"I don't see much present Chance of it," says Father. "Such a King, and such a Court!"
"The King and Court will soon shift Quarters, I understand," says Uncle; "for Fear of this coming Sickness. 'Twould be a rare Thing, indeed, for the King to take the Plague!"
"Why not the King, as well as any of his Commons?" says Father. "Tush! I am tired of the Account People make of him. 'Is Philip dead?' 'No; but he is sick.' Pray, what is it to us, whether Philip is sick or not?"
"Which of the Phillipses, my Dear?" asks Mother. "Did you say Jack
Phillips was sick?"
"No, dear Betty; only a King of Macedon, who lived a long Time ago."
"Doctor Brice commends you much for your grounding the Phillipses so excellently in the Classicks," says Uncle.
"He should think whether his Praise is much worth having," says Father, rather haughtily. "The young Men were indebted to me for a competent Knowledge of the learned Tongues—no more."
"Nay, somewhat more," rejoined Uncle; "and the Praise of a worthy Man is surely always worth having."
"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."