“_Jamais!_” “Never.” “Been to Genoa?” “_Si, Signore._” “Ah, you are English, are you not?” With the intense Turkish negative I respond, “_Yok!_” “French?” “_Non._” “German?” “_Nein._” “Sclav?” “_Nee._” “Italian?” “_No, Signore._” “Ah! Espagnol? You look like one.” “Pardon, Monsieur, I am not.” “Well,” said he, taking breath, “will you tell me, Monsieur, where you do come from?” “Don’t you remember the only nation in the world where the barber is as good as a king?” I said proudly. “Oh, Switzerland. _Sapristi! Corpo de Bacco!_” Understanding that last remark perfectly, I offer him a cigarette, and say, “No, I am not Swiss.” “Brazeel?” “_Jamais._” The way that barber rubs the unguent into my hairless scalp and hirsute beard shows that he is a disappointed man. The next time I visit the shop I receive marked attention. The hands all rise up. They pick up the earth in a Turkish _salaam_. They distribute it in courtesy to the American minister, whom they have meanwhile discovered. As I have been frequently turned away from the doors of our American Congress after twenty-five years’ service, because I did not act or look like a member, so I was unrecognised here, by the “_Oi Barberoi_,” as having no national characterisation. America was the last race or people to which this Greek barber assigned me. _Samuel S. Cox._ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _AT THE GIANT’S CAUSEWAY._ “YIS, sur. It’s many a wan av yure countrymin Oi’ve taken over the Causeway, sur.” “How do you know what countryman I am?” “Thrust me fur knowing the American accent, sur.” “I haven’t the American accent. You have it. Go to New York if you don’t believe me.” “There’s many an Oirishman there, I’m tould, sur.” “More than in Dublin.” “De ye tell me thot, sur? Well, sur, Oi took Gineral Grant himsilf over the Causeway, and a foine mawn he was. An’ Gineral Sheridan, too, sur. Many’s the great mawn Oi’ve taken over the Causeway, sur.” “Besides me?” “Well, sur, ye may be the greatest av thim all, sur; fur, as Oi’ve often noticed, them that’s laste like it is sometimes bether than they look, sur.” “True. So we won’t pursue _that_ subject any further.” “Oi took the Duke av Connaught himsilf down this very road, sur, an’ do you know what he says to me, sur? He says, ‘Pat,’ says he, ‘have ye had anything to ate the day?’ ‘Saving yer presence, sur,’ says Oi, ‘except a bite at breakfast’—an’ before the words were out of my mout’, says the Duke to me, says he, ‘Sit down wid us,’ says he; an’ no sooner said than done, and Oi had moy lunch with the Duke av Connaught. De ye moind _thot_, now?” “That was a great honour—for the Duke.” “It was—what’s that, sur? It was a great honour fur _me_, sur.” “Just depends on how a man looks at it. If you think it was a great honour for you, it was.”