On the last night of his life he slept soundly about four hours, and early in the morning[a] awakened Herbert, who lay on a pallet by his bed-side.  “This,” he said, “is my second marriage-day.  I would be as trim as may be; for before night I hope to be espoused to my blessed Jesus.”  He then pointed out the clothes which he meant to wear, and ordered two shirts, on account of the severity of the weather; “For,” he observed, “were I to shake through cold, my enemies would attribute it to fear, I would have no such imputation.  I fear not death.  Death is not terrible to me.  I bless my God I am prepared."[2]

[Footnote 1:  Herbert, 169-180.  State Trials, 357-360.]

[Footnote 2:  Herbert, 183-185, I may here insert an anecdote, which seems to prove that Charles attributed his misfortunes in a great measure to the counsels of Archbishop Laud.  On the last night of his life, he had observed that Herbert was restless during his sleep, and in the morning insisted on knowing the cause.  Herbert answered that he was dreaming.  He saw Laud enter the room; the king took him aside, and spoke to him with a pensive countenance; the archbishop sighed, retired, and fell prostrate on the ground.  Charles replied, “It is very remarkable; but he is dead.  Yet had we conferred together during life, ’tis very likely (albeit I loved him well) I should have said something to him, might have occasioned his sigh.”—­Herbert’s Letter to Dr. Samways, published at the end of his Memoirs, p. 220.]

[Sidenote a:  A.D. 1649.  Jan. 30.]

The king spent an hour in privacy with the bishop; Herbert was afterwards admitted; and about ten o’clock Colonel Hacker announced that it was time to proceed to Whitehall.  He obeyed, was conducted on foot, between two detachments of military, across the park, and received permission to repose himself in his former bedchamber.  Dinner had been prepared for him; but he refused to eat, though afterwards, at the solicitation of the bishop, he took the half of a manchet and a glass of wine.  Here he remained almost two hours, in constant expectation of the last summons, spending his time partly in prayer and partly in discourse with Dr. Juxon.  There might have been nothing mysterious in the delay; if there was, it may perhaps be explained from the following circumstances.

Four days had now elapsed since the arrival of ambassadors from the Hague to intercede in his favour.  It was only on the preceding evening that they had obtained audiences of the two houses, and hitherto no answer had been returned.  In their company came Seymour, the bearer of two letters from the prince of Wales, one addressed to the king, the other to the Lord Fairfax.  He had already delivered the letter, and with it a sheet of blank paper subscribed with the name and sealed with the arms of the prince.  It was the price which he offered to the grandees of the army for the life of his father.  Let them fill it up with the conditions:  whatever they might be, they were already granted; his seal and signature were affixed.[1] It is not improbable that this offer may have induced the leaders to pause.  That Fairfax laboured to postpone the execution, was always asserted by his friends; and we have evidence to prove that, though he was at Whitehall, he knew not, or at least pretend not to know, what was passing.[2]