"O Protector, who hast tasted of the power of God, which many generations before thee have not so much since the days of apostasy from the Apostles, take heed that thou lose not thy power; but keep Kingship off thy head, which the world would give to thee:" so had Fox written in one letter, ending, "O Oliver, take heed of undoing thyself by running into things that will fade, the things of this world that will change; be subject and obedient to the Lord God." There was something in all this that really reached Cromwell's heart, while it amused him; and, though he would begin by bantering Fox at an interview, sitting on a table and talking in "a light manner," as Fox himself tells us, he would end with some serious words.

Both to Fox personally, and to the letters from him and other Quakers, his reply in substance uniformly was that they were good people, and that, for himself, "all persecution and cruelty was against his mind." Cromwell was only at the centre, however, and could not regulate the administration of the law everywhere.[1] [Footnote 1: Council Order Books of date; and Sewel's _History of the Quakers_, I.210-233.] John Lilburne once more, but now for the last time, and in a totally new guise! Committed to prison in 1653 by the government of the Barebones Parliament, acting avowedly not by law but simply "for the peace of this nation" (ante, IV.

508), he had been first in the Tower, then in a castle in Jersey, and then in Dover Castle.

In this last confinement, which had been made tolerably easy, a Quaker had had access to him, with very marked effects.

"Here, in Dover Castle," Lilburne had written to his wife, Oct.