Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

nence, and tonics was to produce a cockstand or its semblance in his shrunken anatomy. Lady B....e, displaying the magnificent rolls of her saucy spleuchan in his face, completed the con- quest. The K..g smiled again. England was saved ! But o Q...n A.......a ! was it fair to those who had resuscitated your royal consort’s drooping dolly from an early grave to rush in as you did, get astride the now standing leather-stretcher of the dilapidated monarch, catch it in your grey, your scraggy, your mucus-dripping, your cold and stale- smelling cellar-door, and by the furious heaves of your skinny buttocks release that greasy fountain which you could never have done by the honest pressure of your flabby Dripping Well of Knares- borough ? No, queen though you may be, an hon- est man condemns you to your face. The bit of stiff was Lady B....e’s and T....s should have been al- lowed to swallow the sex sauce, whereas you, haughty and selfish woman, cheated her tar bucket with your shrivelled crabapple, while, miser to the last, you took his perquisite to chew at your leisure with your minions, the dirty scavengers that gold still seduces to dip their luckless coney- catchers in the scabby duckpond that the Q...n of E.....d called her privy Paradise... The Archbishop’s enthusiasm had overpowered him. Impaled upon Hassan’s engine, and supported by the teeth of the now thoroughly excited beast, he had fainted : but the camel’s joy-junket still spurted through the fistulae of that bubbling arse- hole, and with a long and regular swing the Ship of the Desert continued his fascinating exercise. The Archbishop will go on like this all night, said a sweet voice behind me. I turned, and saw Leila, the black-bumboed blouzabella of his boy- hood. Come with me, she added, I can still beat you at cuddle-my-cuddie. She saw me hesitate, [47]