[Footnote 2:  Nalson.  Herbert, 165.  “He seemed unconcerned; yet told the bishop, it really made a great impression on him; and to this hour, says he, I know not possibly how it should come.”—­Warwick, 340.]

his return said to Herbert, “I am well assured that the soldiers bear me no malice.  The cry was suggested by their officers, for whom they would do the like if there were occasion."[1]

On his return from the hall, men and women crowded behind the guards, and called aloud, “God preserve your majesty.”  But one of the soldiers venturing to say, “God bless you, Sir,” received a stroke on the head from an officer with his cane.  “Truly,” observed the king, “I think the punishment exceeded the offence."[2]

By his conduct during these proceedings, Charles had exalted his character even in the estimation of his enemies:  he had now to prepare himself for a still more trying scene, to nerve his mind against the terrors of a public and ignominious death.  But he was no longer the man he had been before the civil war.  Affliction had chastened his mind; he had learned from experience to submit to the visitations of Providence; and he sought and found strength and relief in the consolations of religion.  The next day, the Sunday, was spent by him at St. James’s, by the commissioners at Whitehall.[a] They observed a fast, preached on the judgments of God, and prayed for a blessing on the commonwealth. He devoted his time to devotional exercises in the company of Herbert and of Dr. Juxon, bishop of London, who at the request of Hugh Peters (and it should be recorded to the honour of that fanatical preacher) had been permitted to attended the monarch.  His nephew the prince elector, the duke of Richmond, the marquess of Hertford, and several other noblemen, came to the door of his bedchamber, to pay their last respects to

[Footnote 1:  Herbert, 163, 164.]

[Footnote 2:  Ibid. 163, 165.]

[Sidenote a:  A.D. 1649.  Jan. 28.]

their sovereign; but they were told in his name that he thanked them for their attachment, and desired their prayers; that the shortness of his time admonished him to think of another world; and that the only moments which he could spare must be given to his children.  These were two, the Princess Elizabeth and the duke of Gloucester, the former wept for her father’s fate; the latter, too young to understand the cause, joined his tears through sympathy.  Charles placed them on his knees, gave them such advice as was adapted to their years, and seemed to derive pleasure from the pertinency of their answers.  In conclusion, he divided a few jewels between them, kissed them, gave them his blessings and hastily retired to his devotions.[1]