The Bishop of Barchester 



as snow, with ears that would reach from Charing 

 Cross to the Marble Arch — and a tail like a 

 feather duster — just a bunch of 'airs on the end. 

 "But jump, sir? Oh, I 'ave to admit it, though 

 it hurts, that's what it does — 'e once beat our own 

 Lady Godiva, Gawd bless 'er — that's the capt'in's 

 thoroughbred mare. 'E beat 'er two lengths from 

 take-off to landing, at every jump in the field, and 

 led 'er 'ome by a 'ead, sir, at the last quarter, 

 though, of course, the mare won out in the end. 

 Think of it, sir, an old racing man like me — 'aving 

 to 'andle a mule, and one whose name was My 

 Lord the Bishop of Barchester — think o' that for 

 the name of a mule. Oh, the capt'in 'as a 'orrible 

 sense o' humor when anyone treads on 'is toes. 

 I don't know what the Bishop o' Barchester done, 

 but it's certain 'e would ha' near dropped dead if 

 e'd ever read the Pink 'Un or the Delhi Sporting 

 Neivs, or see 'is twin, the mule. Well, I'm stand- 

 in' in the stable doorway when I see the colonel 

 and the capt'in comin',both talkin' as 'ard as they 

 can. 'Judson,' the capt'in says, when 'e*s near 

 me, 'bring out My Lord the Bishop of Barchester,' 

 then 'e fits 'is glarss in 'is eye, and hexamines that 

 mule inside out, and rubs 'is legs 'ere and there. 

 Then 'e thumps 'im in the belly and the Bishop 

 swells up fit to bust, and 'e gives 'is 'orful braying 

 sound that's scarin', that's what hit is. The 

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