(and girls, i.e. unmarried women) in the rank of responsible or even rational creatures.  But in this disposition he would be clearly wrong.  Before venturing to define the precise capacity of either an individual or a class, their own opinion on the subject should assuredly be consulted; and we are quite sure that there is not one of the lady Tiptoes who would not recoil with horror from the suspicion of advancing or even of entertaining an idea—­it having been ascertained that everything original (sin and all) is quite inconformable with the feminine character—­unless indeed it be a method of finding the third side of a turned silk—­or of defining that zero of fortune, to stand below which constitutes a “detrimental.”

The Misses Tiptoe are an indefinite number of young ladies, of whom it is commonly remarked that some may have been pretty, and others may, hereafter, be pretty.  But they never are so; and, consequently, they are very fearful of being eclipsed by their dependents, and take care to engage only ill-favoured governesses, and (but ’tis an old pun) very plain cooks.  The great business of their lives is fascination, and in its pursuit they are unremitting.  It is divided in distinct departments, among the sisters; each of whom is characterised at home by some laudatory epithet, strikingly illustrative of what they would like to be.  There is Miss Tiptoe, such an amiable girl! that is, she has a large mouth, and a Mallan in the middle of it.  There is Jemima, “who enjoys such delicate health “—­that is, she has no bust, and wears a scarf.  Then there is Grace, who is all for evening rambles, and the “Pilgrim of Love;” and Fanny, who can not help talking; and whom, in its turn, talking certainly cannot help.  They are remarkable for doing a little of everything at all times.  Whether it be designing on worsted or on bachelors—­whether concerting overtures musical or matrimonial; the same pretty development of the shoulder through that troublesome scarf—­the same hasty confusion in drawing it on again, and referring to the watch to see what time it is—­displays the mind ever intent on the great object of their career.  But they seldom marry (unless, in desperation, their cousins), for they despise the rank which they affect to have quitted—­and no man of sense ever loved a Tiptoe.  So they continue at home until the house is broken up; and then they retire in a galaxy to some provincial Belle Vue-terrace or Prospect-place; where they endeavour to forestall the bachelors with promiscuous orange-blossoms and maidenly susceptibilities.  We have characterised these heart-burning efforts after “station,” as originating with, and maintained by, the female branches of the family; and they are so—­but, nevertheless, their influence on the young men is no less destructive than certain.  It is a fact, that, the more restraint that is inflicted on these individuals in the gilded drawing-room at home, the more do they crave after the unshackled