Chapter 2

"Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles,Nods, and becks, and wreathèd smiles"

of that night lived in his memory for many a long day.

It is not too much to say that this attraction was almost wholly due to the extraordinary powers of Burton himself. True, his company embraced the finest artists in their several lines of any stage in the country; and it was well known to all lovers of refined drama that the Chambers Street Theatre was the home of English comedy, and that any given play could be there produced with a cast entirely adequate, and with a perfection of detail ensuring to the auditor an artistic delight and a representation of the highest class. But there are many who, while appreciating the delineation of manners and character, seek amusement pure and simple, and who believe that good digestion waits on hearty laughter. To this large constituency Burton was the objective point, for his humor and comic power were a perennial fountain of mirth. His appearance,either discovered when the curtain rose, or entering from the wing, was the signal for a ripple of merriment all over the house. Every countenance brightened, the dullest face glowed with gleeful expectancy. No actor, we believe—unless possibly Liston,—ever excelled Burton in humorous facial expression. Tom Hood, in referring to certain pastimes of a London evening, says in his felicitous rhyme:

"Or in the small Olympic pit sit, split,Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz."

Read the couplet thus:

"Or in theChambers Streetsnug pit sit, split,Laughing atBurton, while you quiz his phiz,"

and we have the nightly situation. It was a common circumstance for the theatre to receive accessions toward the close of the performance, the new-comers standing in line along the walls, drawn thither by the potent magnet of the manager in the farce. Thus it was that, though the theatre furnished constantly a rich feast ofcomedy, and was more widely known than any other, still more celebrated was the great actor whose name it bore; and it was the magic of that name that drew the people, and it was he whom the people went to see. It seemed to make little difference what the bills announced; Burton would play,—and that was enough.

It was the privilege of the writer of these pages to have free access to the Chambers Street Theatre, and to know personally its manager, and his recollections are such as to induce him to believe that in no better way can he perform his task of completing Mr. Burton's career than by employing his own knowledge and recording the impressions he received. In so doing, the opportunity afforded for special reference to members of his company will be improved; and perhaps our retrospection may arouse in other breasts a remembrance of past delight.

Alluding to the comedian's first appearance in New York, October 31, 1837, Joseph N. Ireland, so often quoted, remarks: "The adventof Mr. W. E. Burton, the most renowned comedian of recent days, demands more than a passing notice. For nearly twenty years no other actor monopolized so much of the public applause, and popular sentiment universally assigned him a position in broad low comedy entirely unrivalled on the American stage." It was a little over three years between his arrival in America and his New York débût; about eleven between that appearance and his lesseeship in Chambers Street; and eleven more remain to be taken note of. Of these, eight belong to Chambers Street, two to the uptown theatre, and one to starring engagements in various cities—the last being in Hamilton, Canada, and abruptly terminated by the malady of which he died.

The company at Chambers Street now demands our attention; and the wish to suitably recognize the talents, and to chronicle, however simply, the triumphs of that famous array, has constrained us to widen the scope of our originaldesign, and to extend somewhat our notices of certain individual actors. We shall in nowise regret this; for in recalling past delight it is a pleasure to dwell on those who caused it; and we may, perchance, awaken thereby a happy thought of them in other hearts. The departed years are full of memories, and the turning of a leaf may lay bare a volume of reminiscence. It forms no part of our purpose, however, to follow individual careers, and to trace their course on other boards than those of the Chambers Street Theatre. Many of them, indeed, after Burton removed uptown, and after his death, continued their successes and won renown in other scenes and under other management; and our readers may feel that but scant justice is done many meritorious names familiar to the present generation, in confining mention of them to a period when their talents and capabilities had not ripened to that excellence which afterward gave them fame. But we are concerned with them only as they figured as members of Burton's company, and as suchcontributed richly to our fund of memory. They stand in the dramatic Pantheon with their great chief; and in approaching that central and dominant figure we pause to bend delighted gaze upon the admirable group surrounding it.

From 1848 to 1856 the following names were numbered on the muster-roll: Henry Placide, Blake, Brougham, Lester, T. B. Johnston, Bland, Jordan, Barrett, Dyott, Fisher, Thompson, Holland, C. W. Clarke, Norton, Parsloe, Jr., Holman, Charles Mathews, Setchell, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Russell (now Mrs. Hoey), Mrs. Skerrett, Mrs. Rea, Miss Raymond, Mrs. Hough, Mrs. Buckland, Miss Weston, Miss Devlin, Miss Malvina, Miss Agnes Robertson, Fanny Wallack, Mary Taylor, Miss Chapman. This is by no means intended as a complete enumeration—"but 't is enough, 't will serve." Many names have been forgotten, and some remembered but omitted. It may be of interest to note at this point the fortunes that awaited at least five of the actresses above named—viz.:Mrs. Russell, Miss Weston, Miss Devlin, Miss Malvina, Miss Agnes Robertson.

Mrs. Russell, while at Burton's in 1849, and a great favorite, was married to John Hoey of express fame, and shortly thereafter retired from the stage, the manager doing the honors at her farewell, and presenting her on the occasion with a valuable testimonial of his regard. Long afterward Mrs. Hoey was induced by the elder Wallack to forsake her retirement, and for many years was the leading lady at his theatre, her refined manners, correct taste, and exquisite toilets, exciting anew public esteem and admiration. She quitted the stage and returned to private life in 1865.

Miss Lizzie Weston, whose beauty, dramatic aptitude, and versatility, won nightly plaudits, and whose performance was not without much that was highly meritorious, signalized a career more or less checkered by uniting her fortunes with those of the late Charles Mathews, during his starring tour in 1858, and is now the widow of that famous actor.

