returned to her work in a short time after, and continued to work at the mill in which she was maimed till a few months before the period in question, when, through severe illness, she had been compelled to stay at home. When sufficiently recovered, she went to resume work, but was told by the manager that she was not "to commence there any more, as it was not likely the master would give her as much for her work, with one arm, as he could get plenty others to work for the same wages with two." She thought the manager's ears had been poisoned by an overlooker, who wanted her to treat him during the Christmas recess, which she very properly and indignantly refused, and that unjust complaints had been made against her to the master, which had led to her discharge.

The manager lifted his humanity as high as possible, as he gave her eight shillings, telling her that "she must not see the manager any more." She said, and truly, she knew not what to do, as no other employer would find her work with one arm. The whole of her clothes, with the exception of the very scanty covering on her back, she had pawned to purchase food, and nothing but want, misery, and beggary stared her in the face.

She said she had sat for three days without fire, and nearly without food, before she could make up her mind to beg, and only then in a place where she was unknown. Such were the impressions her unfortunate lot had made on her, that although only twenty years of age, her hollow and dejected eyes, sunken cheeks, and wrinkled forehead gave her all the appearances of fifty. I then took down her residence, found her as much money as would keep her till the end of next week, told her to be of good cheer, and the whole circumstance should be laid before her late employer. Her work was all she wanted, and an effort I told her should be made. I wrote a letter to her late master, who was and is still one of the most extensive and opulent manufacturers in Britain, and is also a magistrate. After narrating to him the circumstances herein named, I made an appeal alike to his better judgment and his heart, as follows:

"Am I to understand, Sir, that an English gentleman, more especially one who either does or ought to adorn the British bench, has so far forgotten himself as to snap nearly asunder the ties that ought to bind servant and master together, and discharge from his employment a poor girl, who has lost one hand in his service, and turn her adrift disabled for life, to starve, steal, or beg, at this inclement season of the year. If one vestige of humanity or English sentiment still glows within you, I implore you by the sacred sanctity of that bench you ought to adorn when dispensing justice for your own honour and the honour of your order-to take again into your employ this poor, unfortunate, and I believe virtuous girl. If not some other means must be used to snatch her from her present state of wretchedness and misery."

At the end of the following week, I went over to visit her, at Nipper Town. Her appearance was much altered for the better. The gloom that was on her countenance the week before was exchanged for a cheerful

smile, and she seemed "a creature of another kind," so much do circumstances work on appearances and the mind. To shorten my tale, the gentleman, on receipt of the letter sent him, came down to his countinghouse, and sent immediately for the "Beggar Girl;" made every inquiry into the statements in the letter, before his book-keepers, and ordered them to put all down on paper, and then read the letter sent. Suffice it to say, that she was ordered to her work immediately, with instructions to inform me of the result. The overlooker rcccived notice to leave the premises, but on account of his family, and a promise not to offend any more, the notice was revoked. Mary, when last I heard of her, was still working there, and has ever since had less labour to perform, and is treated with the greatest kindness, and even courtesy, by all concerned in the ownership and government of the establishment.

This is another proof of the necessity of gentlemen who employ large numbers of people, being careful to whom they delegate their power. It also proves the necessity of the working classes appealing to the fountain head, in a proper and decorous manner, when they have anything whereof to complain, and experience proves that many of the misunderstandings that exist between employers and employed would be removed.

Mary and I occasionally see each other, and both rejoice that she is now earning her bread by honest industry, and is no longer the " Factory Beggar Girl."

"Count that day lost whose low descending sun,
Sees from thy hands, no worthy action done.

Ashton-under-Lyne, 14th Nov., 1856.

Cultivate your Men.

BY EDWIN WAUGH,

Author of "Come whom to thi Childer and Me," "Lancashire Sketches," &c.

T.

'Tis well to till your barren lands,

And drain your moss and fen,
And so give work to honest hands,
And food to famished men ;

For you'll not always stop the car
Unto this smothered cry :-
"Is there no chance, then, for us here
But to beg, to thieve, or die?"
Ye lordly horde of pompous men,
With Mammon-blinded eyes,
Think of the poverty and pain

Which moaning round you lies.

II.

With kindly guerdon, this green earth
Rewards the tiller's care,

And for her toiling sons gives birth
To harvests rich and fair;
But there's another, nobler field,
Big with immortal gain,—
The morasses of mind untilled,—
Go, cultivate your men !
Plough up the wastes of human mind,
Where weedy ign'rance grows!
You'll find the deserts of mankind
Will "blossom like the rose !"

III.

But penny-wise, pound-foolish thrift
Deludes this venal age;

Poor self's the all-engrossing drift,

And pelf the sov'reign rage;
E'en in the Church the lamp burus dim
That ought to light to heaven,
And that which fed its holy flame,
To low ambition's given !

Oh! till your wastes of human mind,
Where weedy ign'rance grows,
For treasure, there, you'll surely find,
Whose limit no man knows.

IV.

