Original. "OUR ACTORS." THE Conduct and success of a theatre depends fully as much upon the character and tact of its manager as that of a kingdom upon its monarch, indeed if every king had subjects as troublesome as theatrical companies generally prove, many a crown would be thrown off in disgust; and we are inclined to believe that the managenial sceptre is still less twined with roses. In a city like New-York, the chief and most judgmatical patron of the drama throughout the union, those who seek amusement as well as instruction in theatres, naturally look with interest towards the men who, conducting them, become the distributors and stewards of the Dramatic Banquet. Mr. Simpson, should certainly have claimed our first notice as manager—yet, not being fully prepared with the materials necessary for his memoir, we reluctantly defer it for the present month. With the name of manager is invariably associated that of Mr. Hamblin, although he no longer holds that office, but as his high reputation as an actor would bring him naturally into our series, we make the history of his theatrical career the subject of this article. To speak of this gentleman without reference to his private life which has been so much mixed up in public opinion with his talents is difficult, in this, however, as in all other cases we hope to speak fairly; and certainly there are few men more deserving of-or more benefitted by-justice, than is THOMAS SOUNESS HAMBLIN. Thomas S. Hamblin was born in 1801, and commenced his career in a mercantile house in London, by interest of his father-in-law, an old-standing and much esteemed partner in the concern. It was, however, not long that before the young Hotspur, disdaining to drive a quill while fields could be lost and won-upon the stage, contrived to speak Rolla's address to the Peruvians at some obscure theatre, under the significant || denomination of a young gentleman. However, much this young hero of the sock and buskin might have thought of his own achievements it is certain the steady members of Thread Needle Street, did not hold the same opinion,-nay, one of them having taken the liberty of hinting something about dismissal, the spirit of our Roscius was in arms and having spouted a very fine paraphrase of Coriolanus' leave-taking much in this style Ye common men of scrip whose loves I prize Your counting-house and you—thus I turn my back Thus at fourteen years of age did the stage mania possess him wholly but after a few months barn playing of Richard, etc., the discomfited tragedian was glad to engage at an inferior theatre as supernumerary or ban ner-bearer for seven shillings sterling a week, and lay aside his dreams of rivalling Master Betty until the public should have more taste-a consummation de Here it was that Hamblin began voutly to be wished.' to learn his profession. Nature had gifted him with a splendid person and fine full voice, a quick observation and retentive memory-and now they began to come into play. It is remarkable that the first tragedian of the theatre used to walk home at night with the boy for the purpose of hearing him recite the parts which he himself had to play, and Hamblin, proud of the dis tinction, not only learned them correctly but gave to each a deep attention, fully repaid by the praises of Frederic Hartland. For two years he remained in the same theatre slowly and surely rising, and at seventeen, received a third rate situation in one of the Royal Theatres-Drury-Lane. This was an aggrandisement scarcely to be hoped for at so early an age, but what will not natural talent joined to industry effect? Even fortune wearies with persecuting the patient. During the eighteenth year of his life, a singular chance called upon our hero to appear at a few hours notice in the part of Hamlet. This magnificent part had been for years his study, he had played Horatio, Laertes and other characters in the play without a dream of ever personating their master: with confidence indeed but without presumption he accepted the offer, and achieved a brilliant success. It may appear strange that so much stress should be laid upon this incident, but it must be remembered that the theatres in London were then different from now, there were regular graduates in rank, and each man in a play received from the audience a notice proper to his situation; for a boy of eighteen years therefore, to personate Hamlet, with unbounded applause, to be called out, and announced for repetition was an unparalleled chance, equally owing to circumstances and his own previous application. Bright as was this dawning of fame, the jealousy of greater stars soon clouded it over, and in