“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.”