"Mayhap, miss, mayhap; but 'tis too late now for old Jack Phillips to 'bout ship, and make a fool of himself, by hauling up for the gulf of matrimony."
"Gulf? Fie, captain!" exclaimed Rose; "you should call it a bay, or happy haven."
"Do you know, captain, how they treated old bachelors in Sparta?" asked the doctor.
"Stopped their grog, mayhap, or keel-hauled 'em, I shouldn't wonder."
"They were stripped of their clothes, and in the coldest days of winter were forced to run through the principal streets, chanting songs, full of sharp sarcasms upon their own condition."
"Deuced hard lines, doctor; was there any other nice little thing they made us do?"
"Yes," resumed the doctor, furbishing up his Scotch latinity to punish the captain for making Rosa blush, "Athenæus, the grammarian of Naucratis——"
"My eyes! there's a name to turn in of a night with!"
"Well, he tells us that there was, every year, a laughable festival celebrated in a great temple, at which all the bachelors of a certain age were compelled to attend, that the ladies might taunt, mock them, and slap their faces as much as they pleased."
Honest Phillips rubbed his curly head, the brown hair of which was becoming thickly seamed with gray, slapped his sturdy thigh, and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.