.”

“Nonsense!” answered Benjamin. “You will be better than you are now. So much animal food is bad for any one.”

“What is there left to eat when meat is taken away?” inquired Keimer. “Little or nothing, I should think.”

“I will pledge myself to furnish recipes for forty palatable dishes,” answered Benjamin, “and not one of them shall smell of the flesh-pots of Egypt.”

“Who will prepare them? I am sure no woman in this town can do it.”

“Each dish is so simple that any woman can easily prepare it,” added Benjamin.

Keimer finally accepted the proposition. He was to become a vegetarian, and Benjamin was to embrace formally the long-beard doctrine, and observe the seventh day for a Sabbath. A woman was engaged to prepare their food and bring it to them, and Benjamin furnished her with a list of forty dishes, “in which there entered neither fish, flesh, nor fowl.” For about three months Keimer adhered to this way of living, though it was very trying to him all the while. Benjamin was often diverted to see his manifest longings for fowl and flesh, and expected that he would soon let him off from keeping the seventh day and advocating long beards. At the end of three months, Keimer declared that he could hold out no longer, and the agreement was broken. It was a happy day for him; and to show his gladness, he ordered a roast pig, and invited Benjamin and two ladies to dine with him. But the pig being set upon the table before his guests arrived, the temptation was so great that he could not resist, and he devoured the whole of it before they came, thus proving that he was a greater pig than the one he swallowed.

It should be remarked here, that for some time Benjamin had not followed the vegetable diet which he adopted in Boston. The circumstances and reason of his leaving are thus given by himself:

“In my first voyage from Boston to Philadelphia, being becalmed off Block Island, our crew employed themselves in catching cod, and hauled up a great number. Till then, I had stuck to my resolution to eat nothing that had had life; and on this occasion I considered, according to my master Tryon, the taking every fish as a kind of unprovoked murder, since none of them had nor could do us any injury that might justify this massacre. All this seemed very reasonable. But I had been formerly a great lover of fish, and when it came out of the frying-pan, it smelt admirably well. I balanced some time between principle and inclination, till recollecting that, when the fish were opened, I saw smaller fish taken out of their stomachs; then, thought I, ’If you eat one another, I don’t see why we may not eat you.’ So I dined upon cod very heartily, and have since continued to eat as other people; returning only now and then to a vegetable diet. So convenient a thing it is to be a reasonable creature, since it enables one to find or make a reason for everything one has a mind to do.”

The time was now approaching for the Annis to sail, and Benjamin began to realize the trial of leaving his friends. A new tie now bound him to Philadelphia. A mutual affection existed between Miss Read and himself, and it had ripened into sincere and ardent love. He desired a formal engagement with her before his departure, but her mother interposed.

“Both of you are too young,” said she, “only eighteen! You cannot tell what changes may occur before you are old enough to be married.”

“But that need not have anything to do with an engagement,” said Benjamin. “We only pledge ourselves to marry each other at some future time.”

“And why do you deem such a pledge necessary?” asked the good mother.

“Simply because ‘a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,’” replied Benjamin, with his face all wreathed with smiles.

“But I have not quite satisfied myself that it is best to give up my daughter to a printer,” added Mrs. Read.

“How so?” asked Benjamin, with some anxiety.

“Because,” she replied, “there are already several printing-offices in the country, and I doubt whether another can be supported.”

“If I cannot support her by the printing business,” answered Benjamin, “then I will do it some other way.”

“I have no doubt of your good intentions; but you may not realize the fulfilment of all your hopes. I think you had better leave the matter as it is until you return from England, and see how you are prospered.”

The old lady won the day, and the young couple agreed to proceed no further at present.

The above reference to the fact that only four or five printing-offices existed in America at that time, may serve to exhibit its rapid growth. For in 1840, there were one thousand five hundred and fifty-seven of them, and now probably there are twice that number.

“I am going to England with you, Benjamin,” said Ralph one day, as they met. “Don’t you believe it?”

“It is almost too good news to believe,” replied Benjamin. “But I should be glad of your company, I assure you.”

“It is true,” continued Ralph. “I was not jesting when I told you, the other day, that I meant to go if I could.”

“Then you are really in earnest? You mean to go?”

“To be sure I do. I have fully decided to go.”

Benjamin did not ask him what he was going for; but, from some remarks he heard him make previously, he inferred that he was going out to establish a correspondence, and obtain goods to sell on commission. Nor did he learn to the contrary until after they arrived in London, when Ralph informed him that he did not intend to return, that he had experienced some trouble with his wife’s relations, and he was going away to escape from it, leaving his wife and child to be cared for by her friends.

As the time of their departure drew near, Benjamin called upon the Governor for letters of introduction and credit, which he had promised, but they were not ready. He called again, and they were still unwritten. At last, just as he was leaving, he called at his door, and his secretary, Dr. Baird, came out, and said: “The Governor is engaged upon important business now, but he will be at Newcastle before the Annis reaches there, and will deliver the letters to you there.”