Miss Malvina, a sister of Mrs. Barney Williams, was adanseuseat Burton's,—for it was the fashion in the old days to beguile the lazy time between the pieces with a Terpsichorean interlude; and we remember but one instance of her appearance in any other character, and that was a minor part in the farce of "A School for Tigers." She became Mrs. Wm. J. Florence in 1853, and has since shared her husband's fortunes and honors. Miss Agnes Robertson made her débût in New York at the Chambers Street Theatre, October 22, 1853, asMillyin "The Young Actress," and has since been well known as the wife of Dion Boucicault.

A more illustrious alliance—so soon to end in piteous sorrow—was the portion of Mary Devlin. She was a minor actress at Burton's, but a woman of rare and lovely character. So much so, that she won the heart of Edwin Booth, and became his wife, and the idol of his home, till death early called her from his side. It was in memory of this sweet and gentle lady, that the poet Thomas William Parsons penned the following exquisite stanzas:

"What shall we do now, Mary being dead,Or say, or write, that shall express the half?What can we do but pillow that fair headAnd let the spring-time write her epitaph?"As it will soon in snow-drop, violet,Wind-flower, and columbine, and maiden's tear,—Each letter of that pretty alphabetThat spells in flowers the pageant of the year."She was a maiden for a man to love,She was a woman for a husband's life,One that had learned to value far aboveThe name of Love the sacred name of Wife."Her little life-dream, rounded so with sleep,Had all there is of life—except gray hairs:Hope, love, trust, passion, and devotion deep,And that mysterious tie a Mother bears."She hath fulfilled her promise and hath past:Set her down gently at the iron door!Eyes! look on that loved image for the last:Now cover it in earth—her earth no more!"

"What shall we do now, Mary being dead,Or say, or write, that shall express the half?What can we do but pillow that fair headAnd let the spring-time write her epitaph?

"As it will soon in snow-drop, violet,Wind-flower, and columbine, and maiden's tear,—Each letter of that pretty alphabetThat spells in flowers the pageant of the year.

"She was a maiden for a man to love,She was a woman for a husband's life,One that had learned to value far aboveThe name of Love the sacred name of Wife.

"Her little life-dream, rounded so with sleep,Had all there is of life—except gray hairs:Hope, love, trust, passion, and devotion deep,And that mysterious tie a Mother bears.

"She hath fulfilled her promise and hath past:Set her down gently at the iron door!Eyes! look on that loved image for the last:Now cover it in earth—her earth no more!"

Let us now summon, as first in order, the name that heads the list of the actors above given. Henry Placide enjoyed in public estimation a fame worthy and well deserved. He was an actor of the old school, and his conceptions were the fruit of appreciative and carefulstudy; his acting was a lucid and harmonious interpretation of his author; and his elocution, clear and resonant, was the speech of a scholar and a gentleman. The artistic sense was never forgotten in his delineations, and his name on the bills was a guaranty of intellectual pleasure. He was not broadly funny like Burton, or Holland; but those who remember hisSir Harcourt Courtley, hisJean Jacques François Antoine Hypolite de Frisac, in "Paris and London," and hisClown, in Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night," will not deny that he was the owner of a rich vein of eccentric humor, and that he worked his possession effectually. He was an expert in the Gallic parts where the speech is a struggle between French and English, and, indeed, since his departure they, too, have vanished from the stage. But those who saw him asHaversac, in "The Old Guard"; asThe Tutor, in "To Parents and Guardians"; or asMonsieur Dufard, in "The First Night," will bear witness to his inimitable manner, and to his facile blending of the grave and gay.We shall never forget how, in the last-named character (Mons. Dufard), having engaged his daughter for a "first appearance," and having declared his own ability to manage the drum in the orchestra on the occasion, he, suddenly, during the mimic rehearsal, at an allusion in the text to sunrise, stamped violently on the stage; and to the startled manager's exclamation of "What's that!" serenely replied: "Zat ees ze cannon vich announce ze brek of day—I play him on ze big drum in ze night." In choleric old men Placide was unsurpassed. All the touches that go toward the creation of a grim, irascible, thwarted, bluff old gentleman, he commanded at will. HisColonel Hardy, in "Paul Pry," for instance, what an example was that! I hear him, now, at the close of the comedy, when things had drifted to a happy anchorage—hear him saying in reply to the soothing remark: "Why, Colonel, you've every thing your own way,"—"Yes, I know I have every thing my own way; but—— it, I hav'n'tmy own wayof having it!" His repertorycovered a wide range; and we retain vivid recollections of hisSir Peter Teazle, hisDoctor Ollapod, and hisSilky; the last in "The Road to Ruin," in which comedy, by the way, we remember seeing Placide, Blake, Burton, Lester, Bland, and Mrs. Hughes; truly a phenomenal cast.

Such, briefly sketched, was the actor who constituted one of Burton's strongest pillars. For some years he played at no other theatre in New York. He gave enjoyment to thousands, and in dramatic annals his name and achievements have distinguished and honorable record. As one of the many who remain to own their debt of pleasure and instruction, the present writer pays this tribute to the genius and memory of Henry Placide.[7]

We now summon another name from the famous corps, for the purpose of analysis, sincewe should be ill content with the cold respect of a passing glance at an artist so celebrated as was William Rufus Blake. We can recall no actor of the past, and we know of but one in the present, comparable with Blake in certain lines of old men—certainly in the rôle of tender pathos likeOld Dornton, and in the portrayal of a sweetly noble nature framed in venerable simplicity, as inJesse Rural, he had no equal; and it is simply truth to say that with him departed from the stage that unique, all-affecting, wondrous embodiment ofGeoffrey Dale, in "The Last Man."

