Volume 102 — A DENTIST'S WAITING-ROOM.

Clasping tight my jaw, I staggered, Pale and haggard, To this room, Where were fellow-martyrs sitting In befitting, Solemn gloom; Whilst they turned, with air dejected, Books collected To amuse, Graphics, or accumulated Illustrated London News. How they glared! No fellow-feeling O'er them stealing, Made them kind; "Touch of nature" that is dental Makes no mental Kin, I find. There I sat, the numbers growing Less, each going To his fate— What a dismal occupation! My elation Was not great— Heard the butler call each saddened, Toothache-maddened Victim's name; Watched them wincing as they strode out: I should no doubt Look the same. Then, when me he had to take in, "Mr. AIKIN!" Made me quail; O'er the after vivisection Recollection Draws a veil!