Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

chancre on the gland, I see — Oh, yes ! From a water closet, certainly — look at this ulcer on my leg, I got it from a cathedral ! — and we will break- fast with my boys, the goat, and the learned pig ; after that we will go and see the camel fed over a cigar, after which I will run through my day’s business — you shall have a couple of whores to amuse you while you wait — or you can watch my butler putting cream in the tea — his only amusement, poor fellow, I sucked him dry years ago ! — and then we will sit down to a real morn- ing’s work over my reminiscences.” These, dear girl, are for you. They form this pleasant book. Now strip yourself and get a can- dle ; lunge in front of a looking-glass and read and frig alternately. If you are grown up, a dog or a man to suck you saves labour — of any sort — and time. But I want you to swim in a perfect ocean of fuck as you read — and please God if we ever meet — what ho ! I’ve a belly-full of boiling emo- tion-emulsion to shoot up your Two-penny-tube, your Penny-Pipe, or into your mouth, or to splash all over your bubbies, your dear fat butter-pats, your rosy-buttoned titties, or wherever you like. And when I can’t spunk any more, I’ll suck you off till your back aches and your eyes are blue all round, and your gallimaufry is as sore as my gully-raker will be when you’ve clapped me, and pissing is like passing red-hot needles, and the stricture holds my fuck back till the crisis nearly blows its top off. So now, you bitch ! [20]