But to return to "Dombey and Son." Mrs. Brougham was the original Susan Nipper, and played the part acceptably; but all previous Nippers suffered eclipse when Caroline Chapman appeared at a later date, giving us a Susan that seemed to have sprung full-Nippered from the head of Boz himself. Her inimitable acting and ring of delivery were like a new light turned 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 original Toots was Oliver B. Raymond, whom we never saw. T. B. Johnston was his successor, and as that admirable comedian never did any thing unacceptably, his Toots was a memorable effort; and had Uriah Heep not followed we should have been satisfied with his Toots; but when "Copperfield" was produced and Johnston appeared as Heep, it seemed 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 as Toots, or Heep, or Newman Noggs, he seemed to have glided into his element, and was en rapport with 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 of Edith by 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, brought Edith and herself into favor and prominence. She made of Edith more than Brougham himself ever imagined could be made; and Edith made 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 in Micawber, Squeers, Mr. Bumble, and Sam 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 of Powhattan and Captain 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 as Sir 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 of Citizen 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, as Pauline. Her soliloquy closes with the cue for Sangfroid's entrance, 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; and Sangfroid was 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 of Sangfroid; we imitated the gait and manner, the calm aplomb of Sangfroid; the accent of Sangfroid was impressed on all our ordinary forms of speech; our conversation on whatever topic was plentifully sprinkled with Sangfroidisms; in short, the whole tenor of our existence was shaped and directed by Sangfroid in the person of Mr. Lester. We recovered in due course from our abject submission to the spell of Sangfroid; but Lester continued to stretch forth the "sceptre of fascination," and to his matchless grace and finish we owe many a delightful recollection.