Bradford left me with Keimer, who was
greatly surpris'd when I told him who the old man was.
Keimer's printing-house, I found, consisted of an old shatter'd press,
and one small, worn-out font of English which he was then using himself,
composing an Elegy on Aquila Rose, before mentioned, an ingenious
young man, of excellent character, much respected in the town,
clerk of the Assembly, and a pretty poet. Keimer made verses too,
but very indifferently. He could not be said to write them, for his
manner was to compose them in the types directly out of his head.
So there being no copy, but one pair of cases, and the Elegy
likely to require all the letter, no one could help him.
I endeavor'd to put his press (which he had not yet us'd, and of
which he understood nothing) into order fit to be work'd with;
and, promising to come and print off his Elegy as soon as he
should have got it ready, I return'd 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, tho' something of a scholar, was a mere compositor,
knowing nothing of presswork. 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 afterward found,
a good deal of the knave in his composition.
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