“Was Dr. Monson consulted at all, aunt?”

“Not at all.  You know the doctors are all against hydropathy, and mesmerism, and the magnetic telegraph, and everything that is new; so we thought it best not to consult him.”

“And my aunt Sprague?”

“Yes, she was consulted after everything was settled, and when I knew her notions could not undo what had been already done.  But she is a seaman’s widow, as well as myself, and has a great notion of the virtue of sea air.”

“Then it would seem that Doctor Spike was the principal adviser in my case!”

“I own that he was, Rosy dear.  Captain Spike was brought up by your uncle, who has often told me what a thorough seaman he was. `There’s Spike, now,’ he said to me one day, `he can almost make his brig talk’—­this very brig too, your uncle meant, Rosy, and, of course, one of the best vessels in the world to take hydropathy in.”

“Yes, aunty,” returned Rose, playing with the pen, while her air proved how little her mind was in her words.  “Well, what shall I say next to my aunt Sprague?”

“Rose’s health is already becoming confirmed,” resumed the widow, who thought it best to encourage her niece by as strong terms as she could employ, “and I shall extol hydropathy to the skies, as long as I live.  As soon as we reach our port of destination, my dear sister Sprague, I shall write you a line to let you know it, by the magnetic telegraph—­”

“But there is no magnetic telegraph on the sea, aunty,” interrupted Rose, looking up from the paper, with her clear, serene, blue eyes, expressing even her surprise, at this touch of the relict’s ignorance.

“Don’t tell me that, Rosy, child, when everybody says the sparks will fly round the whole earth, just as soon as they will fly from New York to Philadelphia.”

“But they must have something to fly on, aunty; and the ocean will not sustain wires, or posts.”

“Well, there is no need of being so particular; if there is no telegraph, the letter must come by mail.  You can say telegraph, here, and when your aunt gets the letter, the postmark will tell her how it came.  It looks better to talk about telegraphic communications, child.”

Rose resumed her pen, and wrote at her aunt’s dictation, as follows:—­“By the magnetic telegraph, when I hope to be able to tell you that our dear Rose is well.  As yet, we both enjoy the ocean exceedingly; but when we get off the Sound, into blue water, and have sent the pilot ashore, or discharged him, I ought to say, which puts me in mind of telling you that a cannon was discharged at us only last night, and that the ball whistled so near me, that I heard it as plain as ever you heard Rose’s piano.”

“Had I not better first tell my aunt Sprague what is to be done when the pilot is discharged?”

“No; tell her about the cannon that was discharged, first, and about the ball that I heard.  I had almost forgot that adventure, which was a very remarkable one, was it not, Biddy?”