One morning, when Noll was five or six years old, a royal messenger arrived at Hinchinbrooke, with tidings that King James was coming to dine with Sir Oliver Cromwell.  This was a high honor to be sure, but a very great trouble; for all the lords and ladies, knights, squires, guards, and yeomen, who waited on the king, were to be feasted as well as himself; and more provisions would be eaten, and more wine drunk, in that one day, than generally in a month.  However, Sir Oliver expressed much thankfulness for the king’s intended visit, and ordered his butler and cook to make the best preparations in their power.  So a great fire was kindled in the kitchen; and the neighbors knew by the smoke which poured out of the chimney, that boiling, baking, stewing, roasting, and frying, were going on merrily.

By and by the sound of trumpets was heard, approaching nearer and nearer; and a heavy, old-fashioned coach, surrounded by guards on horseback, drove up to the house.  Sir Oliver, with his hat in his hand, stood at the gate to receive the king.  His Majesty was dressed in a suit of green, not very new; he had a feather in his hat, and a triple ruff round his neck; and over his shoulder was slung a hunting horn, instead of a sword.  Altogether, he had not the most dignified aspect in the world; but the spectators gazed at him as if there was something superhuman and divine in his person.  They even shaded their eyes with their hands, as if they were dazzled by the glory of his countenance.

“How are ye, man?” cried King James, speaking in a Scotch accent; for Scotland was his native country.  “By my crown, Sir Oliver, but I am glad to see ye!”

The good knight thanked the king, at the same time kneeling down, while his Majesty alighted.  When King James stood on the ground, he directed Sir Oliver’s attention to a little boy, who had come with him in the coach.  He was six or seven years old, and wore a hat and feather, and was more richly dressed than the king himself.  Though by no means an ill-looking child; he seemed shy, or even sulky; and his cheeks were rather pale, as if he had been kept moping within doors, instead of being sent out to play in the sun and wind.

“I have brought my son Charlie to see ye,” said the king.  “I hope, Sir Oliver, ye have a son of your own, to be his playmate?”

Sir Oliver Cromwell made a reverential bow to the little prince, whom one of the attendants had now taken out of the coach.  It was wonderful to see how all the spectators, even the aged men, with their gray beards, humbled themselves before this child.  They bent their bodies till their beards almost swept the dust.  They looked as if they were ready to kneel down and worship him.

The poor little prince!  From his earliest infancy not a soul had dared to contradict him; everybody around him had acted as if he were a superior being; so that, of course, he had imbibed the same opinion of himself.  He naturally supposed that the whole kingdom of Great Britain and all its inhabitants, had been created solely for his benefit and amusement.  This was a sad mistake; and it cost him dear enough after he had ascended his father’s throne.