THE IRISH COUPLE.
Albany—The Irish mother—Incidents that occured five years ago—The disappointed emigrants—The Little Falls—Rural retirement.
Fairfield, N. Y., Sept. 22.
Our stopping place in Albany was at Congress Hall, which we reached some time before the sun sent his resplendent beams abroad: the morning was damp and hazy, and upon the whole every thing looked dull and gloomy around us. We were, however, occupying one of the most delightful positions in the place—our inn being located on one corner of the beautiful enclosure in front of the capitol or state-house, whence we could overlook almost the entire city. As I sat down by a window which commanded a view of the state-house park, or square, my travelling companion directed my attention to a female, who with tattered vestments and feeble steps, was pacing backwards and forwards one of the gravelled walks in the verdant enclosure before us. She was carrying in her arms a sickly looking infant, some nine or ten months old, and the whole appearance both of the mother and child, seemed to indicate that they were houseless wanderers, and had passed the night without a shelter. As in her continued walks up and down the gravelled avenue, she occasionally approached near the window where we sat, I saw that she was about middle aged, and had evidently once had a fine and expressive countenance, though the traces of sorrow and grief were now deeply worn there.
We were called to our breakfast: as soon as it was dispatched we hurried away from our hotel to the grand railroad depot, whence we were to take our departure westward. On our way we passed directly by the gravelled walk, where we had seen the poor woman, who had so much excited our sympathy. She now sat on the ground, her infant sleeping in her lap, and herself apparently absorbed in melancholy. She was evidently of Irish extraction, and though her appearance bore evidence of extreme poverty, there were no indications about her of intemperance. I could not but think what a tale of sorrow, of disappointed hopes, and perhaps of cruelly blighted innocence, would that Irish mother's history, if recorded, unfold. My thoughts immediately went back to that beautiful Emerald Isle, over whose green fields I had so recently roamed. Though I had seen some misery there, I had seen much happiness and contentment. I verily believe there is often to be found more real happiness in the mud cottage than in the gilded palace. The Irish have strong and generous feelings, and strong family affection. As I saw that poor Irish mother sitting there upon the ground, so forlorn and desolate, my imagination pictured to me her early home, where she passed her childhood beneath the glad eye of her affectionate parents. They saw her grow up, the pride of their heart, and thought that she would be the solace of their declining years. But the tempter came—she was lured from her home—she passed over the deep waters, and found herself in a foreign land. Her base husband soon showed himself the degraded victim of intemperance, and after a few years deserted her—leaving her houseless, homeless, in poverty, and broken-hearted sorrow. Perhaps in point of fact there were no lines in the history of that poor Irish mother in correspondence with this picture, but I believe, if the real history of many an emigrant from that green isle were known, we should feel more kindly to that people, and the heart and hand of Christian charity would be more frequently open to relieve the destitute among them. I know not where we shall find on earth such noble elements of character as in the Irish race. I confess I have been charmed and filled with admiration with some specimens I have met of Irish Christian gentlemen. I cannot turn my face away from any poor Irishman who asks alms at my door, unless he be manifestly the victim of intemperance, and begs to procure the means of indulgence in this sin. It is true we are sometimes liable to be deceived. Clothes and money are sometimes procured under false pretexts. But even then they may minister to the comfort of the destitute, and if we have given for Christ's sake, we shall not lose our reward.
I do not mean by these remarks to intimate that I regard it as a Christian duty to give to all without discrimination who ask alms at our hands—but simply to say, that I think it better to give to twenty undeserving objects than to turn our face away from one who is Christ's representative here on earth. (Mat. xxv. 35-46.) Neither do I mean to affirm, that there is not danger of being deceived by some who make large demands upon us for assistance. In such cases we should undoubtedly proceed with great caution: and even then, after all, we may be beguiled. A case in point now occurs to me.
