We come to the substantial gate that is the entrance to the pretty farm,
and a curious and a motley group is there. We see such groups almost
daily, here in Carmarthenshire; but as all the counties of England and
Wales are not thoroughfares for the Irish from their country to England,
we will describe these poor people as graphically as we can. There is
evidently a consultation going on amongst them, and the general
attention is directed to one individual of their party.

This is a young girl of some seventeen or eighteen years of age. She is
seated on the ground, and leans her back against the stone wall that
flanks the substantial gate afore mentioned. To judge from her general
appearance she can scarcely belong to the ragged set that surround her,
for there is an attempt at neatness and cleanliness in her attire,
though it is poor enough, that the rest cannot boast of. She wears a
cotton gown, shawl, straw bonnet, and shoes and stockings, which were
once respectable and seem to have been originally intended for her.
True, they are all worn and shabby-looking. The gown is faded, the
bonnet very brown, and the shoes have holes in them; but they indicate
a mind, or station, at least a degree above those of her companions. Her
head is so inclined upon her breast, that it is difficult to see more
than a pale face underneath the bonnet; but a pair of thin white hands
that rest listlessly upon her lap, still tend to induce the notion that
the girl cannot quite belong to the wild-looking company with which she
is mixed up.

Right in front of her, and looking alternately from her to a man to whom
she is talking, stands a middle-aged woman of good-natured but terrified
aspect. A checked and ragged handkerchief confines her black, rough
hair--a torn red cloak covers a portion of her body, and a curious
collection of rags and tatters makes a vain effort to shelter the rest.