This Act was somewhat hurried through, owing to the downfall of the Coalition Ministry, which will ever be known in the political history of England as the “Ministry of all the talents,” or the “Broad-bottomed” Cabinet. While this Ministry was in existence, it afforded the Caricaturists plenty of food for their pencils. One of the last of them is by Gillray (April 18, 1807), and it is called “The Pigs Possessed, or, The Broad-bottomed Litter rushing headlong in the Sea of Perdition.” Though the subject is hackneyed, the treatment is excellent. “Farmer George,” as the King was familiarly termed, has knocked down a portion of his fence, which stands on the edge of a cliff, and, with brandished dung-fork, and ready heel, he speeds the swine to their destruction, thus apostrophizing them: “O, you cursed ungrateful Grunters! what! after devouring more in a twelve month, than the good old Litters did in twelve years, you turn round to kick and bite your old Master? but, if the Devil or the Pope has got possession of you all—pray get out of my Farm Yard! out with you all; no hanger-behind! you’re all of a cursed bad breed; so out with you all together!!!” Of course there was the Annual Fast, which was fixed, for February 25th. This time “the shops were all shut, and the utmost solemnity prevailed throughout the day.” Their repetition, evidently, was educating the people as to their implied meaning. Sir Francis Burdett wished to retrieve his former defeat, and we consequently find him, at the General Election in this year, putting up for Westminster. Paull, who had contested the seat with Sheridan, was one candidate, Lord Cochrane, and Elliott the brewer, at Pimlico, were the others. This election is chiefly remarkable in illustrating the manners of the times, by a duel which took place between two of the candidates, Paull and Burdett, the latter of whom had squabbled over his name having been advertised as intending to appear at a meeting, without his consent having been first obtained. They met at Combe Wood near Wimbledon, and both were wounded. Sir Francis was successful, and a short account of his “chairing”—a custom long since consigned to _limbo_—may not be uninteresting. Originally, as the name implies, the successful candidate was seated in a chair, and carried about on the shoulders of his enthusiastic supporters, as the winner of the Queen’s prize at Wimbledon is now honoured. But Sir Francis’s admirers had improved upon this. The procession and triumphal car started from Covent Garden, and worked its way to the baronet’s house in Piccadilly, where he mounted the car. How he did so, the contemporary account does not state, but it does say that “the car was as high as the one pair of stairs windows,” and “the seat upon which the Baronet was placed, stood upon a lofty Corinthian pillar.” On this uncomfortable elevation, he rode from Piccadilly, down the Haymarket, up St. Martin’s Lane, and so into Covent Garden, where a dinner was provided.