_May, 1806_. _Recruiting on a Broad-Bottom'd Principle._ Published by T. Blacklock, 92 Royal Exchange.--Grenville, Fox, and their colleagues, are out on a recruiting expedition, to enlist volunteers for their new service. Lord Grenville, as the recruiting sergeant, is haranguing the bystanders; his followers are rather of the tatterdemalion order: they wear the red caps of Liberty, and the revolutionary cockades, they are out-at-elbows and shoeless. Sheridan is waving the colours inscribed 'God save the King! No Jacobins!' Fox is drummer, Lord Derby is fifer; 'Now my brave fellows, now is the time to make your fortunes and show your loyalty, all on a Broad-Bottom'd principle: we don't value _candle-ends_ and _cheese-parings_, not we! All lives, and fortune-soldiers to a man. We'll make our enemies tremble; we are the boys to _wind_ 'em; now is your time, my lads; the bed of Honour is a bed of Down.' A dog, the _Member for Barkshire_ according to his collar, is bow-wowing the sergeant's address; one of the audience, with a paper, _Bed of Roses_ (to which the ministerial condition had been likened by Lord Castlereagh), in his pocket, is half decided to join their standard: 'I don't like a bed of Down, I would rather it was a _Bed of Roses_: however I have a great mind to enter notwithstanding, there is nothing like having two strings to one's bow.' George the Third is peeping through his spyglass; he is not very clear as to the actual motives of the party: 'What, what! my sergeant and drummer beating up for volunteers; that's right, that's right, get as many as you can!' _May 4, 1806._ _Daniel Lambert, the wonderful great Pumpkin of Little Britain._ Published by R. Ackermann, 101 Strand.--The famous Leicester giant, or rather fat man, Daniel Lambert, was the object of fashionable curiosity at this date. The worthy and good-natured-looking monster's figure is set forth at full, and justice is done to his corpulence. A tailor and his journeyman are between them vainly trying to stretch their measuring tape round the colossal girth; a fairly conditioned man-cook has just brought in a noble rib of beef for the regalement of the giant. Three modishly dressed persons of quality, who have come to admire the huge proportions of Daniel Lambert, are contrasting their own meagre condition of genteel slimness with his excessive plumpness. A notice sets forth, 'Agricultural society for the improvement of fat cattle. Leicestershire Ram'; and a placard advertises, 'The powers of Roast Beef, or the Leicestershire Apollo, now in full bloom; no blemish whatever on any part of his body. Thirty-six years of age. Weighs upwards of 50 stone, 14 lbs. to the stone, or 700 lbs. Measures 3 yds. 4 inches round the body, and 1 yard 1 inch round the leg; is five feet eleven inches in height. Admission only one shilling. Laugh and grow fat.'[5]