consequence of an intimation from the great man, poor Hamblin was given to understand that his services were there no longer needed. From that time until four years after when he sailed for America, his engagements were starring ones, winning him both at Brighton, Bath, Birmingham, etc., no inconsiderable portion of fame. Nor must we forget to state that for years Mr. Hamblin had become the sole support of his family-ill-health and worse fortune had destroyed all other resources, and the young tragedian had many, many dear ones depending upon his exertions. At this time also, he married a daughter of Old Blanchard, a most unhappy union to both parties and since dissolved under the law of this land. Public opinion has been very loudly expressed on both sides-and an impartial person may fairly judge that faults existed with both parties, their private grievances were to be lamented, and having them blazoned before the public still more so. In 1823, Hamblin was sent out here and played at the Park, to a success unequalled since the first appearance of Cooper-at Boston, Philadelphia, and even and hand open as day to melting charity.' Even when oppressed by a loss as sudden, as overwhelming-his first care was to assist the sufferers amongst whom he was the greatest. He held for many years a rule over a large company and left it rich in their esteem and good wishes. As an actor we must be brief in our noticeNature has done much for Mr. Hamblin and education more. He is always chaste and elegant in his deline in the far off West and South he established a lasting fame. Some disagreement dissolved the engagements between him and Mr. Price, and being tired of NewOrleans, Canada, and starring altogether, he entered with Mr. Hackett into the management of the Bowery Theatre. And here we must pause awhile to remind our readers what the Bowery then was. Since it had been rebuilt from the fire which destroyed it under the management of Gilfert, it had gradually been descend-ations, sufficiently forcible without overstepping the ing the scale, first with one and then with another-to utter degradation. From this state indeed a man like Hackett could rescue it, but alas! he could not restore its character or its profit, and he was but acting the part of Curtius by plunging down the gulf, without Curtius' reward. After a brief period Mr. Hackett disposed of his contract wholly to Mr. Hamblin and he assumed the entire responsibility of the theatre. What he made it our citizens know. Yet it is not to be believed that he sailed wholly upon smooth waters from the first, on the contrary for several years he contended with stormy times. The dreadful Cholera about this time first commenced its dark career, when the theatres were all shut and rank grass grew in the very streets of New-York. Some very unprofitable engagements contracted by Mrs. Hamblin in England also tended to keep down his rising fortune-but patient perseverance and natural energy surmounted every obstacle and 'rode triumphant on the waves of Fortune.' Slowly and surely did the Bowery theatre arise from its unprosperous and apparently hopeless condition, until it began to dispute the ground with its powerful rival; conducted in prosperity with the same able judgment as in adversity it finally stood preeminent for talent, order, magnificence and profit, and in the last year of Hamblin's management cleared free of all expenses $40,000. The final and fatal catastrophe which levelled the scene of his triumph to the ground has been by all lamented as a sad reward to the liberality, enterprise and industry of him who made it what it was-but our citizens were too much attached to the Bowery to allow it long to lay in ashes, and the present Manager, Mr. Dinneford was warmly seconded in his arduous undertaking of rebuilding it, like a beautiful Phoenix from its pyre. bounds of modesty; he never for a moment forgets his audience or is found wanting in the respect due to the part he assumes; if he does not electrify his hearers by sudden transitions or startling changes-he at least always understands what he desires to produce and seldom fails of accomplishing it. His best efforts are Hamlet, Virginius, Brutus and Macbeth, and the London press give him exalted praise in all of these. His chief faults are, a physical hoarseness produced by asthma, and a somewhat too stately dignity of carriage and speech, which may suit Romans well enough but is too stiff for more every day parts. As a man, a son—a father and a friend his conduct has been such as might challenge the world to be surpassed. His daughter a fine || young girl of fifteen having been for years under the care and