'WHAT is more ridiculous to a dandy than a philosopher, or to a philosopher than a dandy?' We thought of this query, while reading a description, in a communication before us, of a knot of fourth-rate dandies, the 'apes of apes,' _which_ the writer encountered in the bar-room of an inn, in one of the fourth-rate towns of Maryland. Doubtless these artificial 'humans' looked upon our friend as quite to be pitied that he was not '_one of us_:' 'In their ultra dress, affected manners, drawling tones, and whey-faces, you might read the foolish inanity of an existence parallel in every respect to that of BEAU BRUMMEL, except that his was original absurdity, and theirs was folly on loan. It was Parisianism adulterated in London, qualified in Broadway, weakened in Chestnut-street, reduced in Baltimore, and at last in these provincial decoctions diluted to the lowest possible degree of insipidity, with scarce a perceptible tincture of the original liquid. These had no souls by nature; and the only idea they could inspire was one of humiliation, that apes were permitted to wear the likeness of GOD's image.' * * * WE annex below a few random comments from an old and favorite contributor, (a 'scholar ripe and good,' who holds a felicitous pen,) upon three or four papers in our May number: 'JOHN QUOD is beyond all praise. I read the May chapters throughout with unqualified delight. The passage describing the old lawyer's affixing his own name, in his confusion, to the blind man's will, aroused me to unseemly, uproarious laughter; and the _painting_ of Kornicker's manner, particularly his laugh, is scarcely inferior to COOPER's account of Leatherstocking's noiseless, inward laugh, the impression of which could not fade from my fancy in a thousand years. I'll wager my head that the May number of no Magazine in the world contains a sketch of more power and humor. As for the '_Lay of Ancient Rome_,' I cannot praise it too highly. The imitations of ancient manners, and the _keeping_ with ancient ideas, is excellent, _excellent_ indeed; far better than the efforts of BULWER, in his 'Last Days of Pompeii,' or than any other late imitations which I just now remember to have seen. Fresh from the perusal of ANTHON's 'Horace,' (ANTHON's classics are entirely unequalled,) and with LIVY in my reach, the verisimilitude strikes me as almost perfect. You cannot fail either, to observe that, as in the '_Three Passages in the History of a Poet_,' there is a great deal of sweet poetry scattered about among the jewels of delicate criticism and mirthful wit. I believe my love for the old Greeks and Romans is a little unreasonable; but it is my first love. I often woo other mistresses, but I always return to my 'prima donna.' Twelve or fourteen years ago I ingorged all of SMOLLET, FIELDING, RICHARDSON, SCOTT, and COOPER, at one intemperate meal, and then lay some months inert and drowsy, like a huge boa-constrictor after swallowing a bullock. Then again