'We went through a small garden, and, passing out of a gate, I found we were in St. James's Park. Here I noticed that Mr. Bentham had a very snug dwelling, with many accommodations, and such a garden as belongs in London only to the first nobility. But for his neighbours, I thought--for he has a barrack of soldiers on one side of his premises--I should envy him his garden more than his great reputation. On looking at him, I could but admire his hale, and even venerable, appearance. I understood he was seventy-three years of age, and therefore I concluded we should have a quiet, comfortable walk. Very much to my surprise, however, we had scarcely got into the Park, when he let go my arm, and set off trotting like a Highland messenger. The Park was crowded, and the people one and all seemed to stare at the old man; but, heedless of all this, he trotted on, his white locks floating in the wind, as if he were not seen by a single human being. 'As soon as I could recover from my surprise, I asked the young man, "Is Mr. Bentham flighty?" pointing to my head. "Oh no, it's his way," was the hurried answer; "he thinks it good for his health. But I must run after him;" and off set the youth in chase of the philosopher. I must not lose my companions, thought I, and off I set also. Of course the eyes of every human being in the Park were fixed on the running veteran and his pursuers. There was Jerry ahead, then came his clerk and his portfolio, and I, being a heavier sailer than either, was bringing up the rear.