As soon as they reached Newcastle, Benjamin went to the Governor’s lodgings for the letters, but was told by his secretary that he was engaged, and should be under the necessity of sending the letters to him on board the ship, before she weighed anchor. Benjamin was somewhat puzzled by this unexpected turn of affairs, but still he did not dream of deception or dishonesty. He returned to the vessel, and awaited her departure. Soon after her canvas was flung to the breeze, he went to the captain and inquired for the letters.

“I understand,” said he, “that Colonel French brought letters on board from the Governor. I suppose some of them are directed to my care.”

“Yes,” replied the captain, “Colonel French brought a parcel of letters on board, and they were all put into the bag with others, so that I cannot tell whether any of them are for you or not. But you shall have an opportunity, before we reach England, of looking them over for yourself.”

“I thank you,” answered Benjamin; “that will be all that is necessary;” and he yielded himself up to enjoyment for the remainder of the voyage, without the least suspicion of disappointment and trouble.

When they entered the English Channel, the captain, true to his promise, allowed Benjamin to examine the bag of letters. He found several on which his name was written, as under his care, and some others he judged, from the handwriting, came from the Governor. One of them was addressed to Baskett, the King’s printer, and another to a stationer, and these two, Benjamin was confident, were for him to take. In all he took seven or eight from the bag.

They arrived in London on the 24th of December, 1724, when Benjamin lacked about a month of being nineteen years old. Soon after he landed, he called upon the stationer to whom one of the letters was directed: “A letter, sir, from Governor Keith, of Pennsylvania, America!”

“I don’t know such a person,” replied the stationer, at the same time receiving the letter.

“O, this is from Riddlesden!” said he, on opening it. “I have lately found him to be a complete rascal, and I will have nothing to do with him, nor receive any letters from him;” and he handed back the letter to Benjamin, turned upon his heel, and left to wait upon a customer.

Benjamin was astonished and mortified. He had not the least suspicion that he was bearing any other than the Governor’s letter, and he was almost bewildered for a moment. The thought flashed into his mind that the Governor had deceived him. In a few moments his thoughts brought together the acts of the Governor in the matter, and now he could see clearly evidence of insincerity and duplicity. He immediately sought out Mr. Denham, a merchant, who came over in the Annis with him, and gave him a history of the affair.

“Governor Keith is a notorious deceiver,” said Mr. Denham. “I do not think he wrote a single letter for you, nor intended to do it. He has been deceiving you from beginning to end.”

“He pretended to have many acquaintances here,” added Benjamin, “to whom he promised to give me letters of credit, and I supposed that they would render me valuable assistance.”

“Letters of credit!” exclaimed Denham. “It is a ludicrous idea. How could he write letters of credit, when he has no credit of his own to give? No one who knows him has the least confidence in his character. There is no dependence to be placed upon him in anything. He is entirely irresponsible.”

“What, then, shall I do?” asked Benjamin with evident concern. “Here I am among strangers without the means of returning, and what shall I do?”

“I advise you to get employment in a printing-office here for the present. Among the printers here you will improve yourself, and, when you return to America, you will set up to greater advantage.”

There was no alternative left for Benjamin but to find work where he could, and make the best of it. Again he had “paid too dear for the whistle,” and must suffer for it. He took lodgings with Ralph in Little Britain, at three shillings and sixpence a week, and very soon obtained work at Palmer’s famous printing-house in Bartholomew Close, where he laboured nearly a year. Ralph was not so successful in getting a situation. He made application here and there, but in vain; and, after several weeks of fruitless attempts at securing a place, he decided to leave London, and teach a country school. Previously, however, in company with Benjamin, he spent much time at plays and public amusements. This was rather strange, since neither of them had been wont to waste their time and money in this way; and years after, Benjamin spoke of it as a great error of his life, which he deeply regretted. But Ralph’s departure put an end to this objectionable pleasure-seeking, and Benjamin returned to his studious habits when out of the office.

At this time, the ability to compose which he had carefully nurtured proved of great assistance to him. He was employed in the printing of Wollaston’s “Religion of Nature,” when he took exceptions to some of his reasoning, and wrote a dissertation thereon, and printed it, with the title, “A DISSERTATION ON LIBERTY AND NECESSITY, PLEASURE AND PAIN.” This pamphlet fell into the hands of one Lyons, a surgeon, author of a book entitled “The Infallibility of Human Judgment,” and he was so much pleased with it, that he sought out the author, and showed him marked attention. He introduced him to Dr. Mandeville, author of the “Fable of the Bees,” and to Dr. Pemberton, who promised to take him to see Sir Isaac Newton. Sir Hans Sloane invited him to his house in Bloomsbury Square, and showed him all his curiosities. In this way, the small pamphlet which he wrote introduced him to distinguished men, which was of much advantage to him.