One holy eye o'erlooketh here,
Pride's wrong, and Sorrow's tears;
To it the world's pretence is clear,
Whatever cloak it wears,

And high and lowly tread one path,
Which leads into the grave,

Where false distinctions flit from death,

And tyrant blends with slave.

In life's short hour, with all your power, Work out what good ye can;

There's no investment yields such dower, As generous love for man.

Bety Ambos von Zweibrucken; or the Exile of Siberia.

AN EXTRAORDINARY STORY from life,

I was travelling from Weimar to Frankfort, and had stopped at a little town, one or two stages beyond Fulda. I was standing at the window of the inn which was opposite the post-house, and looking at a crowd of travellers who had just been disgorged from a huge eilwagen, or post-coach, which was standing there. Among them was one female, who, before I was aware, fixed my attention. Although closely enveloped in a winter dress from head to foot, her height, and the easy decision with which she moved, showed that her figure was fine and well-proportioned ; and, as the wind blew aside her black veil, I had a glimpse of features which still further excited my curiosity. I had time to consider her as she alighted, and walked over to the inn alone. She entered at once the room in which I was; summoned the waiter, whom she addressed in a good-humoured but rather familiar style, and ordered breakfast. While this was preparing, she threw off her travelling accoutrements: first, a dark cloak, richly lined with fur; one or two shawls; a sort of pelisse, or rather surtout, reaching to the knees, with long loose sleeves, such as you may see in the prints of Tartar or Muscovite costumes; this was made of beautiful Indian shawl, lined with blue silk, and trimmed with sables. Under these splendid and multifarious coverings she wore a dress of deep mourning. Her figure, when displayed, excited my admiration: it was one of the most perfect I ever beheld. Her feet, hands, and head were small in proportion to her figure. Her face was not so striking; it was pretty, rather than handsome; her whole appearance and manner gave me the idea of a farmer's buxom danghter: nothing could be more distinct from our notions of the lady-like, yet nothing could be more free from impropriety, more expressive of native innocence and modesty. But the splendour of her dress did not exactly suit with her deportment; it puzzled me.

I observed, when she drew off her glove, that she wore a number of silver rings, of a peculiar fashion, and among them a fine diamond. She walked up and down while her breakfast was preparing, seemingly lost in painful meditations; but when it appeared, she sat down and did justice to it, as one who had been many hours vithout food. While she was thus engaged, the conductor of the eilwagen, and one of the passengers, came in, and spoke to her with interest and respect. Soon afterward came the mistress of the inn, who had never deigned to notice me ; for it is not the

fashion in Germany. She came with an offer of particular services; and, from the conversation, I gathered, to my astonishment, that this young creature-she seemed not more than two or three and twenty-was on her way home, alone and unprotected, from—can you imagine? even from the wilds of Siberia! But then, what had brought her there? I listened, in hopes of discovering; but they all spoke so fast that I could make out nothing more.

Subsequently we met at Frankfort, where she was lodged in the same hotel, and I was enabled to offer her a seat in my vehicle to Mayence.

My heroine was the daughter of a rich brewer and wine merchant of Deuxponts. She was one of five children; two much older, and two much younger, than herself. The eldest brother was called Henri; he had early displayed such uncommon talents, and such a decided inclination for study, that his father was determined to give him all the advantages of a learned education, and sent him to the University of Erlangen, in Bavaria, whence he returned to his family with the highest testimonies of his talents and good conduct. His father now destined him for the clerical profession, with which his own wishes accorded. His sister fondly dwelt upon his praises, and described him, perhaps with a sister's partiality, as being not only the pride of his family, but of all his fellow-citizens; “tall, and handsome, and good," of a most bevenolent enthusiastic temper, and devoted to his studies. When he had been at home for some time, he attracted the notice of one of the princes of the north of Germany, with whom he travelled, I believe, in the capacity of secretary. Through the recommendation of this powerful patron, he became a professor of theology in a university of Courland: I think at Riga, or somewhere near it, for the name of this city was continually recurring in her narrative. Henri was at this time about eight and twenty.

While here, it was his fate to fall passionately in love with the daughter of a Jew merchant. His religious zeal mingled with his love; he was as anxious to convert his mistress as to possess her; and, in fact, the first was a necessary preliminary to the second: the consequences were all in the usual style of such matters. The relations discovered the correspondence, and the young Jewess was forbidden to see or to speak to her lover. They met in secret. What arguments he might use to convert this modern Jessica, I know not; but they prevailed. She declared herself convinced; and consented to fly with him beyond the frontiers, into Silesia, to be baptised, and to become his wife.

Apparently their plans were not well arranged, or betrayed; for they were pursued by her relations and the police, and overtaken before they reached the frontiers. The young man was accused of carrying off his Jewish love by force; and this, I believe, at Riga, where the Jews are protected, is a capital crime. The affair was brought before the tribunal, and the accused defended himself by declaring, that the girl had fled with him by her own free will; that she was a Christian, and his betrothed