being neighbours, we began to grow very
intimate. He invites me to his house to
dinner, and there I met with Mister John
Tutchin, and a great many that talked
mightily against King James [this was the
safest sort of talk at that time], and the best
name they could afford that prince was
rogue and scoundrel-rascal. I never heard
such invectives uttered before, as by these
men. They began to tell me I must be
hearty in my cause: it was a glorious thing
to discover a plot, and he that would serve a
nation must fear nobody, but strike at all
that stood in his way. They preached up
liberty and property, and spoke very
despicably of all kings, not sparing him on the
throne. They said he employed rogues [how
could Mr. Fuller deny it?] and Tories, men
that would betray and ruin the Protestant
religion, the king himself, and the civil rights
of the people [was Mr. Fuller likely to hesitate
after that?]. They exclaimed mightily
against the noble family of the Finches, and
by their malice, said a thousand horrid
things against the greatest of that name, and
told me it was impossible that any of that
family should love me, and it was pity I did
not know something against them, as to
bring them so into the plot as to have them
cut off root and branch. These things
startled me at first; but some considerable
men, as John Arnold, Esquire, John Saville,
Esquire, and others it is not fitting to name,
appearing amongst them, and saying the
same things, telling long stories of what they
had done to serve and save the nation, what
they had suffered for the same, and what
danger England was yet in—these things
made me look on them as saints and mighty
patrons for the public good. In a short time
the reverend doctor invites me to come and
lodge in his house, and having his first floor
very handsomely furnished, I accepted his
offer, and had room for my servants also."

Thus, according to Mr. Fuller, did the
wicked Doctor and his party corrupt him.
But their villany went further still. When
he was in Oates's house, Fuller says, "he
and his friend Tutchin, whom he almost kept,
with the rest of the gang, prevailed with me
to let them see a copy of my information of
the whole plot, and when they read it they
shook their heads, blessing themselves, and
said what a pity it was that so good a plot
should be mangled, and spoiled, and no better
used. 'Gadzooks!' says the Doctor, 'I
wouldn't be served so. You are a fool, Fuller,
and a coxcomb. God's life! I could beat you
for having no more wit. Why, I would go to
Charles and tell him his own, nay, swear he
was in the popish plot himself, only he knew
not that part designed against his own life.
I made him afraid of me, and his lords,
Lowtherdale and the rest. I called them
rogues to their faces, but you are afraid to
speak to them.' At this kind of rate I was
baited by him and his crew, until to avoid
them I returned to my former lodging over
against him, for I could not bear his
continual foul language." Another reason,
however, for avoiding Doctor Oates, which Fuller
calls a good pretence, peeps out in his
narrative. "Mr. Aaron Smith," he says,
"seeing the Doctor and me together one day,
at a tavern in the city, he fell a-swearing at
me for being with the Doctor in public.
' Look you, Mr. Fuller,' said he, 'the Doctor
is a good and an honest man. He saved his
country, and deserves well from all good
men; but there be many at Court who hate
him, and so they will you, if you keep him
company. Besides, the Jacobites will say he
tutors you; and if Mister Crone should
confess, he would be set up as a witness against
a great many great men, and this being with
Doctor Oates will bring such reflections upon
you that the Tories will take advantage by
it. So you must leave off being seen publicly
in his company, or I shall complain of you, to
your damage. "I was not sorry for all this,"
says Fuller, "and though I left the Doctor's
house, yet he would visit me frequently, as
did his retainers."

Fuller's plot was as yet but a cock-and-
bull story, and he pretended that he required
time and money to bring the whole matter to
light. In such times, however, parties cannot
afford to neglect a warning however doubtful,
and he appears to have persuaded many of
the truth—among others the Archbishop of
Canterbury, who promised to forward the
matter with the king and queen. Fuller
got an order for money out of the treasury:
nor was this all: the marshal hearing that he
was about to start for Flanders, where the
king was, captured him again, and kept him
close in the prison. Upon this he says: "I
sent to my good Lord of Canterbury
presently, and he the same night acquainted the
queen. So the next morning early, Mr. Dalone
the queen's secretary's servant, came to my
chamber-door, and entering, brought me a
present of two hundred pounds in silver,
which was very welcome." With this, and
the help of innumerable swindling tricks,
Fuller travelled to the camp in the Low
Countries, in his old state of a coach and six.
His confidence and effrontery were unbounded.
Meeting with the notorious Colonel Kirk,
who was with the army, he boldly asserted
to him that he was a relation of Lord Sydney,
who was actually then in the camp. This
Fuller confesses. The hostile biographers
tell us that Lord Sydney, hearing the story,
and being shown the person, asked him what
country he was of, and which way his relation
to my lord came in? Fuller, in no wise
abashed, replied that "truly he had the
happiness to be somewhat related, though not
so near as a nephew 'twas true, as he much
feared it was his misfortune to be at present
unknown to his lordship; however, he hoped
his lordship would pardon his boldness in
laying claim to so high an honour, it being