o, 1730.]

[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