Chapter 2

"She's not fourteen."
"I'll lay fourteen of my teeth,
And yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four,--
She is not fourteen."--

_Romeo and Juliet._

Divine wisdom has commanded us to "Honour your father and your mother."
Observant travellers affirm that less respect is paid to parents in
America, than is usual in Christian nations--we say _Christian_ nations;
for many of the heathen, the Chinese for instance, worship them, though
probably with an allegorical connection that we do not understand. That
the parental tie is more loose in this country than in most others we
believe, and there is a reason to be found for it in the migratory
habits of the people, and in the general looseness in all the ties that
connect men with the past. The laws on the subject of matrimony,
moreover, are so very lax, intercourse is so simple and has so many
facilities, and the young of the two sexes are left so much to
themselves, that it is no wonder children form that connection so often
without reflection and contrary to the wishes of their friends. Still,
the law of God is there, and we are among those who believe that a
neglect of its mandates is very apt to bring its punishment, even in
this world, and we are inclined to think that much of that which Mark
and Bridget subsequently suffered, was in consequence of acting directly
in the face of the wishes and injunctions of their parents.

The scene which had taken place under the roof of Doctor Yardley was
soon known under that of Doctor Woolston. Although the last individual
was fully aware that Bridget was what was then esteemed rich, at
Bristol, he cared not for her money. The girl he liked well enough, and
in secret even admired her as much as he could find it in his heart to
admire anything of Doctor Yardley's; but the indignity was one he was by
no means inclined to overlook, and, in his turn, he forbade all
intercourse between the girls. These two bitter pills, thus administered
by the village doctors to their respective patients, made the young
people very miserable. Bridget loved Anne almost as much as she loved
Mark, and she began to pine and alter in her appearance, in a way to
alarm her father. In order to divert her mind, he sent her to town, to
the care of an aunt, altogether forgetting that Mark's ship lay at the
wharves of Philadelphia, and that he could not have sent his daughter to
any place, out of Bristol, where the young man would be so likely to
find her. This danger the good doctor entirely overlooked, or, if he
thought of it at all, he must have fancied that his sister would keep a
sharp eye on the movements of the young sailor, and forbid him _her_
house, too.

Everything turned out as the