The characteristics of Blake's power were a broad heartiness, suggestive sentiment, and eloquent idealization. These traits informed respectively the parts he essayed, and gave to each in turn rare flow of spirit, richness of color, and poetic fervor. For the verbal expression of these salient elements, he possessed a tuneful voice, which rose or fell as the sway of feeling dictated, and his delivery was singularly felicitous in tone andemphasis. Nor was he lacking in a humor at once subtle and delicate, happily evinced in his acting ofMr. Primrose, in the comedietta of "Bachelors' Torments."

Those who saw Blake at the period of which we are writing, found it hard to believe that theSir Anthony Absoluteof aldermanic proportions before them was once a slender young man and played light comedy! Yet so it was. Very old play-goers will recollect the Chatham Garden theatre, and perhaps some tenacious memory bears record of having seen Blake there in the long ago; for there he first appeared to a New York audience, in 1824, playingFrederick, in Colman's "Poor Gentleman." We never saw him earlier than at Burton's, and then with added years had come a rotundity of person which, however unobjectionable in the famous impersonations of his prime, was not, it must be confessed, the ideal physique of light comedy; so hisFrederickhad long departed and hisSir Robert Bramblehad appeared.

The first time we saw Blake was in "The Road to Ruin," and the impression he made has never been effaced. We were young, it is true, and sentimental, and easily moved; but our heart tells us that the effect would be the same could we see the actor in the play to-morrow. We have read since of the extraordinary sensation produced by the great Munden in the part ofOld Dornton; but we have an abiding faith that the acting of the famous Englishman would have been no revelation to Blake; and we cannot, indeed, conceive of any added touch that would not have impaired, rather than heightened, the latter's superb delineation. But Blake's portrayal of the outraged, doting, fond, tender father, is, like hisJesse Rural, so fresh in the memory of living persons, that we feel it to be needless to descant upon its beauties. Few will forget the years of his last and long engagement at Wallack's—a fitting crown for a great artistic career. Blake played many parts and rarely touched but to adorn. Even hisMalvolio, had it notbeen for the advent of Charles Fisher (who was born in yellow stockings and cross-gartered), would have passed into history as a carefully conceived and highly finished performance. Whenever we see Mr. John Gilbert we are reminded of Blake. There is a grace of action, a courtliness of manner, inseparable from Gilbert, which lends to all his efforts an elevating charm, a feature Blake did not possess in like degree. But the two actors belonged to the same school; their traditions will be much akin; and neither loses in being spoken of in the same breath, and with the same accent of admiration.

Following Placide and Blake is the name of an actor better remembered than either, and whose death is of comparatively recent date. We refer to John Brougham, who for thirty years and more was one of New York's prime favorites, and his name is associated with many of the drama's brightest and worthiest triumphs. His inexhaustible flow of spirits, in his best days, pervaded all his acting, and investedthe most unattractive part with an alluring charm, as many a prosaic spot in nature becomes enchanted land by the music of falling waters. Add to this exuberant vitality a rich endowment of mother wit; a bright intelligence; keen sympathy and appreciation, and rare personal magnetism, and you have before you "glorious John," whose hearty voice it was always a pleasure to hear, and whose face, beaming with humor, was always welcomed with delight.

Brougham was Burton's stage manager in 1848, and his dramatization of "Dombey and Son" was first produced in that year. The representation of this play established the Chambers Street Theatre, drew attention to the talents of the stock company, and put money into Burton's purse. If theatres, like other things, succeed either by hook or crook, as the saying is, surely it was by hook that the manager won fame and fortune, for the digit ofCaptain Cuttleheld sway like a wizard's wand. The temptation to dwell here on this renownedBurtonian impersonation is hard to resist; but we must be patient and bide our time.

Mr. Burton as Captain Cuttle.

Brougham playedBunsbyandBagstock, investing the oracular utterances of the tar, and the roughness and toughness and "devilish" slyness of theMajor, with a humor and spirit all his own. We laugh outright as we think of that scene whereCuttleis being rapidly reduced to agony and despair byMrs. MacStinger, and is rescued therefrom byBunsby, who, with a hoarse "Avast, my lass; avast!" advances solemnly on the redoubtable female, and with a soothing gravity ejects the entireMacStingerfamily, following in the rear himself—Cuttlemeanwhile gazing in speechless astonishment at the unexpected succor, until the door is closed; and then, drawing an immense breath, and turning toward the audience his inimitable face, exclaims in a tone of profound respect and admiration: "There's wisdom!"

It was a great treat to see Burton and Brougham together. The two actors were so ready, so full of wit, so alive to each other'spoints and by-play, that any fanciful interpolation of the text, or humorous impromptu, by the one, was instantly responded to by the other; and the house was often thrown into convulsions of merriment by these purely unpremeditated sallies. This was notably the case in the afterpiece of "An Unwarrantable Intrusion"—committed by Mr. Brougham upon Mr. Burton—when in the tag the comedians suddenly assumed their own persons, and, addressing each other by their proper names, engaged in a droll colloquy respecting the dilemma of having nothing to say to conclude the piece; and each suggesting in turn something that ought to or might be said to an audience under such peculiar and distressing circumstances,—the audience meanwhile in a state of hilarious excitement, drinking in every sparkling jest and repartee, and wishing the flow of humor would last forever.

