After a somewhat protracted search the reporter discovered a promising-looking person sitting on the top rail of a fence just outside of Camden engaged in eating some crackers and cheese.

The reporter approached him and addressed him at a venture: "Beautiful day, Cantaphilus!" This familiarity seemed necessary; because if the Wandering Jew has any family name, the fact has not been revealed to the public.
"Bless my soul, young man, how on earth did you know me ?" exclaimed the Jew.
"Oh, I don't know; something about your appearance told me who it was.
I'm mighty glad to see you, any way.

When did you arrive ?" "I came on here yesterday.

Been down in Terra del Fuego, where I heard about the Centennial, and I thought I'd run up and have a look at it.
Be a good thing, I reckon.

Time flies, though, don't it?
Seems to me only yesterday that a man over here in Siberia told me that you people were fighting your Revolutionary war." [Illustration: THE WANDERING JEW] He sat upon the fence as he talked; his feet, cased in gum shoes, rested on the third rail from the bottom; his umbrella was under his arm; his face was deeply wrinkled, and his long white beard bobbed up and down as he ate his lunch voraciously, diving into his carpet-bag every now and then for more.