this date, and is as
follows:--"A king of England of happy memory, who loved his people and
his God better than kings in general are wont to do, occasionally took
the exercise of hunting. Being out one day for this purpose, the chase
lay through the shrubs of the forest. The stag had been hard run; and,
to escape the dogs, had crossed the river in a deep part. As the dogs
could not be brought to follow, it became necessary, in order to come up
with it, to make a circuitous route along the banks of the river, through
some thick and troublesome underwood. The roughness of the ground, the
long grass and frequent thickets, gave opportunity for the sportsmen to
separate from each other, each one endeavouring to make the best and
speediest route he could. Before they had reached the end of the forest
the king's horse manifested signs of fatigue and uneasiness, so much so
that his Majesty resolved upon yielding the pleasures of the chase to
those of compassion for his horse. With this view he turned down the
first avenue in the forest and determined on riding gently to the oaks,
there to wait for some of his attendants. His Majesty had only proceeded
a few yards when, instead of the cry of the hounds, he fancied he heard
the cry of human distress. As he rode forward he heard it more
distinctly. 'Oh, my mother! my mother! God pity and bless my poor
mother!' The curiosity and kindness of the king led him instantly to the
spot. It was a little green plot on one side of the forest, where was
spread on the grass, under a branching oak, a little pallet, half covered
with a kind of tent, and a basket or two, with some packs, lay on the
ground at a few paces distant from the tent. Near to the root of the
tree he observed a little swarthy girl, about eight years of age, on her
knees, praying, while her little black eyes ran down with tears.
Distress of any kind was always relieved by his Majesty, for he had a
heart which melted at 'human woe'; nor was it unaffected on this
occasion. And now he inquired, 'What, my child, is the cause of your
weeping? For what do you pray?' The little creature at first started,
then rose from her knees, and pointing to the tent, said, 'Oh, sir! my
dying mother!' 'What?' said his Majesty, dismounting, and fastening his
horse up to the branches of the oak, 'what, my child? tell me all about
it.' The little creature now led the king to the tent; there lay, partly
covered, a middle-aged fema