And here we are reminded of an incident not down in the bills, which furnished an audience with an unlooked-for and affecting episode. Itoccurred during the performance of Colman's comedy of "John Bull," produced for the benefit of a favorite actor; Burton playingJob Thornberry, and Brougham, who had volunteered for the occasion, appearing in his capital rôle ofDennis Brulgruddery. Brougham was no longer with Burton—an estrangement existed between them of which the public was aware—and the conjunction of the two actors naturally awakened a lively interest. It chances in the comedy thatMary Thornberryfinds a refuge in her distress at the "Red Cow," and is greatly befriended byDennis. Her father, discovering her there, and grateful for the service rendered, exclaims: "You have behaved like an emperor to her. Give me your hand, landlord!" Now, in the play, the reply ofDennisis: "Behaved!—(refusing his hand)—Arrah, now, get away with your blarney,"—but Brougham paused for a moment before Burton's outstretched hand, and then, as if yielding to an impulse, stretched forth his, and the two actors stood with clasped hands amidst anoutburst of applause that fairly shook the building. Of course they were "called out" at the close, and Brougham, in the course of a felicitous little speech, remarked—alluding, perhaps, to the success of his Lyceum not being all he could wish—that he had "lately run off the track"; to which Burton, in his turn, responded by saying: "Mr. Brougham says he has 'run off the track.' Well, hehasrun off the track; but he hasn't burst his boiler yet!" At this speech the enthusiasm of the audience knew no bounds; and indeed, with the exception of Mary Taylor's farewell benefit, we can recall no theatrical occasion where more genuine feeling was manifested.

But to return to "Dombey and Son." Mrs. Brougham was the originalSusan Nipper, and played the part acceptably; but all previousNipperssuffered eclipse when Caroline Chapman appeared at a later date, giving us aSusanthat seemed to have sprung full-Nipperedfrom the head of Boz himself. Her inimitable acting and ring of delivery were like a new lightturned on the scene. Her flow of spirit and alert movement, her independent air and saucy glance, her not-to-be-put-down-under-any-circumstances manner,—all was freshness and sparkle, and her presence was as welcome to the audience as a summer shower to drooping wayside flowers. Miss Chapman was a great acquisition to Burton's, and her bright individuality shone in all her assumptions. Her line was the stage soubrette, a specialty which she lifted entirely out of the commonplace and informed it with force and distinction. It is a pleasure to place on record the memory of happy hours that we owe to the performances of Caroline Chapman.

The originalTootswas Oliver B. Raymond, whom we never saw. T. B. Johnston was his successor, and as that admirable comedian never did any thing unacceptably, hisTootswas a memorable effort; and hadUriah Heepnot followed we should have been satisfied with hisToots; but when "Copperfield" was produced and Johnston appeared asHeep, itseemed as if he was born for that and nothing else. Now that we think of it, it seems to us, as we recall Johnston, that nature had peculiarly fitted him for the delineation of many of Dickens's characters. Something in his spare figure, his grotesqueness of demeanor, his whimsical aspect, his odd manner of speech, continually suggested a flavor of Boz; and whether asToots, orHeep, orNewman Noggs, he seemed to have glided into his element, and wasen rapportwith the great novelist.

We must not forget, in writing of "Dombey and Son," to note how much its attraction was enhanced by the assumption, in 1849, of the part ofEdithby Mrs. Josephine Russell (the present Mrs. Hoey). Laurence Hutton, referring to the event in his volume of "Plays and Players," says: "Up to the time of her assumption of the rôle,Edith, in Brougham's version of the story, was comparatively a secondary part, and one to which but little attention had been paid either by performer or audience. Mrs. Russell, however,by her refined and elegant manner, broughtEdithand herself into favor and prominence. She made ofEdithmore than Brougham himself ever imagined could be made; andEdithmade her a reputation and a success on the New York stage, which, until her honorable and much-to-be-regretted retirement, she ever sustained.[8]

We have dwelt thus on "Dombey and Son," because, in the first place, it gained for the Chambers Street Theatre an enduring public regard, and was no doubt the incentive to the after-production of dramatizations of Dickens, which gave us Burton inMicawber,Squeers,Mr. Bumble, andSam Weller; and because in so celebrating it we pay a deserved tribute to Brougham, from whose fertile brain and ready pen it came. We may say, in this connection, that not only as actor, but as playwright also, Brougham achieved fame and honor. Many of his comedies are well known to the stage,and are included in the published drama; and as a writer of burlesque we question whether any thing better or funnier than his "Po-ca-hon-tas or the Gentle Savage" has ever been composed. Of one thing we are certain: an incarnate pun-fiend presided over its creation. This extravaganza, first acted at Wallack's Lyceum, took the town by storm, and its bons-mots, local hits, and trenchant witticisms, were on the lips of everybody. In structure, idea, and treatment of theme, it was ludicrous to a degree. Who does not remember Brougham and the late Charles Walcot in their respective parts ofPowhattanandCaptain Smith?

It goes without saying that Brougham's Hibernian delineations were perfect and to the manner born. Many an Irish farce we recall, during his stay at Burton's, to which he gave a new lease of life; and we congratulate ourselves that our memory holds record of having once seen him asSir Lucius O'Trigger, the only cast in our experience wherein Sheridan's creation found a fitting representative.

We now pause before an actor of illustrious lineage; of a name honored in dramatic annals by encomiums bestowed only upon abilities of the highest order; an actor who, conscious of his inheritance of genius, worthily perpetuates the traditions of his house; and who is now, despite the flight of time, the most engaging and accomplished comedian known to the American stage. Our readers will need no further introduction to Lester Wallack, the "Mr. Lester" of Burton's, where first we saw him so many years ago. We recall the evening when we sat in the cosy parquette, awaiting with eager interest the rising of the curtain on Charles Dance's comic drama of "Delicate Ground," in which Mr. Lester would make his "first appearance since his return from England" (so the bill ran), in the character ofCitizen Sangfroid. We say eager interest, for we had heard much of Mr. Lester: that he was graceful, handsome,distingué,—in fact, splendid generally; and our expectancy was akin to that of the watching astronomer—

"When a new planet swims into his ken."

