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Updated: May 2, 2025
While in Birmingham, with his friend Albert Smith, then author and afterwards a successful showman, he visited Stratford-on-Avon, where lived and wrote the greatest of English poets Shakespeare. While breakfasting at the Red House Inn, at Stratford, they called for a guide-book of the town, and to Barnum's great delight the volume proved to be Washington Irving's "Sketch-book."
Napoleon, at St Helena, forgot the empire of the world, on hearing, in the long evenings, the masterpieces of Corneille read aloud. Stratford-on-Avon does not contain the remains of mere English genius, it is the place of pilgrimage to the entire human race.
Grace pointed out the fault and readjusted the sticks; as he turned away he heard, "What does 'e know about it, I wonder!" This carries me to a parallel happening at Stratford-on-Avon. The late Sir Henry Irving and a friend fell in with a native on the outskirts of the town, and being anxious to test the local reputation of the poet asked the man if he had heard of a person named Shakespeare.
ONE April morning nearly three hundred and fifty years ago there was a stir and bustle in a goodly house in the little country town of Stratford-on-Avon. The neighbors went in and out with nods and smiles and mysterious whisperings.
SO FAR AS ANYBODY ACTUALLY KNOWS AND CAN PROVE, Shakespeare of Stratford-on-Avon never wrote a play in his life. So far as any one KNOWS AND CAN PROVE, Shakespeare of Stratford wrote only one poem during his life. This one is authentic. He did write that one a fact which stands undisputed; he wrote the whole of it; he wrote the whole of it out of his own head.
Forth, Oxford. Dear Mrs. Forth, Saturday is a half-holiday at the Works, and I propose to come up and see whether our boat cannot bump Balliol. How extraordinary it is that people should neglect, on Sundays, the favourite promenade of the Short-faced Humourist. I shall be there: the old place. Believe me, yours ever, From Mrs. Casaubon to William Ladislaw, Esq., Stratford-on-Avon.
But to return to Mount Vernon, the orderliness of the place is not its least noticeable feature. There is no mingling of trade with sentiment, as at Stratford-on-Avon, for example. Within the borders of the estate everything is quiet.
Close to the village of Naseby rises the Avon, some of its springs being actually within the village, where their waters are caught in little ponds for watering cattle. The slender stream of Shakespeare's river flows downward from the plateau through green meadows, and thence to the classic ground of Stratford and of Warwick. It was at Stratford-on-Avon that Shakespeare was born and died;
I should hardly have dared to add another to the innumerable descriptions of Stratford-on-Avon, if it had not seemed to me that this would form a fitting framework to some reminiscences of a very remarkable woman.
At least, the place itself was as sweet as a corner of heaven, and I tried as well as I could in my way to sketch it." "I suppose it IS very pretty," Bernard replied, in a meditative tone. Melissa started visibly. "What! have you never been there, either?" she exclaimed, taken aback. "Well, that IS odd, now! You live in England, and have never run over to Stratford-on-Avon!
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