is Gripe_,
in the _Busy Body_, and _Jemmy Jumps_ in the _Farmer_; his success in
which parts after the impressions made by Parsons and Edwin was little
short of a miracle. His popularity now became settled. He was the original
representative of _Old Rapid, Caustic, Brummagem, Lazarillo, (Two Strings
to your Bow,) Crack, Nipperkin, Sir Abel Handy, Sir Robert Bramble, Old
Dornton_, &c. In 1797 and 1798, he played at the Haymarket, but his summer
vacations were chiefly filled up by engagements at the provincial theatres.
Munden remained at Covent Garden Theatre till 1813, when he joined the
Drury Lane company. Here he remained until May 31, 1824, when he took his
farewell of the stage, in the characters of _Sir Robert Bramble, (Poor
Gentleman_,[2]) and _Old Dozy_, (in _Past Ten o'clock_.) He _read_ his
farewell address, thus rendering it strikingly ineffective, since his
spectacles became obscured with tears. The leave-taking had, however, a
touch of real tragedy, which few could withstand. He now retired with a
respectable fortune, and lived in genteel style in Bernard-street, Russell
Square, till his 74th year.

Munden's style of acting was exuberant with humour. His face was his
fortune: it was all changeful nature: his eye glistened and rolled, and
lit up alternately every corner of his laughing face: "then the eternal
tortuosities of his nose, and the alarming descent of his chin, contrasted,
as it eternally was, with the portentous rise of his eyebrows." He has
been blamed for grimace, but it should be remembered that many of his
characters verged on caricatures. That he could play comic characters
chastely was amply shown in his Polonius; and touch the finer feelings of
our nature was exemplified in his Old Dornton, in Holcroft's catching play
of the _Road to Ruin_. The fine discrimination evinced by Munden in the
grief and joy of the exclamations "Who would be a father," and "Who would
_not_ be a father," will not soon be forgotten. We think we see and hear
his stout figure, in black, with florid face, and powdered hair, his
raised and clasped hands,--rushing out of the lockup-house scene in all
the fervid extasy of a father rejoicing at the escape of his son from
destruction. In Crack, Dozey, Nipperkin, and other drunken characters, his
drollery was irresistible. His intoxication displayed as much
discrimination as his pathetic performances. Who can forget his stare in
being detected in his fuddling as Dozey, and h