New York. I was often led
to believe that my city would remain decent and a proper place to
raise a family. That was only a fairytale. All it took was one ship,
a ship carrying thousands of immigrants from Ireland. Then more ships
and more Irish folk. Pretty soon it seemed as though New York was
becoming a wasteland for common Irishmen to roam around. When I was
no more than ten, I could remember a war. A war between not between
two but two hundred men and more. How pitiful it is when men use
actions and not words. That was the reason that I knew I would never
wed. If all men did was fight and curse, then they were no use to me.
Then one day, one man changed that. One poor Irish boy. A thief no
less. However, before I go on. I believe that I must give a proper
introduction. My name is Harriet. Harriet Elizabeth Young.