You sometimes find in the same family, children of the same parents, who in all respects present the most striking contrast. They not only seem to be of different parentage, but of different races; unlike in physical conformation, in complexion, in features, in temperament, and in moral and intellectual qualities. They are sometimes to be found diametrically opposed to each other in tastes, pursuits, habits, and sympathies, though brought up under the same parental eye, subject to the same circumstances and conditions, and educated by the same teachers. Indeed, education does comparatively little toward the formation of character--that is to say, in the determination of the _individuality_ of character. It merely brings out, or _e-duces_ that character, the germs of which are born in us, and only want proper sunning, and warmth, and geniality, to bring them to maturity. You could scarcely have imagined that Elizabeth and Jane Byfield were in any way related to each other. They had not a feature in common. The one was a brilliant beauty, the other was plain in the extreme. Elizabeth had a dazzling complexion, bright, speaking eyes, an oval face, finely turned nose and chin, a mouth as pouting as if "a bee had stung it newly;" she was tall and lithe; taper, yet rounded--in short, she was a regular beauty, the belle of her neighborhood, pursued by admirers, besonneted by poetasters, serenaded by musical amateurs, toasted by spirit-loving old fogy bachelors, and last, but not least, she was the subject of many a tit-bit piece of scandal among her young lady rivals in the country-town of Barkstone. As for her sister Jane, with her demure, old-maidish air, her little dumpy, thick-set figure, her _retroussé_ nose, and dingy features, nobody bestowed a thought upon her. She had no rival, she was no one's competitor, she offended nobody's sense of individual prowess in grace or charms, by _her_ assumptions. Not at all. "That horrid little fright, Jane Byfield," as some of her stylish acquaintances would speak of her, behind her back, stood in no young lady's way. She was very much of a house-bird, was Jane. In the evenings, while her sister was dashing off some brilliant bravura in the drawing-room, Jane would be seated in a corner, talking to some person older than herself--or, perhaps you might find her in the little back parlor, knitting or mending stockings. Not that she was without a spice of fun in her; for, among children, she romped like one of themselves; indeed, she was a general favorite with those who were much younger as well as much older than herself. Yet, among those of her own age, she never excited any admiration, except for her dutifulness--though that, you know, is a very dull sort of thing. Certainly, she never excited any young lady's envy, or attracted any young gentleman's homage, like her more highly favored sister. Indeed, by a kind of general consent, she was set down for "a regular old maid."