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!
CHAPTER XVI.
WESTERN NEW YORK.
Fairfield, N. Y., Oct. 1.
Within the last week I have made an excursion into the central part of Western New York. I never fail, while travelling through this region, to be impressed with the conviction, that this is the garden of America! The soil itself has in every field you pass, and upon every hill-side and vale to which you turn your eye, ten thousand witnesses to attest its astonishing fertility. And then there are treasures beneath the soil more valuable than silver or gold, in the vast beds of lime and plaster, and the exhaustless saline springs, scattered at different points over this region. Here, also, you have beautiful scenery in ten thousand varied forms: and if you wish to view nature in one of her more awful moods, you have only to draw near and listen to the tremendous roar of Niagara, and see the collected waters of an hundred lakes, dashed headlong in one great, furious tide, down the vast precipice, to the deep, rocky channel below.