recognition of their persons, to dwell alone in the pavilion of the Divine presence."[2] [2] The following anecdote of George III. (from _Legends and Records_, chiefly Historical: by Charles Tayler, M.A.), supplies us with another interesting case of the aptitude of the mind to understand and feel the power of religious truth, after it has become inaccessible to every other mental communication. His majesty had been hunting in Windsor Forest, and after the hunt was over, as he was returning, his attention was arrested by a little girl who sat on the ground weeping. He alighted from his horse, and, having ascertained the cause of her grief, he followed her to a tent, in an unfrequented part of the forest, where lay an old gipsy on her dying bed, with her face towards the inside of the tent. She appeared too far gone to hear any of the sympathetic inquiries which he instituted. However, his eye was attracted by a torn and dirty book, which lay open upon the pillow of the dying woman, and he had the curiosity to see what book it was. "Ah, Sir," said an elder girl, "I believe there's a deal of fine reading in that book; and my grandmother set great store by it, torn and soiled as it is. While she could use her eyes she used to be spelling it over and over again; but now, she says, the letters are all dark and dim before her sight, she cannot see them." His majesty said nothing, but, taking up the book from the pillow, he sat down on the green turf close to the head of the dying woman. The book was the Bible. He chose some of those beautiful passages which are easy to be understood, and, at the same time, full of hope and comfort to the sinking and fearful heart. He read of the tender compassion of the Father of mercies to his guilty creatures, in giving his own Son Jesus Christ to die for them, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life! Though she heard not what he said when he first spoke to her, she heard and felt the words of the Scriptures, for she turned entirely round and opened her dull eyes with a vacant stare; she endeavoured also to speak, but could only make a faint uncertain sound, in which no word could be distinguished. Then she drew her hands together, and clasped them as if in prayer, taking that way, it seemed, to show that she was quite sensible to hear and understand what was read to her; and the young girls drew near, and kneeled down quietly beside the bed, listening also to the sacred words of life, and feeling a sort of happiness in their sorrow, as they looked upon their beloved parent, now as calm as a sleeping infant, except that tears stole down her hollow cheeks; but any one might see that they were tears of joy, for all the while a smile was on her lips.