It may be reckoned among the well-known contrarieties of life, that our friends are never more disposed to be long-winded and discursive than at the very time we would give the world to be alone and to ourselves. With a most malicious intensity they seem to select that moment for indulging in all those speculations by which people while away the weary hours. In such a mood was Lady Eleanor Darcy. Not only did she canvass and criticise Miss Daly, as she appeared before them, but went off into long rambling reminiscences of all she had formerly heard about her; for although they had never met before, Miss Daly had been the reigning Belle of the West before her own arrival in Ireland. “She must have been handsome, Helen, don't you think so?” said she, at the end of a long enumeration of the various eccentricities imputed to her. “I should say very handsome,” replied Helen. “Scarcely feminine enough, perhaps,” resumed Lady Eleanor,--“the features too bold, the expression too decided; but this may have been the fault of a social tone, which required everything in exaggeration, and would tolerate nothing save in excess.” “Yes, mamma,” said Helen, vaguely assenting to a remark she had not attended to. “I never fancied that style, either in beauty or in manner,” continued Lady Eleanor. “It wants, in the first place, the great element of pleasing; it is not natural.” “No, mamma!” rejoined Helen, mechanically as before. “Besides,” continued Lady Eleanor, gratified at her daughter's ready assent, “for one person to whom these mannerisms are becoming, there are at least a hundred slavish imitators ready to adopt without taste, and follow without discrimination. Now, Miss Daly was the fashion once. Who can say to what heresies she has given origin, to what absurdities in dress, in manner, and in bearing?” Helen smiled, and nodded an acquiescence without knowing to what. “There is one evil attendant on all this,” said Lady Eleanor, who, with the merciless ingenuity of a thorough poser, went on ratiocinating from her own thoughts; “one can rarely rely upon even the kindest intentions of people of this sort, so often are their best offices but mere passing, fitful impulses; don't you think so?” “Yes, mamma,” said Helen, roused by this sudden appeal to a more than usual acquiescence, while totally ignorant as to what. “Then, they have seldom any discretion, even when they mean well.” “No, mamma.” “While they expect the most implicit compliance on your part with every scheme they have devised for your benefit.” “Very true,” chimed in Helen, who assented at random. “Sad alternative,” sighed Lady Eleanor, “between such rash friendship and the lukewarm kindness of our courtly cousin.” “I think not!” said Helen, who fancied she was still following the current of her mother's reflections. “Indeed!” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, iu astonishment, while she looked at her daughter for an explanation.