guardianship of Louisa H. Medina, the most talented woman of the day, may be expected shortly to appear as a rising star of literature, to which end Mr. Hamblin has spared neither expense or care. As a manager little more remains to be said of Mr. Hamblin-in stormy times as in sunshine his conduct was alike liberal, honorable and firm;-in hours of theatrical riot or dissatisfaction he always faced the offenders with dauntless courage-in times of success he studied still to ensure and deserve it. In all cases of talent, especially native-he sought it out and gave it every advantage-poor young Hazard, Augustus Alfred Adams, Ingersoll and J. R. Scott were by him brought into the reputation they merit and he always rejoiced to put himself aside to forward their advancement. Misses Clifton, Vincent and Ann Waring all owe their first celebrity to him-and the promising Mrs. G. Jones would have been added to the number but for the terrible accident which ended his management and left that pleasure to his succesor. To the appeal of distress-to the demands justice-to the furtherance of charitable uses, Ir. Hamblin's theatre was always free- his heart WOMAN'S SMILE! OH! what a dreary waste would be If happy hearts, the gay, the free, Had lost their witching powers; As that of WOMAN'S SMILE! Oh! Life would be one joyless dream If 'twere not for the sunny beam Of beauteous eyes below; If in return they could not meet The light of WOMAN'S SMILE! On such bright forms of love, Dear thoughts of bliss above; If that existence be unblest With aught of WOMAN'S SMILE! EVERY man, at the bottom of his heart, entertains the same sentiments as a king; he would possess all power against others, but would not that others should have any against him. How beautiful is Nature! the glad Earth Sleeps, in the lovely garb of coming even, The fleecy clouds that drive along the skies. A mirror find, on earth's green crested bosom, And like a spirit's prayer, the soft winds rise Fraught with the rich breath of the golden blossom. The swelling slope, whose verdure cover'd breast- And the hill-stream along its channels leaping, They ring the chime of hours, alas! departed— Life's freezing pulses melt with sudden fear, As though a crater's breath, Death's ice had started. They call to me! I hear each kindly voice Bidding me stay with them a brief while longer, And while I feel that I have not the choice Of Life or Death, the wish to live is stronger; For it is terrible in Life's young morn, To part from all that I have loved for ever, To see the hand of Death the chaplet sever. When Life was Hope and hope its flight was winging To Fancy's gay wrought plains and brighter spheres Where Expectation sat, her sweet lays singing. But these are ended now, and Death has come Or in the valley cull the blooming flowers, And load-as youth e'er loads, the passing hours. But why should I repine.-Farewell! Farewell!Haunts of my childhood.-Death is gathering o'er me, The crowding thoughts that in my bosom swell, Must now give place, for that which is before me. A mist is spreading o'er my vision now, Earth and its loveliness from view is fadingThe damps of Death are settling on my browMy long delay, the victor is upbraiding: I come, I come, I bow beneath the rod Of thee-the King of Death-I yield to thee, Oh, God! She strove to hide the cureless wound within her breaking heart, And knew not that her form alone her sorrow could impart ! Her voice, that voice of melody we've listened to so oft But fainter grew its tones-was still entrancing, bland, and soft; Retaining yet its charms in death, like the Æolian Lyre, Whose notes grow more harmonious, as faintly they expire! Ah! she knew not how the rosy bloom had faded from her cheek, She could not guess her sunken eye could of her anguish speak; And still she smiled, and vainly thought that we believed her gay, But we saw the canker-worm devour the lovely flower away! Oh! had the false one gazed on her in her departing hour, No after scene of joy methinks could ever have the power To, from his conscience-stricken mind that altered form erase So altered, that affection scarce her lineaments could trace! Oh! had he met the parting glance of her then rayless eye, Had he but seen her ashy cheek, which once could with roses vie, Had he but heard her accents low to prayer and praises given, His heart, if heart he e'er possess'd, contrition must have riyen. But he no longer wore the rose, he erst had vowed to cherish, Ere yet decay had fring'd its leaves, 'twas cast aside to perish Nor tears of his, the faithless one, nor memory's truth wore sigh Mark'd out the spot, where in its bloom, t'flower was thrown to die. |