THAT DENTAL RAG.

You have music at your meals,
It follows you right at your heels
At tango teas or at a cabaret.

It doesn't matter where you go,
You'll find it in a Broadway show
And sometimes in an opera, so they say.

In his office bright and clean,
My dentist has a new machine,
He plays upon it all the livelong day.

It seems to me he can't keep still,
He keeps time to it with his drill,
While through the rubber dam to him I say:

TOOTH PICKWICKS

Many a fellow with rheumatism and good teeth still has his rheumatism.

A superior dentist is one who can make a lower edentulous plate stay put.

The course of a pyorrhetic is from peridontist to exodontist to prosthodontist.

A paid-up patient is usually a satisfied one.

An advertising dentist's ambition: A large electric fixture with flickering lights on the more or less Gay White Way, showing a pair of forceps chasing an elusive molar all around the sign.

SONGS OF A CAPMAKER, NO. 1.
(With apologies to Morrie.)

I used to put gold caps upon healthy teeth,
But that was a long time ago.

It didn't concern me what crept underneath,
So long as I raked in the dough.

I thought that fixed bridges were wonders,
Whenever I hid them from view.

I used to put gold caps on good teeth,

I used to put gold caps on good teeth, it's true,
And I

Still

Do.

NAT LIEF, D.D.S.

New York, N. Y.

M

R. PICKWICK was only awakened by the morning sun darting his bright beams reproachfully into the apartment. Mr. Pickwick was no sluggard; he sprang like an ardent warrior from his tent bedstead.

"Pleasant, pleasant country," sighed the enthusiastic gentleman, as he opened his lattice window. "Who could live to gaze from day to day on bricks and slates, who had once felt the influence of a scene like this? Who could continue to exist where there are no cows but the cows on chimney-pots; nothing redolent of Pan but pantiles; no crop but stone crop? Who could bear to drag out a life in such a spot? Who, I ask, could endure it?" and, having cross-examined solitude after the most. approved precedents, at considerable length, Mr. Pickwick thrust his head out of the lattice, and looked around him.

The rich, sweet smell of the hay-ricks rose to his chamber window; the hundred perfumes of the little flower garden beneath scented the air around; the deep-green meadows shone in the morning dew that glistened on every leaf as it trembled in the gentle air; and the birds sang as if every sparkling drop were a fountain of inspiration to them. Mr. Pickwick fell into an enchanting and delicious reverie.

"Hallo!" was the sound that roused him.

He looked to the right, but he saw nobody; his eyes wandered to the left, and pierced the prospect; he stared into the sky, but he wasn't wanted there; and then he did what a common mind would have done at oncelooked into the garden, and there saw Mr. Wardle. "How are you?" said that good-humored individual, out of breath with his own anticipations of pleasure. "Beautiful morning, ain't it? Glad to see you up so early. Make haste down and come out. I'll wait for you here."

Mr. Pickwick needed no second invitation. Ten minutes sufficed for the completion of his toilet, and at the expiration of that time he was by the old gentleman's side.

"Hallo!" said Mr. Pickwick in his turn; seeing that his companion was armed with a gun, and that another lay ready on the grass. "What's going forward?"

going out rook-shooting before breakfast. He's a very good shot, ain't he?"

"I've heard him say he's a capital one," replied Mr. Pickwick; "but I never saw him aim at anything."

"Well," said the host, "I wish he'd come. JoeJoe!"

The fat boy, who, under the exciting influence of the morning, did not appear to be more than three parts and a fraction asleep, emerged from the house.

"Go up and call the gentleman, and tell him he'll find me and Mr. Pickwick in the rookery. Show the gentleman the way there; d'ye hear?"

The boy departed to execute his commission; and the host, carrying both guns like a second Robinson Crusoe, led the way from the garden.

"This is the place," said the old gentleman, pausing after a few minutes' walking, in an avenue of trees. The information was unnecessary; for the incessant cawing of the unconscious rooks sufficiently indicated their whereabout.

The old gentleman laid one gun on the ground and loaded the other.

"Here they are," said Mr. Pickwick; and as he spoke the forms of Mr. Tupman, Mr. Snodgrass and Mr. Winkle appeared in the distance. kle appeared in the distance. The fat boy, not being quite certain which gentleman he was directed to call, had, with peculiar sagacity, and to prevent the possibility of any mistake, called them all.

"Come along," shouted the old gentleman, addressing Mr. Winkle; "a keen hand like you ought to have been up long ago, even to such poor work as this." Mr. Winkle responded with a forced smile, and took the spare gun with an expression of countenance which a metaphysical rook, impressed with a foreboding of his approaching death by violence, may be supposed to assume. It might have been keenness, but it looked remarkably like misery.

up

The old gentleman nodded; and two ragged boys who had been marshaled to the spot under the direction of the infant Lambert, forthwith commenced climbing up two of the trees.

"What are those lads for?" inquired Mr. Pickwick abruptly. He was rather alarmed; for he was not quite certain but that the distress of the agricultural interest, about which he had often heard a great deal, might have compelled the small boys attached to the soil to earn

"Why, your friend and I," replied the host, "are