As time wore on the punishment reverted to its earlier and milder form. Thus, in 1630, Dr. Leighton, for his _Zion’s Plea against Prelacy_, was pilloried, branded, cropped, and whipped; but the authors of the eighteenth century were punished by exposure alone, and were often solaced by popular sympathy. In 1765 Williams, the bookseller, stood in the Pillory for re-publishing _The North Briton_: he held a sprig of laurel in his hand, and a large collection was made for him then and there. In derision of authority the mob displayed (_inter alia_) the famous Bootjack--the popular reference to Lord Bute, the late Prime Minister. Still more farcical was the exposure (1759) of Dr. Shebbeare for publishing political libels. He was attended on the platform by a servant in livery holding an umbrella over his head, and his neck and arms were not confined. The court thought the under-sheriff of Middlesex something more than remiss: wherefore he was fined and imprisoned, it being judicially decided that the culprit must stand not merely _on_ but _in_ the Pillory. In this connexion I will only further mention the case of Eton the publisher, “a very old man,” who in 1812 was pilloried for printing Paine’s _Age of Reason_. Here, again, the crowd, by the respect it heaped upon the prisoner, altogether eliminated the sting from the punishment. The minor scribe of to-day is supposed to court an action, nay, a criminal prosecution, as a stimulus to circulation; a former age saw in the Pillory the best possible advertisement for the Grub Street hack. In Foote’s _Patron_, Puff, the publisher, urges Dactyl to produce a satire; and, when the proposed risk is hinted at, retorts: “Why, I would not give twopence for an author who was afraid of his ears.... Why, zooks, sir! I never got salt for my porridge till I mounted at the Royal Exchange, that was the making of me.... The true Castalian stream is a shower of eggs and a Pillory the poet’s Parnassus.”