On another occasion a woman was particularly solicitous to have the same question resolved. “Indeed, madam,” answered Lambert, “I cannot pretend to charge my memory with the price, but I can put you into a method of obtaining the information you want. If you think proper to make me a present of a new coat, you will then know exactly what it costs.” A person who had the appearance of a decent man, one day took the liberty of asking several impertinent questions. Lambert looked him sternly in the face, but without making any reply. A woman now entered the room, and Lambert entered into conversation with her, on which the same person observed that he was more polite to ladies than to gentlemen. “I can assure you, Sir,” answered Lambert, “that I consider it my duty to treat with equal politeness all those whose behaviour convinces me that they are gentlemen.” “I suppose,” rejoined the querist, “you mean to infer that I am no gentleman.” “That I certainly did,” was the reply. Not yet abashed by this reproof, he soon afterwards ventured to ask another question of a similar nature with the preceding. Irritated at these repeated violations of decency, which bespoke a deficiency of good sense as well as good manners, Lambert fixed his eyes full upon the stranger “You came into this room, Sir, by the door, but”----“You mean to say,” observed the other, looking at the window, “that I may possibly make my exit by some other way.” “Begone this moment,” thundered Lambert, “or I’ll throw you into Piccadilly.” No second injunction was necessary to rid him of this obnoxious guest. After a residence of about five months in the metropolis, where we believe his success was fully adequate to his most sanguine expectations, he returned in September, 1806, to his native town. From that period to his death, he continued to travel, gratifying the curiosity of his countrymen; and again visited London in March, 1807. On Tuesday evening, June 20th, 1809, he arrived, from Huntingdon, at the house of Mr. Berridge, at the Waggon and Horses Inn, in St. Martin’s, Stamford, where preparations were made for his receiving company the next day, and during the then ensuing races; but before 9 o’clock on the following morning, the 21st, (fatal 21st! Alexandria, Trafalgar, and Old England still remember thee!) he had paid the debt of nature, without any previous sickness to indicate the approach of his dissolution.