At last the tinkle of the bell; the curtain rose, and enter Miss Mary Taylor, the universal favorite, asPauline. Her soliloquy closes with the cue forSangfroid'sentrance, and at the words, "Hush! my husband!" a pause succeeded—and then from "door left" was protruded an elegantly booted foot, and a moment later Lester stood before us, bowing with characteristic ease and grace to the demonstrations of welcome. We confess to an unconditional surrender on that occasion. The actual fact was far beyond any expectation or hope. We thought we had never seen any one quite so splendid; andSangfroidwas forthwith invested with the best and noblest elements that combine to elevate mankind. We endeavored for many days afterward to conform our daily life to the general teachings ofSangfroid; we imitated the gait and manner, the calm aplomb ofSangfroid; the accent ofSangfroidwas impressed on all our ordinary forms of speech; our conversation on whatever topic was plentifullysprinkled withSangfroidisms; in short, the whole tenor of our existence was shaped and directed bySangfroidin the person of Mr. Lester. We recovered in due course from our abject submission to the spell ofSangfroid; but Lester continued to stretch forth the "sceptre of fascination," and to his matchless grace and finish we owe many a delightful recollection.

Then in early manhood,[9]the unrestrained alertness and vivacity of youth were his in bounteous measure. He was in thePercy ArdentandYoung Rapidperiod, and had not yet entered the corridor of years at the far end of which lurked theblaséfigure of "My Awful Dad." We remember him in so many parts which in all likelihood he never will play again! There wasRover, in "Wild Oats," that buskined hero, with his captivating nonchalance dashed with tragic fire; his tender conversion ofLady Amaranth—played, be it said, with all properdemureness by Miss Lizzie Weston; his triumph overEphraim Smooth—one of Blake's instances of versatility—in a scene rich with the spirit of frolic abandon; and his humorous tilt withSir George Thunder—a belligerent sea-dog, played by Burton as he alone could play it—an episode replete with comic power;—all these contributed to a performance which we revelled in many and many a night; and the memory of it, now as we write, draws near in a succession of vivid pictures. There wasTangent, in "The Way to Get Married," a capital part in Lester's hands, blending manly action and debonair grace with that easy transition to airy farcical expression, a favorite and effective dramatic habit of this actor, and given full play in that memorable prison scene in the comedy, when, a victim to adverse circumstances, and actually fettered, he makes felicitous use of his handkerchief to hide his mortification and his chains from the eyes of the heroine during her visit of sympathy.Percy Ardent, in "The West End," was another ofhis characteristic assumptions in those days; so also wereYoung Rapid, in "A Cure for the Heartache," and theHon. Tom Shuffleton, in "John Bull"; and, indeed, Burton's frequent revivals of the old comedies would have been a difficult matter without Lester; for in every one of them a light comedy part is distinctly drawn, and unquestionably the rarest among all dramatic artists is the first-class light comedian.

Let any one who thinks otherwise endeavor to recall the names of those who have been or are famous in that special line, and he will be surprised to find how few he can enumerate. One might suppose that all young actors would naturally incline toward light comedy, and be ambitious in that direction, since in that sphere are found the charm of youth, the expression of lofty sentiment, the impulse to chivalrous action, the opportunity for the display of graceful and manly bearing,—not to mention the lover, whom, as Emerson declares, all the world loves; and why then, one may ask,should there not be always a plentiful crop of ripening light comedians? Alas, it is not enough to be young, good-looking, intelligent, and of virtuous impulse, or even a lover. Something more is needed, and we conceive it to be that gift of nature, which study and practice develop into seeming perfect art, but which neither study nor practice can create; the gift, let us say, of perceiving instinctively the salient points of a character, and going beyond the author in felicitous and suggestive expression of them. It is easier, we think, to compass tragedy; easier to simulate age; easier to be funny; than to be at once airy and gay, delicately humorous, and engagingly manly. There are fewer light comedians born,—that is the whole story; and where we find one actor like Lester Wallack, we meet with plenty of every other specialty. This was made strikingly evident by Burton's experiments in supplying Lester's place, when the latter joined his father in the establishment of Wallack's Lyceum. Charles Fisher was imported,and he for a season essayed to succeed Lester; but

"The expectancy and rose of the fair state"

he was not, and it was not long before the fiddle ofTripletand the yellow stockings ofMalvolioemancipated him from the bondage of light comedy, revealed his true powers, and made us grateful to Burton for introducing to New York one of the best eccentric comedians of the day. Dyott, Norton, and even Holman, were severally thrown into the breach, such was the strait in which the manager found himself; and it was not until he secured George Jordan that equilibrium was restored to the company.

But to return. The versatility of Lester, so conspicuous throughout his career, was early made apparent. We remember him asSteerforth, asSir Andrew Aguecheek, andCaptain Murphy Maguire; and though in the last he acted under the shadow of Brougham's rich impersonation, still he was a delightfulCaptain. We saw him as the young lover, in"Paul Pry"; asFrederick, in "The Poor Gentleman," and many more; besides those parts, such asYoung Marlow,Charles Surface, andCaptain Absolute, which need no reference, since they remain ripe and finished conceptions in his present repertory. But of all his delineations of the past, that which we linger on with the greatest pleasure, and which affected us most, was hisHarry Dornton, in "The Road to Ruin." From the moment he appears beneath his father's window, importunate for admittance, he awakens an interest and sympathy that follow him to the end. The part abounds in touches of Lesterian hue and flavor: the scene just mentioned; that whereinMilfordmakes careless and heartless allusion toOld Dornton, and is met byHarry'seloquent and electric rebuke; the scene with theWidow Warren, and withSophia;—all are charming; and we feel it to be no small tribute to hold in memory Lester'sHarryside by side with theOld Dorntonof Blake.

