Tried it. Never tasted such vile stuff! Wife agrees, and asks me to call at the Firm's Offices and see if they haven't got anything with more Ceylon and less Mixture in it. Don't much like the job. How can one blow up a woman whom one will have to meet in one's own drawing-room, calling? Have looked in. Must say that Tea-dealeress is better than her tea. Really quite an attractive person. The three of them gave me afternoon tea in a little sanctum behind the shop, and chatted _most_ pleasantly. My wife's friend the head of Firm. Said the Ceylon Mixture was a mistake--really intended for kitchen use--but as they've only just started business, their stocks have got jumbled together. She hoped--quite penitently--that I would "overlook the error." What _could_ I say? What I _did_ was to order a whole box of their "Incomparable Congou," at four shillings a pound. Wife (when I tell her of this) seems surprised. Says "she won't send _me_ shopping again." But can one call this cosy--this tea-cosy--social visit to three accomplished women by the vulgar term "shopping "? Wife incautiously mentions that she is "out of Coffee." Gives me an excuse to call on Firm again, and see if they sell Coffee too. Yes, they do. Head of Firm more fascinating than ever. Asks me "if I would mind, as a very great favour, mentioning her tea to all my City friends? She _knows_ I have great influence in the City." Says this with winning smile. Query--is not _Mincing_ Lane rather an appropriate locality for Lady Tea-dealers? Later. Wife has forbidden my ever going to Mincing Lane again! Says the box of "Incomparable Congou" was mere "dust." So are my hopes! * * * * * A DENTIST'S WAITING-ROOM. [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! * * * * * FROM THE SHADES. (_AT THE SIGN OF THE "CASTOR AND POLLUX."_)