Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

[27] CAPITULUM II My son, continued the venerable man, before I continue my affecting narrative, let me introduce you to the learned pig. This animal was trained by my old friend Lord B . . . and is probably the choic- est gem in my collection. Approach ! We ap- proached, and the brute, contrary to all expecta- tion, presented his rump for my inspection. After a moment’s hesitation he gave a loud snort of dissat- isfaction and walked to the table, from which he selected a card labelled “ Kiss my arse.” I drew back abashed. The engaging animal, at a sign from his master, now mounted the fattest of the venal women whom the Archbishop liked to have lying about the floor, and exposed a superb and succulent cream-stick of some fourteen inches in length. The woman lay on her back with her legs wide apart and in the air. With a bound the brute drove his sledge-hammer into her unresisting pussy- cat, accompanying the performance on the concer- tina, at both of which employments he seemed so expert that the woman beneath him squirmed with joy, and licked the snout of the monster with a las- civious tongue in her frenzy, till with a royal snort the accomplished porker, rapture dying along its verge, as Browning says of the rainbow, gave her jelly for juice, and the well-matched pair sank down in the rapture of a delicious orgasm. The concertina, falling to the floor, squeezed its air out with a long-drawn, plaintive sigh, from which an onomatopoeiomaniac Platonist who had read Cor- nelius Agrippa and Paracelsus would certainly