We have spoken of T. B. Johnston, and referredto famous parts of his, particularly to the conception and execution of certain characters in Dickens which undeniably he made his own; but we remember this actor in other and sundry enjoyable delineations, of which brief mention may be made. The odd aspect of Johnston, joined to his whimsical method, so in keeping, as before remarked, with the creations of Boz, peculiarly fitted him for the apt portrayal of those idiosyncrasies of nature and temperament shadowed forth by characters in many of the old farces, in which he often appeared, those pieces being quite the fashion in the days of which we are writing. We may instancePanels, in "A School for Tigers," as one of these; his part in "A Blighted Being" (the name quite forgotten), was another;Humphrey Dobbins, in "The Poor Gentleman" (that not a farce, however), was a capital portraiture, and an amusing foil to Burton'sSir Robert Bramble; hisMiss Swithers, in "A Thousand Milliners," where he almost divided the honors with Burton asMadam Vandepants;—theseare a few of the many that come floating back on the tide of recollection.

Bland was a useful member of Burton's company, though we think his stay was brief, and he contributes less to memory, as it chances, than many others. We never regarded him as a great actor, though we have read of his being thought the bestJacquesof his day, and very fine asSir Thomas Clifford. We never saw him in either, and have no recollection of "The Hunchback" being produced at the Chambers Street Theatre. In "The Honeymoon" Burton himself was theJacques. We remember Bland very well asSulky, in "The Road to Ruin," and asHam, in "David Copperfield," and both efforts were creditable and contributed to the general success—his share in the exciting and touching scenes betweenOld Dorntonand himself, asSulky, being admirably done.

We are surprised that we remember so little interesting to record of Jordan. Succeeding Lester, and deemed by many the peer of thatcomedian, one might naturally suppose that his achievements would figure largely in these reminiscences; but we can recall very few impersonations of which we retain a vivid impression. We cannot concur with that estimate of his powers which ranked him with Lester, yet we cordially admit that he came nearer than any actor we know of. He was very handsome, had a fine stage presence, and was agreeable in all that he did. We recall his spirited performance ofRover; hisKitely, in Ben Jonson's "Every Man in His Humor"; hisFerdinand, in "The Tempest"; hisLysander, in "Midsummer Night's Dream"; and hisCaptain Hawksley, in "Still Waters Run Deep," was superb and unequalled. It was always a pleasure to see Jordan, and we owe to his acting many an hour of enjoyment.

George Barrett—or, "Gentleman George," as he was quite as well known—was one of Burton's company for a short period, and with his name are associated many pleasant memories. Among them we may mention with delighthis performance ofSir Andrew Aguecheek, a companion picture to Fisher'sMalvolio. His long body and attenuated "make up," his piping voice, his fantastic manner, and absurd assumption of acumen,—all contributed to an embodiment artistic and entertaining in the highest degree. He also playedFlute, the Bellows-Mender, in the revival of "Midsummer Night's Dream"; and it seems but yesterday, so vivid is the remembrance, that we saw him stalking about the stage, in the guise of Ben Jonson's bombastic hero,Captain Bobadil.

Old play-goers, if they remember nothing else of John Dyott, will recollect his admirable reading—his distinct utterance—his fine emphasis,—qualities specially noticeable in his Shakespearian assumptions and in characters of a didactic cast; and which made acceptable many a part he undertook, half redeeming it from deficiencies consequent upon natural unfitness. It was such a pleasure to listen to his delivery of the text, that you overlooked orpardoned inadequacy of treatment in other respects. Necessarily his impersonations were of very unequal merit. Certain phases of the character assumed might be justly conceived and well executed; others manifestly lacking in the expression of what was naturally suggested, or sufficiently obvious. We might cite instances of this—Claude MelnotteorAlfred Evelyn, for example; but we prefer to think of him in his most agreeable aspects, which were not conspicuous in light comedy, though that rôle, under the stress of exigency, often fell to his lot.

We pleasantly recall him asLieut. Worthington, in "The Poor Gentleman"; asPeregrine, in "John Bull"; asPenruddoch, in "The Wheel of Fortune"; asDuke Orsino, in "Twelfth Night"; asMaster Ford, in "The Merry Wives of Windsor"; and others that might be mentioned. He was a useful member of the Chambers Street company, acted always with intelligence and spirit, and, though leaving no great name, deserves remembranceas a finished reader and conscientious artist.

Charles Fisher, well known to the present generation of play-goers as a sterling comedian, came to Burton's after Lester's withdrawal, and, as previously remarked, succeeded that actor as the exponent of light comedy. We saw him in several characters of that order; but it must be confessed that his efforts, however praiseworthy, were not such as to induce a condition of complacency on the part of the management, with regard to his capacity in that direction. But the whirligig of time, as Shakespeare tells us, brings on its revenges; and in due course Mr. Fisher had his, and a truly artistic one it was.

