Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

have argued that the instrument had fairly frigged itself. The animal, recovering its self-control, took a series of brass plates from the table ; “ Fetishist,” “ Sadist,” “ Urning,” “ Uranodioning,” and the like from the masterly classification of John Addington Symonds. At “ Masochist ” the woman cried “ That’s me ! ” Master Porker lifted up his front paw and bashed her nose in. Ah ! That’s good ! she mur- mured, as the clever creature sat on its hind legs and danced a most indecent “ cordax dance ” upon her abdomen, swollen with eight months of baby — “ perhaps by the came ” whispered the Archbishop, “ we shall see.” A bright idea struck him, as the dance, appreciated as it was, did not instantly cause a recurrence of the orgasm. He picked out “ Coprophile.” With a yell of pleasure the girl- mother called on him to do his dirtiest. He com- plied. From his dripping schnickel frothed a hot stiff stream of greenish piss at an incalculable pace, while from his pink arse dripped the feculent and pultaceous turdlings which we associate with a diet of wash. The stench was intolerable. Minute by minute passed by, and still the unsurpassed bladder of the unclean animal of the Semite and the Mussulman shot out its hissing torrents. Her greedy mouth frothed and seethed with the o’erflowing bil- lows ; for the poor lass’s throat, do what she might — and she had done her best to swallow many a slime stick, thereby noticeably enlarging the pas- sage — was still too small to dispose of the formi- dable current of urine with which her too complai- sant lover now furnished her. Her merkin too dripped over the odd ends of the champion stool. “ The gospel hall is full ” whispered the Archbishop. “ They will have to hold an overflow meeting in the arsehole.” [28]