While he lodged in Little Britain, he made the acquaintance of a bookseller, by the name of Wilcox, who had a very large collection of secondhand books. Benjamin wanted to gain access to them, but he could not command the means to purchase; so he hit upon this plan: he proposed to Wilcox to pay him a certain sum per book for as many as he might choose to take out, read, and return, and Wilcox accepted his offer. In this transaction was involved the principle of the modern circulating library. It was the first instance of lending books on record, and for that reason becomes an interesting fact. It was another of the influences that served to send him forward in a career of honour and fame.

When he first entered the printing-house in London, he did press-work. There were fifty workmen in the establishment, and all of them but Benjamin were great beer-drinkers; yet he could lift more, and endure more fatigue, than any of them. His companion at the press was a notorious drinker, and consumed daily “a pint of beer before breakfast, a pint at breakfast with his food, a pint between breakfast and dinner, a pint at dinner, a pint in the afternoon about six o’clock, and another when he had done his day’s work,” in all six pints per day. They had an alehouse boy always in attendance upon the workmen.

“A detestable habit,” said Benjamin to his fellow-pressman, “and a very expensive one, too.”

“I couldn’t endure the wear and tear of this hard work without it,” replied the toper.

“You could accomplish more work, and perform it better, by drinking nothing but cold water,” rejoined Benjamin. “There is nothing like it to make one strong and healthy.”

“Fudge! It may do for a Water-American like you, but Englishmen would become as weak as babes without it.”

“That is false,” said Benjamin. “With all your drinking strong beer in this establishment, you are the weakest set of workmen I ever saw. I have seen you tug away to carry a single form of type up and down stairs, when I always carry two. Your beer may be strong, but it makes you weak.”

“You Americans are odd fellows, I confess,” added the beer-swigger; “and you stick to your opinions like a tick.”

“But look here, my good fellow,” continued Benjamin. “Do you not see that the bodily strength afforded by beer can be only in proportion to the grain or flour of the barley dissolved in the water of which it is made? There must be more flour in a pennyworth of bread than there is in a whole quart of beer; therefore, if you eat that with a pint of water, it will give you more strength than two or three pints of beer. Is it not so?”

The man was obliged to acknowledge that it appeared to be so.

Benjamin continued: “You see that I am supplied with a large porringer of hot water-gruel, sprinkled with pepper, crumbled with bread, and a bit of butter in it, for just the price of a pint of beer, three-halfpence. Now, honestly, is not this much better for me, and for you, than the same amount of beer?”

Thus Benjamin thorned his companions with arguments against the prevailing habit of beer-drinking. Gradually he acquired an influence over many of them, by precept and example, and finally they abandoned their old habit, and followed his better way of living. He wrought a thorough reformation in the printing-office; and the fact shows what one young man can do in a good cause, if he will but set his face resolutely in that direction. Benjamin possessed the firmness, independence, and moral courage to carry out his principles, just the thing which many a youth of his age lack, and consequently make shipwreck of their hopes.

The only amusement which Benjamin seems to have enjoyed as much as he did literary recreation, was swimming. From his boyhood he delighted to be in the water, performing wonderful feats, and trying his skill in various ways. At one time he let up his kite, and, taking the string in his hand, lay upon his back on the top of the water, when the kite drew him a mile in a very agreeable manner. At another time he lay floating upon his back and slept for an hour by the watch. The skill which he had thus acquired in the art of swimming won him a reputation in England. On several occasions he exhibited his remarkable attainments of this kind, and the result was that he was applied to by Sir William Wyndham to teach his two sons to swim. Some advised him to open a swimming-school, and make it his profession; but he very wisely concluded to leave the water to the fish, and confine himself to the land.

Benjamin had been in London nearly eighteen months, when Mr. Denham, the merchant of whom we have spoken, proposed to him to return to Philadelphia, and act in the capacity of bookkeeper for him, and offered him fifty pounds a year, with the promise to promote him, and finally establish him in business. Benjamin had a high respect for Mr. Denham, and the new field of labour appeared to him inviting, so that he accepted the proposition with little hesitation, and made preparations to leave England, quitting for ever, as he thought, the art of printing, which he had thoroughly learned.

Forty years after Benjamin worked in Palmer’s printing-office, he visited England in the service of his country, widely known as a sagacious statesman and profound philosopher. He took occasion to visit the old office where he once laboured with the beer-drinkers, and, stepping up to the press on which he worked month after month, he said: “Come, my friends, we will drink together. It is now forty years since I worked, like you, at this press, as a journeyman printer.” With these words, he sent out for a gallon of porter, and they drank together according to the custom of the times. That press, on which he worked in London, is now in the Patent-office at Washington.