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.