ve deformity, to the present time, when the general civilization
and protection enjoyed in this enlightened age, has left nought but the
grim shadow of the destructive form which harassed and menaced our
trembling ancestors. We are happy to observe that increasing
attendance at the Mechanics' Institute of Abbeychurch, seems to prove
that the benefits of education are becoming more fully appreciated by
all classes. We observed last Friday, at the able lecture of Mr.
Mills, among a numerous assemblage of the distinguished inhabitants and
visitors of Abbeychurch, Miss Merton, daughter of Sir Edward Merton, of
Merton Hall, Baronet, together with the fair and accomplished daughters
of the Rev. H. Woodbourne, our respected Vicar.'

'I shall certainly contradict it,' continued Mr. Woodbourne, while
Elizabeth was becoming sensible of the contents of the paragraph; 'I
did not care what Higgins chose to any of my principles, but this is a
plain fact, which may be believed if it is not contradicted.'

'O Mamma, have not you told him?' said Elizabeth faintly.

'What, do you mean to say that this is true?' exclaimed Mr. Woodbourne,
in a voice which sounded to Elizabeth like a clap of thunder.

'Indeed, Papa,' said she, once looking up in his face, and then bending
her eyes on the ground, while the colour in her checks grew deeper and
deeper; 'I am sorry to say that it is quite true, that we did so very
wrong and foolishly as to go. Helen and Lucy alone were sensible and
strong-minded enough to refuse to go.'

Mr. Woodbourne paced rapidly up and down the room, and Elizabeth
plainly saw that his displeasure was great.

'But, Mr. Woodbourne,' said her mamma, 'she did not know that it was
wrong. Do you not remember that she was not at home at the time that
Socialist was here? and I never told her of all that passed then. You
see it was entirely my fault.'

'Oh! no, no, Mamma, do not say so!' said Elizabeth; 'it was entirely
mine. I was led away by my foolish eagerness and self-will, I was bent
on my own way, and cast aside all warnings, and now I see what mischief
I have done. Cannot you do anything to repair it, Papa? cannot you say
that it was all my doing, my wilfulness, my carelessness of warning, my
perverseness?'

'I wish I had known it before,' said Mr. Woodbourne, 'I could at least
have spoken to Mr. Turner on Saturday, and prevented the Mertons' name
from appearing.'

'I did not tell you because I had no opportu