cadamized roads, his R.H. comes to town in the
morning, transacts his official business at the Admiralty, and
frequently returns to Bushy to dinner.

The park is a thoroughfare, and the circumstances by which this public
claim was established are worthy of record, as a specimen of the justice
with which the rights of the community are upheld in this country. The
_village Hampden_, in the present case, was one Timothy Bennet, of whom
there is a fine print, which the neighbours, who are fond of a walk in
Bushy Park, must regard with veneration. It has under it this
inscription:--"Timothy Bennet; of Hampton Wick, in Middlesex, shoemaker,
aged 75, 1752. This true Briton, (unwilling to leave the world worse
than he found it,) by a vigorous application of the laws of his country
in the cause of liberty, obtained a free passage through Bushy Park,
which had many years been withheld from the public." Regeneration (or
the renewal of souls) is, however, a shoemaker's _forte_.

The above engraving of Bushy is copied from an elegant coloured view,
drawn by Ziegler, and published by Griffiths, of Wellington-street,
Strand.

* * * * *

THE FUGITIVE.

A SCOTCH TALE.

_(For the Mirror.)_

It was now abute the gloaming when my ain same Janet (heav'n sain her
saul) was sitting sae bieldy in a bit neuk ayant the ingle, while the
winsome weans gathering around their minnie were listing till some auld
spae wife's tale o' ghaists and worriecows; when on a sudden some ane
tirled at the door pin.

"Here's your daddie, bairns," said the gudewife ganging till the door;
but i' place o' their daddie, a tall chiel wrappit i' a big cloak,
rushed like a fire flaught into the bield, and drappit doun on the
sunkie ewest the ingle droghling and coghling.

"What's your wull, friend?" said Janet, glowering on him a' i' a gliff,
"the gudeman's awa."

"Save me, save me," shrieghed the stranger, "the sleuth hounds are at my
heels."

"But wha may ye be, maister," cried the dame, "I durstna dee your
bidding while Jamie's frae the hause."

"Oh, dinna speir, dinna speir mistress," exclaimed the chiel a' in a
curfuffle, "ainly for the loe of heav'n, hide me frae the red coats
whilk are comin' belive--O God, they are here," he cried, as I entered
the shealing, and uttering a piercing skirl, he sprung till the wa', and
thrawing aff his cloak, drew his broad claymore, whilk glittered
fearsome by the low o' the ingle.