Benjamin immediately sought an interview with Governor Keith, and told
him the result of his visit home, and gave his father's reasons for
declining to assist him.

"But since he will not set you up," said the Governor, "I will do it
myself. Give me an inventory of the things necessary to be had from
England, and I will send for them. You shall repay me when you are
able; I am resolved to have a good printer here, and I am sure you
must succeed."

This was said with such apparent cordiality that Benjamin did not
doubt that he meant just what he affirmed, so he yielded to his
suggestion to make out an inventory of necessary articles. In the
meantime he went to work for Keimer.

CHAPTER XX.

A LITERARY GAME.

At this point it is necessary to speak of Benjamin's associates. He
was not long in finding new acquaintances in Philadelphia. His
industry and general good habits won the respect and confidence of all
who came in contact with him. Among those who particularly pleased him
were three young men, Charles Osborne, Joseph Watson, and James Ralph,
all lovers of reading. Their literary tendencies no doubt attracted
Benjamin, and caused him to value their companionship more highly. The
first two were clerks of Charles Brockden, an eminent conveyancer of
the town, and the other was a merchant's clerk. Watson was a pious
young man of sterling integrity, while the others were more lax in
their religious opinions and principles. All were sensible young men,
much above the average of this class in intellectual endowments.
Osborne and Ralph were imaginative and poetical, and frequently tried
their talents at verse-making.

Much of their leisure time was spent together, reading to each other,
and discussing what they read. Even their Sundays were often wickedly
devoted to such intellectual pastime on the banks of the Schuylkill,
whither they strolled, instead of visiting the house of God--all
except Watson, who had too much religious principle thus to desecrate
the Sabbath.

"You overrate your talent for poetry," said Osborne to Ralph, at one
of their interviews. "You will never make a poet, if you live to be as
old as Methuselah."

"Much obliged for your compliment," answered Ralph; "but it does not
alter my own opinion. All poets have their faults when they begin. It
is practice that makes perfect."

"It will take something more than practice to make a poet of you,"
continued Osborne. "That piece which you