It came about on the second revival of "Twelfth Night," and was achieved in the part ofMalvolio. In referring to Blake's assumption of this character, we observed, in passing, that Fisher was born in yellow stockings and cross-gartered—meaning to express the natural affinity for Shakespeare's creationexisting in the actor; and we believe there will be no question among those who remember the impersonation, as to the subtlety of conception, the felicity of portrayal, and fidelity to detail, that so eminently distinguished it. From first to last it was a masterpiece. His manner when he interrupts the orgies ofSir Toby, theClown, andAguecheek, and during their maudlin mockery, was full of rare suggestiveness; the great scene in the garden, where he falls into the trap set byMaria, was one of the finest pieces of acting known to our stage. The audience were as intent during its progress as if their own lives and fortunes hung upon that enigmatic letter. When it comes home to him at last that he indeed is the favored ofOlivia, and he gives full rein to his fancy respecting his future exaltation—how he must bear himself, the lofty air he will assume, the consideration he will extort,—he was inimitable. Already he is clothed in yellow stockings and cross-gartered; and he smiles, as he struts, the smile that his deceiverdeclares so becomes him. In the ensuing scene beforeOlivia, where the stockings and smiles play so important a part, he was equally fine; and if Fisher had played nothing else, hisMalvoliowould remain an interpretation of the highest class, and a glory of dramatic art. The press, with one accord, united in its praise; and Mr. Richard Grant White, whose ability to judge of Shakespearian delineations was well known, confessed, in the columns of theCourier and Inquirerthat he did not know where Mr. Fisher learned to playMalvolioso well. To say that we enjoyed what we have here endeavored to recall, is to say but little. It is one of our most valued memories—and we could not help thinking, when the lovelyViolaof the late Miss Neilson was captivating all hearts, what a revelation it would have been to her admiring audience had Fisher presented his picture ofMalvolio.

In Burton's revival of the "Midsummer Night's Dream," Fisher was cast asDuke Theseus; and in thinking of the part, that gloriouspassage descriptive of theDuke'shounds rings in our ears, as spoken with glowing enthusiasm by the actor:

"My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind,So flew'd, so sanded; and their heads are hungWith ears that sweep away the morning dew;Crook-kneed, and dew-lapp'd like Thessalian bulls;Slow in pursuit, but match'd in mouth like bells,Each under each. A cry more tunableWas never holloa'd to, nor cheered with horn,In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly:Judge when you hear."

In "The Tempest" also, asProspero, Mr. Fisher appeared to advantage, and swayed the destinies of the Enchanted Isle with dignity and effect.Triplet, in "Masks and Faces," was another performance of Fisher's that we might linger over in pleasant memory of its humor and pathos; a performance, too, by the way, which brought to public view a new accomplishment of the actor; namely, his acquaintance with the violin,—an advantage that lent unusual force and brilliancy to the capital scene whereWoffington, having played Lady Bountiful to the forlorn family, completes herconquest by calling for the fiddle and dancing "Cover the Buckle." And with the tune in our ears, and a vision of Fisher's elbow in deft movement, we take leave of the actor who gave us in the past so many happy hours.

An artist of quite another sort was Lysander Steele Thompson. He was an importation of Burton's; and his specialty was the Yorkshireman of the stage, a line in which he stood alone and unapproachable. Actors there have been who played the same parts, and with a sufficient mastery of the dialect to pass muster; but, compared with Thompson's, their assumptions were like artificial flowers in a painted vase beside a clump of spring violets in the dew of morning. The semblance was there; but the delicious fragrance of nature's breath it was not theirs to give. The native freshness and out-of-door breezy spirit were Thompson's own and born with him. His engagement was followed by the production of all the known plays in which there was aZekiel Homespun, or aRobin Roughhead. We saw him in them all:Bob Tyke, in "The School of Reform";Zekiel Homespun, in "The Heir-at-Law";Stephen Harrowby, in "The Poor Gentleman,"—and until the advent of Thompson, theHarrowbyfamily had been omitted in Burton's version of the comedy;—Robin Roughhead, in "A Ploughman Turned Lord";John Browdie, in "Nicholas Nickleby"; andGiles, in "The Miller's Maid"; in which last, indeed, he acted under an inspiration that almost laid claim to genius itself; and we see him now, in that high-wrought scene, where, as the defender of virtue and innocence, he towers in superb wrath above the villainGamekeeper, who would tear from her home the person ofSusan Fellows.

It goes without saying that his dialect was perfect, and all the humorous phases—the touches of bewilderment and arch simplicity, the quaint retort, the rollicking drollery, the innocence blent with audacity,—all these traits and characteristics were so many gifts of expression summoned and employed at will. We have seen many tragedians and artists in melodrama;many "old men" and light comedians; many funny men and eccentric actors, but we have seen one Yorkshireman only—Lysander Thompson.

He was not without vanity, however, and possibly aspired to other dramatic walks than his famous specialty, if we may judge from a little episode in his career at Burton's, which really makes too good a story to be lost. Burton had in view the production of "The Merry Wives," in order to actFalstaff; and in the distribution Thompson was asked to make choice of a part. The story runs that, after due reflection, Mr. Thompson answered that on the whole he would prefer to playSir John. The manager regarded him for a moment with a glance of wonder, and then: "I'm—— if you do; oneFalstaffis enough; you must choose again, Thompson." And he chose theHost of the Garter Inn, and made a palpable hit.

The late Charles Mathews played a short engagement at Burton's; and we remember hiscapital acting in "Little Toddlekins" and asYoung Rapid; but we need not dwell upon an actor whose stay was so fleeting, whose celebrity was so extended, and whose Memoirs have so recently been given to the public.

George Holland, also departed, was for a brief period at the Chambers Street Theatre, and we recall our enjoyment of his broad fun and facial extravagance. We always felt, however, that—as his line was somewhat akin to Burton's—he underwent a perilous ordeal in appearing on the same stage with the great actor whose genius was so overshadowing.

Messrs. Norton,[10]Holman, and Parsloe, Jr.,were useful members of the stock company, limited in range and ability; and we mention them as painstaking actors, who always did their best, and aided materially in the general success of the theatre. The name of young Parsloe is included on account of his performance ofPuck, which, owing to natural cleverness and acrobatic aptitude, he succeeded, under Burton's training, in making exceedingly effective and full of goblin action.

