“He didn’t! he never made anything half so ugly and bad! De debil made you. _He_ made my beautiful, lovely, good little Rose. Some ob dese days she shall be de Presiden’s wife, and _you_—you shall be her waitin’ maid, cause nobody’s ever gwine to marry _you_—you’re too ugly and hateful. Go long straight out dis here kitchen now, I don’t want nuffin ’tall to do wid you.” Hagar left the kitchen, casting back a look of inquiry at Rosalia; but the little girl was petted, coaxed, flattered, and tempted by the warm fire, and the prospect of the nice biscuit, and preferred to keep her seat. Hagar took her lonely way up the four flights of stairs that led to the attic. Arrived there she sat down moodily upon the trunk, resting her elbows upon her knees, and holding her thin face between the palms of her hands; her black elf locks were hanging wildly about her shoulders, and her eyes were wide open, and fixed upon the floor in a stare. She was bitterly reflecting that with a really kind-hearted aunt she was suffering all the evils of orphanage, abused by menials, pinched with hunger, and half frozen with cold. She was wondering, too, how it was that the good God had made her so ugly that she could not be loved, and therefore could not be good. Poor child, she never dreamed of general admiration, she only wished to be loved; and she had no one to tell her that the beauty which wins permanent affection is the beauty of goodness; that goodness will soften the hardest, and intellect light up the dullest features; that though physical beauty may excite passion, and intellect attract admiration, only goodness can win everlasting love. Within the last few months, such scenes as I have described were constantly occurring, and their evil influence fell on all the children’s after life. Some of the most serious defects in their characters, some of the most deplorable errors in their conduct, and the most dreadful misfortune of their lives, might be traced back to the injudicious, careless remarks of visitors, and the capricious blame or praise of servants, to whose care or neglect they were so much left. When I recollect the strong and decided bias given in childhood to my own character by people and circumstances over which I had no sort of control, and against whose evil influence I could make no sort of resistance; when I suffer by the effect of impressions received in infancy, which neither time, reason, nor religion have been able to efface—which only sorrow could impair by bruising the tablet; knowing as I know the tender impressibility of infancy, feeling as I feel the indelibility of such impressions, I tremble for the unseen influences that may surround my own young children—aye, even for the chance word dropped by stranger lips, and heard by infant ears; for that word may be a fruitful seed that shall spring up into a healthful vine, or a upas tree, twenty years after it is sown. Infancy is a fair page upon which