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fire, the night being cold, in October, and there we remained 'till day-light. Then one of the company knew the place to be Cooper's Creek, a little above Philadelphia, which we saw as soon as we got out of the Creek, and arrived there about eight or nine o'clock on the Sunday morning, and landed at Market-street wharf.

I have been the more particular in this description of my journey, and shall be so of my first entry into that city, that you may in your mind compare such unlikely beginnings, with the figure I have since made there. I was in my working dress, my best clothes coming round by sea. I was dirty from my being so long in the boat: my pockets were stuffed out with shirts and stockings, and I knew no one nor where to look for lodging. Fatigued with walking, rowing, and the want of sleep, I was very hungry; and my whole stock of cash consisted in a single dollar, and about a shilling in copper coin, which I gave to the boatmen for my passage. At first they refused it, on account of my having rowed, but I insisted on their taking it. Man is sometimes more generous when he has little money, than when he has plenty; perhaps to prevent his being thought to have but little. I walked towards the top of the street, gazing about 'till near Market Street, where I met a boy with bread. I had often made a meal of dry bread, and enquiring where he had bought it, I went immediately to the baker's he directed me to. I

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asked for biscuits, meaning such as we had at Boston: that sort, it seems, was not made in Philadelphia. I then asked for a three-penny loaf, and was told they had none. Not knowing the different prices, nor the names of the different sorts of bread, I told him to give me three-penny worth of any sort. He gave me accordingly three great puffy rolls. I was surprized at the quantity, but took it, and having no room in my pockets, walked off with a roll under each arm, and eating the other. Thus I went up Market Street as far as Fourth Street, passing by the door of Mr. Read, my future wife's father; when she, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I made, as I certainly did, a most awkward ridiculous appearance. Then I turned and went down Chesnut Street and part of Walnut Street, eating my roll all the way, and coming round found myself again at Market Street Wharf, near the boat I came in, to which I went for a draught of the river water; and being filled with one of my rolls, gave the other two to a woman and her child that came down the river in the boat with us, and were waiting to go farther. Thus refreshed I walked again up the street, which by this time had many clean dressed people in it, who were all walking the same way: I joined them and thereby was led into the great meeting-house of the Quakers near the market. I sat down among them, and after looking round a while, and hearing nothing said, being very drowsy through labor and want

of rest the preceding night, I fell fast asleep and continued so till the meeting broke up, when some one was kind enough to rouse me. This therefore was the first house I was in, or slept in, in Philadelphia.

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I then walked down towards the river, and looking in the faces of every one, I met a young Quaker man whose countenance pleased me, and accosting him requested he would tell me where a stranger could get a lodging. We were then near the sign of the Three Mariners. Here," said he, "is a house where they receive strangers, but it is not a reputable one; if thee wilt walk with me, I'll shew thee a better one;" and he conducted me to the Crooked Billet in Water street. There I got a dinner; and while I was eating, several questions were asked me; as from my youth and appearance I was suspected of being a runaway. After dinner my host having shewn me to a bed, I lay myself on it, without undressing, and slept till six in the evening, when I was called to supper. I went to bed again very early, and slept very soundly 'till next morning. Then I dressed myself as neat as I could, and went to Andrew Bradford the printer's. I found in the shop the old man his father, whom I had seen at New York, and who, travelling on horseback, had got to Philadelphia before me. He introduced me to his son, who received me civilly, gave me a breakfast, but told me he did not at present want a hand, being lately supplied with

one: but there was another printer in town lately set up, one Keimer, who perhaps might employ me: if not, I should be welcome to lodge at his house, and he would give me a little work to do now and then 'till fuller business should offer.

The old gentleman said he would go with me to the new printer; and when we found him, "Neighbour," said Bradford, "I have brought to see you, a young man of your business; perhaps you may want such a one." He asked me a few questions, put a composing-stick in my hand to see how I worked, and then said he would employ me soon, though he had just then nothing for me to do. And taking old Bradford, whom he had never seen before, to be one of the town's people that had a good-will for him, entered into a conversation on his present undertaking and prospects; while Bradford, (not discovering that he was the other printer's father,) on Keimer's saying he expected soon to get the greatest part of the business into his own hands, drew him on by artful questions, and starting little doubts, to explain all his views, what influence he relied on, and in what manner he intended to proceed. I, who stood by and heard all, saw immediately that one was a crafty old sophister, and the other a true novice. Bradford left me with Keimer, who was greatly surprized when I told him who the old man was.

The printing-house, I found, consisted of an old damaged press and a small worn-out fount o

English types which he was using himself, composing an Elegy on Aquila Rose, before mentioned; an ingenious young man, of excellent character, much respected in the town, secretary to the assembly, and a pretty poet. Keimer made verses too, but very indifferently. He could not be said to write them, for his method was to compose them in the types directly out of his head; there being no copy, but one pair of cases, and the Elegy probably requiring all the letter, no one could help him. I endeavoured to put his press (which he had not yet used and of which he understood nothing) into order to be worked with; and promising to come and print off his Elegy as soon as he should have got it ready, I returned to Bradford's, who gave me a little job to do for the present, and there I lodged and dieted. A few days after Keimer sent for me to print off the Elegy. And now he had got another pair of cases, and a pamphlet to reprint, on which he set me to work.

These two printers. I found poorly qualified for their business. Bradford had not been bred to it, and was very illiterate; and Keimer, though something of a scholar, was a mere compositor, knowing nothing of press-work. He had been one of the French prophets, and could act their enthusiastic agitations. At this time he did not profess any particular religion, but something of all on occasion; was very ignorant of the world, and had, as I afterwards found, a good deal of the knave in

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