And now let us fancy ourselves sitting, as of old, in the parquette, the curtain having risen on "The Serious Family."Sleekreads his appeal, and we hear a voice saying: "Those words give comfort to every fainting and world-worn spirit, good Mr. Aminadab Sleek"—and we know thatLady Sowerby Creamlyhas spoken, and that Mrs. Hughes is before us. Of this estimable lady and admirable actress, much more might be said than present space will allow. Almost as familiar a figure as the manager himself, for years she enacted those characters which were peculiarly her forte, and was identified with all the success and shared all the fame of the renowned theatre. We can recall no instance of her having disappointed an audience; and though, in the course of her long service, she may have assumed uncongenial parts, yet so intelligent was she, so thorough, so conscientious, that, in spite of unsuitableness, her performance was always acceptable and meritorious.Lady Duberly, in "The Heir-at-Law,"Mrs. Malaprop, in "The Rivals,"Lucretia McTab, in "The Poor Gentleman," were her accustomed line, and wellindeed she played them.Widow Warren, in "The Road to Ruin,"Mrs. Skewton, in "Dombey and Son,"Betsy Trotwood, in "David Copperfied," were kindred felicitous portraitures; and no one can think of Burton asSleekandToodlewithout instantly associating Mrs. Hughes asLady CreamlyandMrs. Toodle. How many times did they play those parts together! In all those lighter pieces and farces Burton made so popular and famous, she was his ally and strong support; and no history of the drama of that period can be written without conspicuous mention of her name; nor can the professional career and triumphs of Burton be recounted without suggestion and remembrance of Mrs. Hughes. Their professional relation was perfectly harmonious, and she was with him to the last. She went with him from Chambers Street to the New Theatre, and when that was given up accompanied him on all his starring tours, acting with him when he appeared for the last time in New York, and when he acted for the last time inhis life at Hamilton, Canada. In a speech Burton once made, he thus referred to their theatrical relations: "I have been her father, her son, her uncle, her first husband, her second husband, and her third husband, her friend, and her disconsolate widower, and I have liked her better and better in each relation!"

Even as far back as 1826 Mrs. Hughes was a great favorite. H. B. Phelps, in his valuable work known as "Players of a Century," gives a notice of the press she received for a benefit night at that period, which he says is worth preserving as a model: "Mrs. Hughes takes her benefit at the theatre to-night. It would be an insult to the generous enthusiasm of her numerous admirers, to say another word on the subject."

As it cannot fail to be of interest to readers of this volume, we copy from Mr. Phelps's book a reply to a letter addressed by him to the Hon. Charles Hughes, State Senator, asking information respecting Mrs. Hughes's subsequent history.

"Dear Sir:—Mrs. Esther Hughes, formerly Mrs. Young, was my mother. She died upon her farm, three miles from this village (Sandy Hill, N. Y.), on the 15th of April, 1867, at the age of seventy-five, from the effects of an accident (falling down stairs, caused by vertigo). She had left the stage before the war, her last engagement being a travelling tour with W. E. Burton, in the South and North. She was acting in Albany as Mrs. Young when the war of 1812 was declared, and I have often heard her speak of Solomon Southwick and of John O. Cole, who was a boy in Southwick's office. Her many years of theatrical life speak for themselves."

We have heretofore alluded to the Miss Agnes Robertson of long ago; and now a memory steals in upon us of her débût at Burton's, and of her enchanting performance in the protean play of "The Young Actress." Of the half dozen parts assumed, the Scotch lassie and the Irish lad still haunt us. The highland fling of the one and the "Widow Machree" of the other were charming to see and hear; and, indeed, Miss Robertson was charming altogether.

We could give a long list of actors and actresseswho from year to year were enrolled in the Chambers Street company, and whose efforts are pleasantly remembered. We do not mean to slight them; but we must hasten toward our appointed goal. One actress, however, a recognized favorite in New York long before her engagement with Burton, which terminated with her farewell to the stage, deserves more than a passing notice, for the pleasure she gave was as pure and healthful as it was winsome and bright. We refer to Miss Mary Taylor—"Our Mary,"—better known and esteemed than any actress of her day, except Charlotte Cushman, that we can recall.

We shall not dwell upon any part of her career, nor examine her dramatic capabilities. She never appeared without eliciting the warmest of welcomes; and when we try to think of the many characters we saw her in, we find ourselves remembering only how sweet and good she was. We were present at her farewell benefit, and during the speech Mr. Burton made for her the emotion throughout the house, atthe thought of parting, was as sincere as it was deep. She stood, visibly affected, in the midst of her companions, and when the curtain fell there was a sigh, as if the audience had lost a friend.

We have endeavored in the foregoing to indicate the strength of the Chambers Street company, and we think the reader cannot fail to be impressed by the exhibit. The fact of such dramatic portraiture being easy, seems to us a striking proof of its supreme excellence. The majority of them were they living now might be comedy stars. When we have Jefferson, Raymond, Fawcett Rowe, Stuart Robson, and Florence, starring about the country, playing their one part hundreds of nights, what shall we think of Burton, Placide, Blake, Brougham, Lester, Johnston, and the rest, appearing together nightly in characters of varied but equal dramatic power? There has been a great change since then. The name of the places of amusement now is legion, and one bright star in the heaven of scenic splendorconsoles the public for the loss of a concentration of wit and genius. As we recall for a moment all that bright array, we are taken back through the maze of distance, and old familiar forms arise; we see the glimmer of accustomed footlights; the scene is alive with well-known faces; we even hear voices that we know; we join in the old-time plaudits—and forget how many years have rolled between! There is no retrospection without its tinge of sadness. "Never to return" is the refrain of human memory. How beautifully Holmes expresses it in "The Last Leaf":

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