While residing in New England, on a dull, cold, rainy Saturday afternoon, some five years ago, I heard a ring at my door. As the servant did not immediately appear to answer the call, I myself went to the door, where I found two persons in shabby and tattered dress, standing on the steps, with their clothes dripping with rain. The female was the first to speak, inquiring if I would not render some assistance to a distressed couple, who were extremely destitute, and far from country and home. The tones of her voice were so sweet and gentle, her manners so modest and unobtrusive, and the language which she used so well chosen, and even elegant, I felt convinced that they had indeed seen better days, and I should have done the greatest violence to my feelings, and every better principle of my nature, had I not opened my door and bid them enter. After they had dried themselves by the fire, and partaken of some refreshment, I asked them to tell me their history. The outline of it was as follows:—They were both natives of Ireland, where they had always resided till about four years since. Mrs. S——, the name of this female, and the wife of the man who accompanied her, was the daughter of a clergyman of the Established Church, who was vicar of a parish in Ireland, the name of which I do not now recollect. She was brought up in great tenderness and highly educated, as she was an only daughter. Being a novel reader and full of romantic ideas, she took it into her head to fall in love with a young bricklayer, who was engaged in working upon a house that was building near the vicarage. She found means of meeting him unknown to her parents, and they were soon engaged to be married. At the appointed time she stole away secretly from home, met her lover at a specified spot, and then they went together to a distant part of the country, where they were married. She then sent home to her parents, confessing the whole affair. They were very indignant, and returned so severe an answer, that she and her husband concluded to embark at once for America.—They soon put their resolution into execution, and after a very long voyage found themselves at Montreal, without any means of subsistence. Her husband succeeded in obtaining some employment, so that they lived along comfortably for nearly a year. About this time she became the mother of a little daughter; and accidentally hearing that the Rev. Mr. ----, who was a brother of her mother's, and had been in this country several years, was residing at Troy, she persuaded her husband to go with her in quest of her uncle. When they reached Troy, they found that there was no Rev. Mr. —— residing there. Here they lived for some time, Mr. S—— hiring himself out to a builder, who was carrying on a large business there. After S—— had earned about one hundred dollars besides his living, this builder unexpectedly failed, and absconded without paying off any of his hands. S—— was again left in poverty, and without employment. A few months before, their little babe had sickened and died. They had recently heard that their relative resided in Boston. They therefore started off with the hope of finding him: having at length reached Northampton in great destitution, they made known their situation to the Rev. Dr. P——, who relieved them from present distress, and informed them that the clergyman whom they were seeking lived in Philadelphia. With a view of going thither they had come to the place where I resided. The whole story appeared natural, and though they told it to a number of different individuals, they never contradicted themselves. Mr. S—— was rough and uncultivated—just such a man as a bricklayer would be. On the other hand Mrs. S—— was evidently an accomplished lady. She was acquainted with books, played on the piano forte, and sung beautifully. A clergyman bearing the name of the one whom she claimed as her uncle, actually resided in Philadelphia, and had not long since visited England and Ireland, as she said. I could detect no incongruity in any part of the narrative. They remained with us a week—during which time a number of our friends fitted them both out with new apparel, and procured for them the means of travelling with comfort to Philadelphia. I have seldom known so much sympathy to be awakened for destitute strangers as there was in their case. Several individuals accompanied them to the steamboat when they left, and wished them God speed. I sent by them a letter to the Rev. Mr. —— informing him of the facts above related. This was the last I ever heard of them! I saw the Rev. Mr. —— in a few months; he informed me he had never received the letter, that he had no relatives in Ireland, and that so far as he was concerned it must have been a sheer fabrication. My friends and myself, when these facts came to our knowledge, had a hearty laugh over this affair, and though we regretted that this Irish couple had used such deception, at least in one particular we did not regret that we had fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and sent them on their way with solemn admonitions about the salvation of their souls.
Very little of interest is to be seen on the way between Albany and Schenectady across those sandy plains, save the distant tops of the Cattskill to the south, and the misty summits of the Green mountains to the north. Our course from Schenectady up the valley of the Mohawk was very delightful. The beautiful sylvan scenery up this valley, with its broken sheets of water, and dark rich verdure, reminded me of some scenes in England, which I can never forget. I need not describe the grand and rugged mountain scenery which nature has thrown up in forms of singular wildness around the Little Falls, nor the upland and undulating country through which one has to pass to reach the spot whence I write.
Here then, I am, far away from the strife of tongues, the agitations of business, and the dust and din of the city. The green hills are all around me, presenting a coat of dark rich verdure, which shows that they have not this season felt the blight of the withering and far-spread drought. All amid these retired hills appears full of quietness and repose—a fit place in which to study one's own heart and try to get nearer to heaven. I attended the other evening, what in England would be denominated a cottage meeting. The inhabitants of the neighbourhood were gathered together in a private house, and after suitable devotions conducted by the pastor, the people were familiarly and solemnly addressed on the subject of their immortal interests. These meetings, I understand, are held weekly in different parts of the village, and will, I doubt not, carry salvation to many a house. What an inexpressible blessing is a faithful pastor, who cares for the flock, and uses every means in his power to guide them in the way everlasting!