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Lane, Cheapside, and introduced me to Doctor Mandeville, author of the 'Fable of the Bees,' who had a club there, of which he was the soul, being a most facetious, entertaining companion."

The religion in Benjamin's pamphlet, and that in Lyons' book, was well suited to a "pale-ale house." It was so pale as scarcely to be discernible in either book or pamphlet—almost entirely faded out. That was why Benjamin's pamphlet pleased Lyons so much-the religion in it was. not too much for a "pale-ale house."

Doctor Lyons introduced him, also, to one Doctor Pemberton, "at Batson's Coffee-house," a kindred spirit, whose coffee was stronger than his religion—a quick-witted, lively sort of a man. He was very familiar with Benjamin.

"Glad to know that your mind is interested in subjects of so grave importance," he said. "In a youth of your age it is evidence of a strong mind and expanding intellect."

"Most of my friends do not regard my views with the favour you express; they see evidence, rather, of mental weakness and distortion," said Benjamin in reply.

"It is because they do not investigate for themselves. They are content to receive opinions second-hand, labelled and fixed. How would you like to number Sir Isaac Newton among your friends?" Doctor Pemberton spoke as a man of authority.

"I should feel myself highly honoured," answered Benjamin. "Do you know him?”

"I have the honour of his acquaintance; and I will give you an introduction at some future time."

"I shall accept your favour with thanks ;" and Benjamin waited and waited for the opportunity, but it never came, probably because Newton could never be found in “an alehouse."

This was the outcome of Benjamin's literary venture; and the pleasantest part of the whole was that he lived to see the folly of his effort, especially its non-religious character.

He became satisfied that Mr. Watts was right when he declared the principles of his Dissertation "abominable."

At another time, while Benjamin worked at Watts', Sir Hans Sloane called upon him,—another notable London character of that day. Benjamin was taken aback when he met him, he could scarcely divine what this titled Englishman could want of him.

"I have heard of you, Mr. Franklin, as recently from America, and I have called to make your acquaintance," he said.

"Glad to meet you, Sir Hans," replied Benjamin, fully equal to the occasion. "I am at your service." "You are the author of a pamphlet called," and he gave the title, "are you ?”

"I am."

"I have not read it; but I have heard it discussed, and I concluded that a youth of your age must possess a strong mind to undertake such a treatise. And I understand that you brought many curiosities with you to this country." Now, Sir Hans was getting to the subject that was near to his heart; for he was a curiosity hunter.

"A few only-very few,” replied Benjamin.

"You have a purse, I understand, made of the asbestos, which purifies by fire?"

"Yes, sir, I have."

"I should be delighted to have you call upon me in Bloomsbury Square, and bring the purse; and I will show you my great collection of curiosities. I think you can spend a pleasant and profitable evening in that way."

"I will do it with the greatest pleasure, and be obliged for the opportunity," Benjamin answered.

And he did. The first opportunity he improved to take the asbestos purse to Bloomsbury Square, where he had a splendid time examining the best collection of curiosities. he had ever dreamed of, and where he discussed various topics of interest with the entertaining Sir Hans.

Now," said the host, as Benjamin was about to leave, "I should be glad to add the asbestos purse to my collection, and I will pay you well for it," naming the amount.

"I will accommodate you and leave it." Benjamin was happy to add to Sir Hans' collection, in the circumstances.

Benjamin felt the need of more physical exercise, so that when he entered the printing house, he "took to working at press." He drank water only; all other employés, about fifty of them, drank strong beer. He was really a curiosity to them.

"Beer-guzzling is a detestable habit," he said to a fellowworkman, "and it is a very expensive one, too, for a poor fellow like you."

"I couldn't do a decent day's work without beer. I drink it for strength."

"So much the worse for you; beer strength is the worst sort of weakness," continued Benjamin. "Just stop a moment and think what a beer-barrel you make of yourself; a pint before breakfast, a pint at breakfast, a pint between breakfast and dinner, a pint at dinner, a pint in the afternoon, a pint at six o'clock, and a pint when you have done work-almost a gallon each day! Why, I couldn't hold half as much as that; I should run over."

"Then you don't believe a man can do more work for drinking strong beer?"

"Of course I don't. I can do more work than any man in the establishment, and I can lift more than any other man here; and I drink nothing but water. If beer imparts the strength you imagine, anyone of you ought to do more work and lift more than I can; isn't that so?"

The workmen had good reason to believe this; for Benjamin had kept his eyes and ears open from the time he entered the printing house, and he had learned just what the men thought about beer, why they drank it, how much work they did, and how much they could lift. Without saying a word about it, he took special pains to turn off a


large amount of work, and to lift more than his fellow-workFor example, he would carry two formes of type, one in each hand, up and down stairs, while the other workmen carried but one with both hands. Therefore, Watts (the name of the workman) knew that everything Benjamin claimed about strength was true.

"Are all Americans like you?" inquired the workman. "No; too many of them are like you, I am sorry to say; they drink beer and other intoxicants, that disqualify them for business. If more of them would drink water, as I do, they would be far better off physically and pecuniarily.”

"Some of our best doctors claim that there is much nutriment in beer," he suggested.

"And every one of them knows that there is more nutriment in a pennyworth of bread than there is in a whole gallon of beer. Therefore, if you eat the bread and drink the water, you get more strength."

The printer acknowledged that there was something in that.

"You see," continued Benjamin, "that all the nutriment there is in the barley is destroyed to convert it into beer. Your beer is very dirty water made bitter with hops, out of which nearly every particle of nutriment has been squeezed. There is as much nourishment in dishwater as there is in that stuff."

"Here, Jake, where are you?" called out another workman. Bring on the beer."

Jake was the ale-boy, whose business it was to supply the men with beer from the ale-house.

"Another nuisance required by your beer business," exclaimed Benjamin. "Better by far pay a boy double price to bring water from the well, instead of bringing that stuff to absorb your money and sodden your brain.

"A water-American, indeed!" said Mr. Watts, who heard much of the conversation. "But will you not allow some comfort to hard-working men?"

'Certainly; that is what I am after. There is more comfort in one glass of pure water than there is in a whole barrel of beer. Here is Watts, paying out four or five shillings every week for beer, when water would cost him nothing, and he would have that amount to spend for genuine comforts. Besides, beer unfits him to get real comfort out of anything, not even out of his home."

"You are about right on that,” replied Watts; "beer does make a class of men most miserable. But must I discard it

because some men use it to their injury?"

"Of course you must," Benjamin answered, quickly and triumphantly. "There is where duty and right come in. The strong must bear the infirmities of the weak, or they won't amount to much in the world."

"Many of them won't amount to much any way, beer or no beer," responded Watts.

"Any of them will amount to more with water than they will with beer," retorted Benjamin, who felt competent to support his side of the question. He went on :—

"Look here: I am supplied with a large porringer of hotwater 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, Mr. Watts, or for yourself, than the same amount of filthy beer?"

"Possibly; it is a new view of the case to me,” was all that Mr. Watts could say, evidently conceding that Benjamin was about right.

Benjamin exchanged the press-room for the composingroom, after a few weeks.

"A treat now, Ben; that is the condition of admission here," said the men.

"I guess not; I fulfilled that condition in the press-room," answered Benjamin. "Once will do in this establishment." "But you will," retorted a fellow-worker, enforced by a dozen voices. "The rule is irrevocable."

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