At Newport they took in a number of passengers, among whom was a Quaker lady and her servants, and two young women. Benjamin was very attentive in assisting the Quaker lady about her baggage, for which she was very thankful. He soon became acquainted with the two young women, and they laughed and chatted together. They were handsomely attired, appeared intelligent, and were extremely sociable. The motherly Quaker lady saw that there was a growing familiarity between them, and she called Benjamin aside, feeling for him somewhat as she would for a son, and said: "Young man, I am concerned for thee, as thou hast no friend with thee, and seems not to know much of the world, or of the snares youth is exposed to; depend upon it, these are very bad women; I can see it by all their actions; and if thou art not upon thy guard, they will draw thee into some danger; they are strangers to thee, and I advise thee, in a friendly concern for thy welfare, to have no acquaintance with them." "Indeed," said Benjamin, with much surprise, "I see nothing out of the way in them. They are intelligent and social; and I am rather surprised at your suspicions." "But I have heard them say enough to convince me that my suspicions are well founded," replied the old lady; and she repeated to him some of their conversation which she had overheard. "You are right, then," quickly answered Benjamin, after listening to her. "I am much obliged to you for your advice, and I will heed it." Just before they arrived at New York, the young women invited him to call at their residence, naming the street and number, but he did not accept their invitation. The next day the captain missed a silver spoon and other things from the cabin, and suspecting the two girls, had their residence searched, where the missing articles were found, in consequence of which the artful thieves were punished. Benjamin always felt thankful to the old lady for her timely warning, and considered that following her advice probably saved him from trouble and ruin. Collins had been in New York several days when Benjamin arrived. The latter was astounded to find him intoxicated when they met. "Can it be," he exclaimed to Collins, "that you are intemperate?" "I intemperate!" retorted Collins, disposed to resent the accusation. "Do you call me drunk?" "No, you are not exactly drunk; but then you are disguised with liquor, and I am utterly astonished. Once you was as temperate and industrious as any young man in Boston, and far more respected than most of them. How did it happen that you formed this evil habit?" Collins saw that he could not deceive Benjamin; so he made a clean breast of the matter, and confessed to have formed intemperate habits soon after Benjamin first left Boston. He said that his appetite for brandy was strong, and that he had been intoxicated every day since his arrival in New York. "I have lost all my money," he said, "and have nothing to pay my bills."