Felton was a thorough-bred Dandy , and never sure was word so profaned, so misused, or so wofully misapplied by the more ordinary judges of society than this. The uninitiated call a man a dandy who wears a stiff neckcloth, or stays, or whiskers, or any thing outré, even if he live in the city, and be detectable in a playhouse lobby, or on a great shining horse with a new saddle, in the park on a Sunday.

Never was such a mistake , Felton was really a dandy; he lived in the best society, knew every body and every thing, could distinguish the hand of Ude, even in a risolle, would shudder if a man took white wine after brown frame, or port with cheese (after the manner of the ancients). He was the youth who at Oxford woke the dean of his college at two in the morning, to shew him an ill-roasted potatoe, as a slur upon the cookery of the University; he was the man who always left town when the chairmen began to eat asparagus; he was the identical person who was called the late Mr. Felton from never being in time for dinner; he was the being who only saw fish or soup upon his own table; , carriages were named after him; , he had a mixture at Fribourg’s, and gave the ton in hats.

In short , he was a dandy. But wilh all his grace and sensitiveness, wilh all his wit and vivacity, Fanny Meadows could not conceal from me , for I watched her attentively , a certain distaste which she felt for the condescension he displayed, in thus pointedly devoting himself to the daughter of a widow lady, who had neither blood nor money to recommend her to the notice of “the curious in heiresses.”

Quoted from: “Sayings and Doings” In: The New Monthly Magazine and Literary Journal. Vol. VII, Boston: 1824: 338.