Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

bosky dells, I came upon this fellow, boozing at a bottle of his own vile fusel-oil, and encircled by a group of naked whores, who amused themselves by protracted efforts to induce his shrunken tarse to assert itself. They were in vain. The Weary Willie of the incompetent gut-grinder remained supine for all they could do. And they did their best. None of them were out for an airing, in racing phrase. I learned later that their pay depended absolutely on their success with his much-abused affair. In vain they exposed the most fascinating parts of their anatomy ; in vain their well-oiled hands, their mouths greasy with each others’ spendings creamy or mu- cous, strove with the inexorable arbitrament of Na- ture : the warrior hid his bashful head, and no god altered the dread fiat, uttered even below half- cock : Thus far, and no farther ! My own modest arborvitae, though, as you may guess, shared no such disabilities. Advancing, I showed its quiet dignity to the first lady. This woman, who had so great an influence upon my after life, merits a few words of description. By race a full-blooded Ne- gress, by profession a threepenny-uprighter, by education a woman of singular charm and spiritu- ality, by inclination a sapphist and cocksucker, by disease a barrel, she was as delicious a rabbit-pie as I ever laid this knife to. Over six feet in height, she measured even more around her waist, owing to a dropsy on the one hand, and on the other to the presence in her uterus of a constant stream of elderly gentlemen engaged in a futile search for their headgear. Her black and ulcerated titties dropped sweat and pus. They were of enormous size, and stuck out impudently in front of her. Her navel was like a rat-pit, and in its corrugations strange insects crawled. Her square push beggars description. Yet I must essay it in the interests of your readers, my son. Gaping like the crater of some active volcano, [32]