It was in Pittsburg, and Mr. Irving was playing Shylock, when from the gallery “a voice fell like a falling star,” “Great gosh!” It fell from a countryman from Moon township, who, when the play was over, went to the stage door and wanted to thrash the actor. But he didn’t. Later, at a hotel, he was asked if he saw Shylock. “Yes, I seen him,” said he, “and it’s not the first time, either.” “When did you see him before?” “Why, I seen that fellow in Moon township last week peddling notions. It’s the same Jew, and you can bet a hundred if he ever comes out there again we will not split hairs with him about a pound of flesh, for Frank McGinnis and I will skin him alive.” “You are certainly mistaken about the man.” “No, sir. He was trading cuff-buttons for wool, and he had the same pair of scales and the same ugly look.” “But that Jew on the stage was Henry Irving, the celebrated English actor.” “That’s enough; you can’t fool me. I know my man, and I’ve been in the same fix myself as that young Antonio. That young fellow, Antonio, had been out ‘log-rolling,’ and having some fun with the boys, and that sheeny Shylock had lent him some money and then wanted the earth, and he would have killed the young fellow with that carver if I hadn’t been right there.” Critics will please never again say that Mr. Irving’s representations are “not natural.”
Gibson’s Venus
When the Viceroy of Egypt was in London, at the time of the great exposition, Gibson’s beautiful statue of Venus was on exhibition. The viceroy stopped in front of the statue one day, and continued for some time to contemplate its beauties and to study the features. Upon one of his aides remarking to him that the afternoon was passing away and that much remained to be seen, the viceroy said: “No, do not disturb me. I wish to be able to recognize her, for I am going to dine with her this evening.” It was then revealed that the Egyptian ruler confounded Gibson’s Venus with the wife of Milner Gibson, a member of the cabinet, at whose house he was engaged to dine that evening. The nude statue he took for a life-like representation of the charms of his hostess.
Highgate
An amusing story is told of the daughter of a well-known London alderman, who was recently taken in to dinner by a judge who figured prominently in the Tichborne trial. The conversation turned on the young lady’s usual place of residence, which happened to be Highgate. “Don’t you think Highgate pretty?” she asked. Unfortunately, she was slightly uncertain in her aspirates. His lordship gave her one hurried glance of intense astonishment. “You get pretty?” he replied, gallantly, recovering his presence of mind. “No, Miss ——, I think you were always pretty.” However horrified at the compliment, the young lady quite justified it by her profuse blushes.
Both Sides
“Was your room on the port or the starboard side of the vessel?” asked an old traveller of a new one, who had just returned from his first trip to Europe. “Oh, I had the same room both ways,” was the answer. “It was on the port side going over, and so of course it was on the starboard side coming back.”
A Hopeless Case
A certain Philadelphia gentleman was ordered by his physician to travel for the benefit of his health. He went to England, and after tiring of London he decided to hire a trap and see the beauties of interior England in dignified ease and luxury. Just then he fell in with a hearty, good-natured Englishman, and as they soon became fast friends the American invited the other to attend him on his coaching trip.
The son of John Bull accepted, and during the days that followed, each frequently and in a joking manner improved every occasion to laud his own country and express his contempt of the other. On the evening of the fourth day, as they were driving along a dusty road, the American pulled the horses up suddenly and proceeded to read a sign, “To Manchester 20 miles,” and underneath were the words, “If you cannot read this sign, apply for information at the blacksmith shop.”