In the evening of the same day, a tall, raw-boned man came to the hotel and introduced himself to me as a brother Yankee, who would be happy in pointing out the many wonders in Liverpool that a stranger would be pleased to see.
I asked him how long he had been in Liverpool, and he replied, “Nearly a week.” I declined his proffered services abruptly, remarking that if he had been there only a week, I probably knew as much about England as he did.
“Oh,” said he, “you are mistaken. I have been in England before, though never till recently in Liverpool.”
“What part of England?” I inquired.
“Opposite Niagara Falls,” he replied; “I spent several days there with the British soldiers.”
I laughed in his face, and reminded him that England did not lie opposite Niagara Falls. The impudent fellow was confused for a moment, and then triumphantly exclaimed:
“I didn’t mean England. I know what country it is as well as you do.”
“Well, what country is it?” I asked, quite assured that he did not know.
“Great Britain, of course,” he replied.
It is needless to add that the honor of his company as a guide in Liverpool was declined, and he went off apparently in a huff because his abilities were not appreciated.