"If he be our Superior in the Thing wherein he praises us," returned Father. "His Praise is then a Medal of Reward; but it should never be a current Coin, bandied from one to another. And the Inferior may never praise the Superior." Uncle was silent a Moment, and then softly uttered, "My Soul, praise the Lord." "There you have me," says Father, instantly softening. "Laud we the Name of the Lord, but let's not laud one another." "Ah! I can't wait to argue the Point," says Uncle. "I must back to the _Temple_." "Stay a Moment, _Kit_. Have you seen 'the Mysterie of Jesuitism?'" "No; have _you_ seen the Proof that _London_, not _Rome_, is the City on seven Hills? _Ludgate Hill, Fishstreet Hill, Dowgate Hill, Garlick Hill, Saffron Hill, Holborn Hill_, and _Tower Hill_. Clear as Day!" "Where's _Snow Hill_? Come, don't go yet. We will fight over some of our old Feuds. There will be a roast Pig on Table at one o'clock, and, I fancy, a Tansy-pudding." "_I_ can't fancy Tansy-pudding," says Uncle, shuddering; "I cannot abide Tansies, even in Lent. Besides, I'm expecting a Reference." "Oh! very well; then drop in again in the Evening, if you will; and very likely you will meet _Cyriack Skinner_. And you shall have cold Pig for Supper, not forgetting the Current-sauce, _Wiltshire_ Cheese, Carraways, and some of your own Wine." "Well, that sounds good. I don't mind if I do," says Uncle; "but don't expect me after nine." "I'm in Bed by nine," says Father. "Oh, oh!" says Uncle; and with a comical Look at us, he went off.