of the dandies when something was “rotten in the state of Denmark.” But even this idea of the immortal bard will scarcely assimilate to a proper notion of our modern bucks, because the foppery natural to a Hamlet would not be similar to that of a large City. [Illustration: Ladies and gents looking at two dandies] We therefore rummage the books with little success in search for authorities upon this subject. We are constrained to a belief that Linnæus has not classified the _genera_ or Buffon discriminated the species. If exquisites, by reason of their sappiness, are vegetable, the Swedish naturalist has passed over the variety—if they are animals, the Frenchman has not given them a proper place among the _mammalia_. The history, habits and peculiarities of these mandrakes, these “forked radishes,” these nondescripts, who afflict the south side of Chestnut street, Philadelphia, or the west side of Broadway, New York, has not yet been written, but the subject has latterly assumed an importance which can be no longer disregarded. If the comic dissector, with scalpel in hand, were to desire the fop for a subject, he would have to wait until he was defunct, but the dandy never dies; he is a living example of the verity of the adage, true whenever made—“the fools are not all dead yet”—and it is therefore impossible to imagine the time when there will not be a dandy. We cannot consequently dissect. We may apply the stethoscope to the chest of the exquisite; we may feel his weak pulse, or examine his silly tongue. So may we make our diagnosis, and though we cannot “minister to a mind diseased,” we may, at least, “hold the mirror up to nature,” for the benefit of all gazers. Therefore, in pursuance of the task, come we to our first great inquiry: HOW ARE DANDIES MADE? This is a grave question, for fops are like veal pies—in the opinion of the waggish Weller—the crust may be rather respectable, but the making up of the interior is “werry duberous.” Exquisites at this present writing, are a conglomeration of lanky legs, hairy heads and creamy countenances. Such are their natural peculiarities. But it is evident that in considering this subject, the great topic of inquiry is, What is a dandy sartorially? Here description will proclaim him to be a being stuck into tight trowsers, ditto coat and vest, ditto boots, not so much ditto overcoat, and crowned with a cylindrical structure of felt, which is called a hat. Mentally the subject of dandyism offers little field for remark, because the weakness which distinguishes the unfortunate class of our fellow citizens now under consideration, is caused by natural imbecility and want of common sense.