diamond seals to the Princess, and gave them
tender messages to their mother, (who little
deserved them, for she had a lover of her
own whom she married soon afterwards) and
told them that he died "for the laws and
liberties of the land." I am bound to say
that I don't think he did, but I dare say he
believed so.

There were ambassadors from Holland, that
day, to intercede for the unhappy King, whom
you and I both wish the Parliament had
spared; but they got no answer. The Scottish
Commissioners interceded too; so did the
Prince of Wales, by a letter in which he
offered, as the next heir to the throne, to
accept any conditions from the Parliament;
so did the Queen by letter likewise. Notwithstanding
all, the warrant for the execution
was this day signed. There is a story
that as Oliver Cromwell went to the table
with the pen in his hand to put his signature
to it, he drew his pen across the
face of one of the commissioners who was
standing near, and marked it with the ink.
That commissioner had not signed his own
name yet, and the story adds, that when he
came to do it, he marked Cromwell's face
with ink in the same way.

The King slept well, untroubled by the
knowledge that it was his last night on earth,
and rose on the thirtieth of January, two
hours before day, and dressed himself carefully.
He put on two shirts lest he should
tremble with the cold, and had his hair very
carefully combed. The warrant had been
directed to three officers of the army, COLONEL
HACKER, COLONEL HUNKS, and COLONEL
PHAYER. At ten o'clock, the first of these
came to the door and said it was time to go
to Whitehall. The King, who had always been
a quick walker, walked at his usual speed
through the Park, and called out to the
guard, with his accustomed voice of command,
"March on apace!" When he came to
Whitehall, he was taken to his own bedroom,
where a breakfast was set forth. As
he had taken the Sacrament, he would eat
nothing more, but at about the time when
the church bells struck twelve at noon (for
he had to wait, through the scaffold not being
ready) he took the advice of the good BISHOP
JUXON who was with him, and eat a little
bread, and drank a glass of claret. Soon
after he had taken this refreshment, Colonel
Hacker came to the chamber with the warrant
in his hand, and called for Charles Stuart.

And then through the long gallery of
Whitehall Palace, which he had often seen
light and gay and merry and crowded, in
very different times, the fallen King passed
along, until he came to the centre window
of the Banquetting House, through which
he emerged upon the scaffold, which was
hung with black. He looked at the two
executioners who were dressed in black
and masked; he looked at the troops of
soldiers on horseback and on foot, who
all looked up at him in silence; he looked
at the vast array of spectators, filling up
the view beyond, and turning all their faces
upon him; he looked at his old Palace of
St. James's; and he looked at the block.
He seemed a little troubled to find that it
was so low, and asked "if there were no place
higher?" Then, to those upon the scaffold,
he said "that it was the Parliament who had
begun the war, and not he; but he hoped they
might be guiltless too, as ill instruments
had gone between them. In one respect," he
said, "he suffered justly, and that was
because he had permitted an unjust sentence
to be executed on another." In this he referred
to the Earl of Strafford.

He was not at all afraid to die; but he
was anxious to die easily. When some one
touched the axe while he was speaking, he
broke off and called out, "take heed of the
axe! take heed of the axe!" He also said to
Colonel Hacker, "Take care that they do not
put me to pain." He told the executioner,
"I shall say but very short prayers, and then
thrust out my hands" — as the sign to strike.

He put his hair up, under a white satin
cap which the bishop had carried, and said,
"I have a good cause and a gracious God on
my side." The bishop told him that he had
but one stage more to travel in this weary
world, and that though it was a turbulent
and troublesome stage, it was a short one,
and would carry him a great way— all the
way from earth to Heaven. The King's
last word, as he gave his cloak and the
George— the decoration from his breast— to
the bishop, was this, "Remember!" He
then kneeled down, laid his head upon the
block, spread out his hands, and was instantly
killed. One universal groan broke from the
crowd; and the soldiers, who had sat on their
horses and stood in their ranks immovable
as statues, were of a sudden all in motion
clearing the streets.

Thus in the forty-ninth year of his age,
falling at the same time of his career as
Strafford had fallen in his, perished Charles
the First. With all my sorrow for him, I
cannot agree with him that he died "the
Martyr of the people;" for the people had
been martyrs to him and his ideas of a King's
rights, long before. Indeed I am afraid that
he was but a bad judge of martyrs; for he
had called that infamous Duke of Buckingham
"the Martyr of his Sovereign."