[Illustration]
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!
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