position as ruler of this kingdom.  Nor do I think it becomes you to trifle thus with my dignity:  therefore give me one of your gowns, for the curious figure I am cutting becomes neither of us.  And as you owe a duty to heaven, give me raiment, and tell me whither you carry me.”  The priests made no answer, but whipping up their mules continued on their journey until they reached a grove of palm-trees, some four miles from Nezub, where they halted.  And having lighted torches, which threw a curious glow over the foliage, and invested the scene with an air of deep solemnity, they put General Potter on his trial, preparatory to which he was ordered to sit upon the ground, while the most aged of the priests took a seat upon the trunk of a tree.

First, they inquired of him what he had to say touching their punishment in riding the asses in the plaza, which grievously wounded their feelings.  “As to the asses, gentlemen,” replied Ruler Potter, “they, I take it, are emblematic of penitence, which I am sure your reverences ought not be ashamed of, since if my memory serves me right, (and it is good enough to trust on such matter,) I have read somewhere in Scripture that the apostles rode asses, and were not ashamed.”

“Aye,” replied the venerable priests, “but that was so long ago, and bears so little resemblance to our case, that it will not serve as a precedent.  Heading a band of vagrants in pursuit of plunder, you have overrun our country, caused the death of our good king, and made the priesthood to be scoffed at, which is a crime meriting death.  Having set yourself up for a ruler adds no small injury to the insults you have already inflicted upon this kingdom; we therefore condemn you to death, and are resolved to see you hanged on one of these trees at six in the morning.”  The general essayed to speak in reply to this sentence, but the priests bid him hold his peace, and join them in preparing his soul for heaven.  And forthwith they commenced chanting prayers over him; but as their prayers were in Latin, not one word could he understand.  Instead, however, of bemoaning his fate, as the reader may be prepared to expect, the condemned betook himself to mourning the loss of his kingdom, and devising means to regain it.  He was also not a little puzzled to know what road his graceless army had taken, for he knew in his heart, they would lose no time in getting safely out of the country.  In truth he began to curse the day he took command of Glenmoregain’s army; for though he might have been a good enough gentleman himself, and have a praiseworthy liking for kingdoms, his army was made up of arrant rascals, who treated their commander as if he were a fool, had no fear of the devil, and deserved hanging.