success. When his readers began to tire, he
pretended that his old informant Jones, who
once left him in the lurch so cruelly, had
again turned up, and had handed over to him
a wonderful collection of treasonable
documents. Fuller now began to forge wholesale,
and print letterS of King James, the queen,
Father Corker, Mrs. Grey, the Earl of
Tyrconnel, and the Duchess of Powis, with a
number of formal depositions of persons of
quality and worth. These he declared to be
"from the originals, as they were intercepted,
and delivered to his present Majesty." The
letters were formal and circumstantial, and
with the depositions and other documents
had every appearance of genuineness. They
were dedicated to the Earl of Romney, to the
Lord Mayor, and to others. Each publication
was recommended to the consideration of
both Houses of Parliament, and one bore on
its title-page the words Published by
Command. Not content with these startling
publications, he once more petitioned both
Houses of Parliament to be allowed to
substantiate his charges. Fuller, who admits
the forgeries, says that he was assured by his
party that nothing could hurt him. " I was
promised," he says, " by several persons of
figure and note that I should have forty
witnesses to stand by me, and be brought off
with honour." Many persons of high rank
were compromised by his statements, and the
House of Lords were compelled to order his
attendance. Fuller then began the old trick
of shuffling. He pretended that Jones would
not come, until he had protection from the
House. When this was granted, he took the
messengers into the country for twelve days
in search of Jones, who never could be found.
Sometimes, the Jacobites had threatened to
murder Jones if he came to the House;
sometimes, Jones was hiding at the house
of Mr. Ingelsfield, who was as airy and
unsubstantial as Jones; and sometimes
both of them had promised to be at the
Three Tuns Tavern, at Ludgate Hill, or some
other place, and did not come, Jones having
taken fright again and vanished. The House
at last got tired of this; and in spite of
letters to the Chancellor, and the Speaker,
and the Chief Justice, solemnly attesting the
genuineness of the documents, and promising
to produce Jones if they would only grant
him time and money, and in spite of actual
letters from Jones himself promising to come
—Fuller was again indicted, and convicted,
still calling on the name of Jones, and offering
to produce him within eight hours.

The sentence was, that Fuller should go
to all the Courts in Westminster with
a paper pinned upon him, expressing his
crime; that he should stand three days in
the pillory, two hours at a time, at Charing
Cross, Temple Bar, and the Royal Exchange;
that he should be whipped at Bridewell,
kept to hard labour, and fined a thousand
marks—all of which was executed, as
appears from a lamentable account by Mr.
Fuller himself:

"Never," he says, " was man amongst
Turks or barbarians known to be worse used.
I was sadly abused at Charing Cross; but at
Temple Bar I was stifled with all manner of
dust, filth, and rotten eggs; and my left eye
was so bruised with a stone flung, that it
swelled out of my head immediately, the
blow deprived me of my senses, and I fell
down (not wilfully as some say), and hung
by the neck. Three times was I served in
that kind, losing all manner of sense, though
I fell down but twice, and being almost dead,
I was by order taken out; but felt not my
release, nor was I sensible of anything for
some hours after. I was a miserable object
to behold, and hardly any that saw me
thought it possible for me to survive. I was
all over bruised from head to heel, and on
the small of my back, as I stood stooping, a
stone struck me, which, being taken up, was
found to weigh more than six pounds. On
Monday in the city I was more tenderly
used, after having made my complaint to Sir
James Bateman, then sheriff. On Friday,
when I was carried to Bridewell, I was very
sick and weak; but nothing availed. I must
suffer, and had thirty-nine lashes. Being
ironed with heavy fetters, I was sent down
immediately to hard labour, and not so much
as allowed to be dressed; insomuch that
when I came from work at night, the blood
had dried my shirt and skin together, so that
both came off. I had a violent fever, but
must to work the next day by six. I was
barbarously used by some of the petty officers
of the place, and was inhumanly beat and
bruised by one of the arts-masters. I am
now," Fuller concludes, " a prisoner in the
common side of the Queen's Bench; lodged
under ground in close nauseous holes, such
as a gentleman would hardly put a dog
into that he loved. We have no air, nor is
there anything but misery to be seen. I
have been also kept in irons, though now
only a prisoner for debt, and all my usage
in the execution of my sentence has been
barbarous beyond comparison, which makes
me, with holy Job, cry out: Pity me; pity me,
O ye my friends; for the hand of the Lord is
upon me!"

A dismal termination this—a woful change
from livery servants, and coach and six, and
lodgings in Pall Mall, and waistcoats of stuff
worth forty shillings the yard. Nor was
there now any hope of recovery. The
hundreds whom Fuller had accused, had suffered
imprisonment and paid their fines, till
governments were tired—and good Queen
Anne was on the throne. Informing was
out of fashion, and Fuller was at last too
much damaged for the business.

"To end my days in solitude," he piously
says in a postscript, " and prepare for a
blessed eternity, is the utmost extent of my
wishes."