TO A DENTIST.
["Dry champagne is an excellent mouth-wash."—Dr. Sim Wallace, at a Conference on Prevention of Diseases of the Teeth.]
While in your dismal salle d'attente I wait
And with forgotten Punches idly toy,
How it will reconcile me to my fate
To muse upon the mouth-wash you employ.
Or, squirming in the plush-upholstered chair,
How shall I thrill with valour to observe
Among the implements of torture there
A magnum of the best, to brace my nerve.
Not the hooked probe nor hum of whirring file,
The fearful forceps nor the needled lance
Will wholly banish my expectant smile
That greets "the foaming grape of eastern France."
E'en in that pass whereat the boldest blench,
The "aching time" will quickly turn to bliss,
When, having borne the devastating wrench,
I hear you murmur, "Rinse your mouth with this."
I thank you, Dr. Wallace, for that word;
My teeth, I'm sure, require attention soon;
Ah! Widow Clicquot, how my heart is stirred!
Appointment? Right. To-morrow afternoon.
