As I had to start wearing a fez sooner or later, I thought I might as well begin at once, and pass for a Persian going to Persia, which would excuse my ignorance of Turkish, which no other disguise I could have adopted would have been effectual in doing. In the guise of a native of a far land, and _en route_ for places where the name “English” was hardly known, I felt strangely cut off from my fellow Europeans when I heard them talking about their tour, planning expeditions and journeys new--when they should have “done” Palestine and Egypt, and returned once more to their Midland towns--experienced Oriental travellers. It is strange what a simple exchange of headgear can do. Here was I, by the mere fact of wearing a fez, isolated, looked down upon by types one would pass unnoticed in London, audibly commented upon as “quite a civilised-looking Turk,” exciting wonder as to “’ow many wives ’e’s got,” and such traditionally Oriental questions. The ignorance of these people was wonderful and colossal. We sighted, I remember, Mitylene one morning, and all the force of parsons and tourists hung over the rail with guide-books and glasses, disputed whether the high land was Chios or Rhodes, oblivious of the big chart on the top of the saloon stairs, where our position could be reckoned on the route line at the expense of two minutes’ thought. They certainly appreciated the beauties of the glorious archipelago through which we passed, not too quickly, and faithfully enough raised enthusiasm in the places the guide-books recommended. Rhodes, when we did get there, and they were certain it was not Cyprus, created great excitement among them, the controversy anent the Colossus and his legs was heated enough to keep the subject alive quite two hours after the island had disappeared beneath the blue horizon, “quite as blue as the sea at Blackpool,” as one Manchester man affirmed, in a spirit of rash generosity. Before we had been two days at sea, I was drawn into uttering some words of English in a moment of thoughtlessness, and that to a very hearty individual from Newcastle. He trod heavily upon my feet, and as I quite involuntarily replied to his apology with an English phrase, he looked at me in the most utter astonishment, ejaculated, “Great ’eavens, you speak English.” [Sidenote: MY DISGUISE SUCCEEDS] “Yes,” I said, “I was brought up in England.” “Oh,” he replied, apparently relieved, “that accounts for it, you--er, where are ye goin’ to?” I told him I was going to Persia, and his hasty conclusion saved me the trouble of any equivocal statement for the moment, for he continued: “Oh, then, I suppose you’re one of those Persian gentlemen that’s been in England lately for the Persian Parliament. ’Ow d’you like England, what part d’you know best?” “Kent and Sussex,” I replied, perfectly truthfully, ignoring his first remarks, “and all the south, for I have never been farther north than Lincoln.”