I have forgotten what was Mr. Denham's diſorder; but it was a tedious one, and he at laſt ſunk under it. He left me a ſmall legacy in his will, as a teſtimony of his friendship; and I was once more abandoned to myſelf in the wide world, the warehouſe being confided to the care of the teſtamentary executor, who diſmiſſed me.
My brother-in-law, Holmes, who happened to be at Philadelphia, adviſed me to return to my former profeſſion; and Keimer offered me a very conſiderable ſalary if I would undertake the management of his printing-office, that he might devote himſelf entirely to the ſuperintendence of his ſhop. His wife and relations in London had given me a bad character of him; and I was loth, for the preſent, to have any concern with him. I endeavoured to get employment as a clerk to a merchant; but not readily finding a ſituation, I was induced to accept Keimer's propoſal.
The following were the perſons I found in his printing-houſe.
Hugh Meredith, a Penſylvanian, about thirty five years of age. He had been brought up to huſbandry, was honeſt, ſenſible, had ſome experience, and was fond of reading; but too much addicted to drinking.
Stephen Potts, a young ruſtic, juſt broke from ſchool, and of ruſtic education, with endowments rather above the common order, and a competent portion of underſtanding and gaiety; but a little idle. Keimer had engaged theſe two at very low wages, which he had promiſed to raiſe every three months a ſhilling a week, provided their improvement in the typographic art ſhould merit it. This future increaſe of wages was the bait he made uſe of to enſnare them.
