and we either have to go back and
start all over and go through the whole thing again, or else haply we
die and pass on to the bourne from which no traveller returneth either
with his teeth or without them. If Shakespeare had only thought of
it--and he did think of a number of things from time to time--he might
have divided his Seven Ages of Man much better by making them the Seven
Ages of Teeth as follows: First age--no tooth; second age--milk teeth;
third age--losing 'em; fourth age--getting more teeth; fifth
age--losing 'em; sixth age--getting false teeth and finding they aren't
satisfactory; seventh age--toothless again.

I knew a man once who was a gunsmith and lost all his teeth at a
comparatively early age. He went along that way for years. He had to
eschew the tenderloin for the reason that he couldn't chew it, and he
had to cut out hickory nut cake and corn on the ear and such things. But
there is nothing about the art of gunsmithing which seems to call for
teeth, so he got along very well, living in a little house with the wife
of his bosom and a faithful housedog named Ponto. But when he was past
sixty he went and got himself some teeth from the dentist. He did this
without saying anything about it at home; he was treasuring it up for a
surprise. The corner stone was laid in May and the scaffolding was all
up by July and in August the new teeth were dedicated with suitable
ceremonies.

They altered his appearance materially. His nose and chin which had been
on terms of intimacy now rubbed each other a last fond good-bye and his
face lost that accordion-pleated look and straightened out and became
about six or seven inches longer from top to bottom. He now had a sort
of determined aspect like the iron jawed lady in a circus, whereas
before his face had the appearance of being folded over and wadded
down inside of his neck band, so his hat could rest comfortably on his
collar. He knew he was altered, but he didn't realize how much he was
altered until he went home that evening and walked proudly in the front
gate. His wife who was timid about strangers, slammed the door right in
his face and faithful Ponto came out from under the porch steps and bit
him severely in the calf of the leg. There was only one consolation
in it for him--for the first time in a long number of years he was in
position to bite back.

And that's how it is with teeth--with your teeth let us say--for right
here I'm going to drop the pe