“Merely so far as Columbus.” (Columbus, I may explain is the capital of Ohio.) “And you, sir?” he added, interrogatively. “I am journeying toward Cincinnati. I am a theatrical man, and play there to-morrow night.” I was a young man then, and fond of avowing my profession. “Oh, indeed! Your face seemed familiar to me as you entered the car. I am confident we have met before.” “I have acted in almost every State in the Union,” said I. “Mrs. Florence and I are pretty generally known throughout the north-west.” “Bless me?” said the stranger in surprise, “I have seen you act many times, sir, and the recollection of Mrs. Florence’s ‘Yankee Girl,’ with her quaint songs, is still fresh in my memory.” “Do you propose remaining long in Columbus?” “Yes, for seven years,” replied my companion. Thus we chatted for an hour or two. At length my attention was attracted to a little, red-faced man, with small sharp eyes, who sat immediately opposite us and amused himself by sucking the knob of a large walking stick which he carried caressingly in his hand. He had more than once glanced at me in a knowing manner, and now and then gave a sly wink and shake of the head at me, as much as to say, “Ah, old fellow, I know you, too.” These attentions were so marked that I finally asked my companion if he had noticed them. “That poor man acts like a lunatic,” said I, _sotto voce_. “A poor half-witted fellow, possibly,” replied my fellow-traveller. “In your travels through the country, however, Mr. Florence, you must have often met such strange characters.” We had now reached Crestline, the dinner station, and, after thanking the stranger for the agreeable way in which he had enabled me to pass the journey up to this point, I asked him if he would join Mrs. Florence and myself at dinner. This produced an extraordinary series of grimaces and winks from the red-faced party aforesaid. The invitation to dinner was politely declined. The repast over, our train sped on toward Cincinnati. I told my wife that in the smoking car I had met a most entertaining gentleman, who was well posted in theatricals, and was on his way to Columbus. She suggested that I should bring him into our car, and present him to her. I returned to the smoking car and proposed that the gentleman should accompany me to see Mrs. Florence. The proposal made the red-faced man undergo a species of spasmodic convulsions which set the occupants of the car into roars of laughter. “No, I thank you,” said my friend, “I feel obliged to you for the courtesy, but I prefer the smoking car. Have you another cigar?” “Yes,” said I, producing another Partaga. I again sat by his side, and once more our conversation began, and we were quite fraternal. We talked about theatres and theatricals, and then adverted to political economy, the state of the country, finance and commerce in turn, our intimacy evidently affording intense amusement to the foxy-faced party near us.