On the death of his brother, Charles I., as Prince of Wales, took up his residence in St. James's Palace, spending the early years of his married life there, most of his children being born within its walls. Associated with the hopeful time of his young manhood, the palace also recalls his last days upon earth, before the final scene at Whitehall. Arriving on January 19, 1649, Charles spent the remainder of his life there, with the exception of the few days of his trial when he was lodged in the precincts of the old palace of Westminster. However much we may denounce the method by which Charles attempted to govern his kingdom, we can accord him nothing but a respectful and sympathetic admiration for the manner in which he passed to his death. He was still a young and vigorous man, to whom life must have held much that was good, and yet he left it with no whinings at fate, but with a calm dignity and full of trust in God. The day before his execution his two young children, Princess Elizabeth and the Duke of Gloucester, came to say farewell. Holding the little Princess in his arms, he told her she must not grieve for him, for he was going to die a glorious death, "for the laws and religion of the land." With the Duke of Gloucester on his knee, the father told the children to love and obey their mother, and then looking sadly at his little daughter he said, "But, sweetheart, thou wilt forget what I tell thee." The child promised to write down what he had told her, and then, after they had received some jewels and a last kiss from their royal father, they were led away by Bishop Juxon. Waking early on the fateful morning, the King roused his faithful attendant, Sir Thomas Herbert, saying that he would get up, "having a great work to do this day." Bishop Juxon came and administered the Sacrament, after which Charles was persuaded to take a little food, as the day was so bitterly cold. A few hours later the dread sentence had been fulfilled; but St. James's Palace was to witness one more scene, for the body was brought back on February 1, remaining there for many people to see it. A story, unsupported by evidence, though we would gladly give it credence, runs that a man, hidden in a cloak, visited the coffin, and as he walked round it was heard to mutter, "Dreadful necessity"--the man being said to be Oliver Cromwell.