Among other subjects which engaged Franklin's pen at this time was a question of vital interest, as he thought, to the empire. Under the masterly guidance of the great Pitt, England had come out victorious in the struggle with France, and the government was now debating whether Canada should be retained or given back to the French. The chief argument for surrendering the province was ominous of the future. "A neighbor that keeps us in some awe is not always the worst of neighbors.... If we acquire all Canada, we shall soon find North America itself too powerful and too populous to be governed by us at a distance." To this timid reasoning, which was attributed to William Burke, Franklin replied in a pamphlet, discussing the whole question with the utmost acumen, displaying the future greatness of the empire in America, and denying that the colonies would ever revolt. Touching this last apprehension he says: "There are so many causes that must operate to prevent it that I will venture to say a union amongst them for such a purpose is not merely improbable, it is impossible.... When I say such a union is impossible, I mean without the most grievous tyranny and oppression.... _The waves do not rise but when the wind blows._... What such an administration as the Duke of Alva's in the Netherlands might produce, I know not; but this, I think, I have a right to deem impossible." Strange words to come from Franklin in those days; but it is thought they were of considerable influence in the final decision of the question. Franklin indeed was always fond of prophesying the future greatness of America, and again in the diplomatic debates after the revolutionary war he long insisted that Canada should be severed from England and joined to the thirteen States. But our philosopher had much to occupy him besides politics. He had taken lodgings at No. 7 Craven Street with a Mrs. Stevenson, in whom and in whose daughter he found warm and congenial friends. His correspondence with "Dear Polly," the daughter, contains some of his most entertaining letters; and he even planned, but unsuccessfully, to make her the wife of his son William. His fame as a scientist had preceded him, and introduced him into the society of many distinguished men in England and Scotland, among whom his genial nature freely expanded. And nothing could stop the activity of his mind, not even sickness. For eight weeks he struggled with a fever, but the letter to his wife conveying the story of his illness reads as if he were almost willing to undergo such an experience for the opportunity of studying pathology which it offered.