And indeed the wild child was always rather beyond the control of her gentle relatives. Thus passed the winter. The close intimacy that had subsisted between the little families of Heath Hall and Grove Cottage, had been considerably interrupted since the marriage of Sophie. She wished to preserve the secret of her husband, and therefore rather discouraged the continuance of the hitherto almost daily intercourse between the families. Emily also felt an aversion to the minister that had an influence in severing the close intimacy of the friends. And Augustus, too, being in daily attendance upon a school three miles in the opposite direction, found little chance to visit his old playmate Hagar. Emily, however, though her visits were few and far between, still felt in all its devotion her warm affection for Sophie. Other neighbors, mere acquaintances, came occasionally to the Hall, and sometimes spent a day there, or a day and night after the manner of country neighborhood visiting, but from these careless and uninterested observers Sophie succeeded in keeping her misfortune secret. The two children were objects of considerable attention from these visitors, and the striking contrast of their persons, manners, and characters, noted and commented upon, _in their presence_. The winning beauty and sweet confiding sociability of the fair cherub, and the wild shy reserve of the dark child, were compared, and sagely commented upon—and conclusions very disparaging to Hagar, drawn by these superficial critics who did not understand her. Indeed the contrast between these two children was so striking, that they were never passed by strangers or servants without some such remark as this—“Rosalia is beautiful, lovely—but that other child is _very_ homely.” It is very wrong to make remarks on the personal beauty or ugliness of children in their hearing. The effect is invariably injurious. It is highly reprehensible to draw _invidious comparisons_ between the beauty of children, especially before their faces. This thoughtlessness is fraught with the direst consequences. When you say so carelessly in their presence, that “Anne is prettier than Jane,” and look at Anne as though her accidental beauty were a virtue, and look at Jane as though she were in fault—think that into the fertile soil of the children’s hearts you have dropped the seeds of evil—the seed of vanity in the heart of Anne, the seed of envy into that of Jane, and the germ of discord into both. Upon Rosalia and Hagar these thoughtless remarks were producing the worst effects. Rosalia, loved, petted and praised, by the family, the servants and visitors, with all her gentleness and sweetness, was growing vain, selfish, and sensual—and loved best of all things to lie in some old lady’s soft lap and suck sugarplums, while the said old lady caressed and praised her. And she was a most endearing child; unlike other spoiled and petted children, she never gave way to temper—she was