MEMOIRS OF MURDER, BY HIS SON.

THIS volume is about the best of the theatrical biographies that have latterly issued from the press. It is full of anecdotes, and of very good ones ; there is little of the usual stuffing and incident- elaboration, where the needle is lost in the bottle of hay ; there is less of the green-room parade, and a somewhat juster judgment of things. The spirit of bygone times, too, is quietly, perhaps unintentionally, but very clearly, brought before us. The palmier day of the drama is exhibited, when actors were an important class in the public estimation, and, if they had no very eminent social status, yet mingled in society as greater lions than they will ever do again. The disposition of that society, further removed from encroachment by the feeling in favour of distinction of ranks, was more genial and less exclusive, if coarser in taste and less delicate in vice : and it seems to live again in the touches of Mr. MURDER. By what means this is done so well as it is done, is difficult to say, (unless it be in the choice of anecdotes, that contain in themselves the spirit we speak of) ; for the author, though born and cradled in the last century, could not have lived in it. It may indeed be objected to this volume, that great part of it is less a life of MURDER than a running notice of the playhouses or the actors with which he was connected ; the biography of the hero, after his success in London, consisting of a brief account or a dry enumeration of the parts he filled. But the attraction of the life of an actor is limited to his early difficulties and his strolling career—" all the rest is only the lees." The adventures of Gil Bias conjoined with the hunger and hardships of a soldier in re- treat, vanish when the actor has succeeded in London ; to be super- seded by squabbles with managers, jealousy of brothers, and con- duct perhaps still less relatable ; or the man's public career is to be read in playbills and notices of the drama, whilst his private life is that of a "very respectable person." Of these early adventures Jon MURDER had his full share ; though the stories told of him, even when hitnself was the autho- rity, cannot always be depended upon, as latterly he was in the habit of cramming gentlemen who beset him for anecdotes to put into the magazines. However, thus much seems authentic. He was born in the year 1758, in Brooks Market, close to but not the street, as his biographer says, where CHATTERTON perished. His father was an humble poulterer; and JOE was "not highly educa-

ted, but wrote an extraordinarily fine hand,"—an accomplishment which more than once served him at a pinch. At home, he was "a very refractory boy" ; and probably pretty much the same out, as he seems to have had more than one apprenticeship. The dra- matic itch, however, was too strong to be resisted. At night he used to steal out of window and be off to the theatre ; and he soon attempted the stage himself.

"Many were the times that truant Joe eloped from his home to join a band of strollers; and was followed and brought back by his fond and indulgent mother. She knew his haunts, and that he had not the means of wandering far from town; and she generally succeeded in finding him. Dreading an esca- pade, she was in the habit of mixing among the audience, and pouncing upon poor Joe when be made his appearance. On one occasion, his coat thrice pre- sented itself to the view of the audience before its owner appeared in propria persona; being the best coat in the company, and, consequently, the most suit- able for gentlemen in comedy."

As he advanced in age, he extended his excursions, and at last fairly embarked in a stroller's life ; suffering all their privations, going through all their shifts, and probably not unacquainted with their tricks of practice. JOE, however, had a resource in his "fine hand " ; and when the troop was scattered, and himself" hard up," could earn something as a writing-clerk. But this settled and mo- notonous existence seldom lasted longer than the first opportunity of escaping from it. During these early strolling excursions, his hardships are supposed to have been very great : he once walked nearly two days fasting, and was all but sinking when he met an acquaintance. The distress he experienced from want of money at this time of his life, is supposed to have subsequently rendered him penurious, and to have originated his favourite ethical maxim, "By G—, Sir, a man's best friend is a guinea." It was about the year 1780 that he began to emerge from his ffifficulties, and to sink the " stroller" in the " provincial" per- former. HURST, the Canterbury manager, saw him, and, struck with his promise, engaged him for second parts in tragedy and comedy: but the want of a comedian in the company introduced him to the first parts of low comedy, in which he made a hit. Ten years elapsed before he appeared in London ; during which time he steadily advanced in his profession, even rising to the dignity of manager and part-proprietor of the Chester Theatre. A resident, indeed, lent him the purchase-money ; but this he would scarcely have done had not JOE'S attention to the main chance already de- veloped itself, though his son dates the confirmed habit some quar- ter of century later.

The company at Chester under MUNDEN'S management was a very remarkable one. Mrs. WHITLOCK, the sister of Mrs. SIDDONS, whom she was said to have resembled, (somewhat after the fashion, we fancy, of CHARLES KEMBLE'S resemblance to JoHN,) was the tragedy heroine. No less a man than GEORGE FREDERICK COOKE was principal tragedian ; AUSTIN, a confidential friend of GAR- RICK'S, and it is said a good actor, took the line of KING and the present Mr. FARREN. A Mr. IlonoRiNsoN played the parts of LEWIS, and with great success. Mrs. HUN, the mother of CAN- NING, Mrs. SPARKES, who subsequently attained a London repu- tation, and Miss BUTLER, afterwards Mrs. MUNDEN, were among the ladies. At Chester, too, MUNDEN married, after a catastrophe, which is thus narrated by his lawful son.

"There was another actress, of whom mention must be made, as she exer- cised a large influence over the fortunes of Munden, She played under the name of Mrs. Munden; but her real name was Mary Jones. She possessed some beauty, but was vulgar and illiterate in the extreme. In the wild thought- lessness of youth, when the looseness of his habits did not afford an intro- duction to respectable female society, Mundell had formed a connexion with this woman. When he had a settled abode at Chester, he sent for her, and had the imprudence to introduce her as his wife. By his consummate skill in his profession, he had contrived to instruct her sufficiently to render her com- petent to play minor parts, and to prevent an exposure of her ignorance on the stage. By Mary Jones, Munden had four daughters, when the event took place which we are now about to relate.

"In the year 1789, this wretched female, with whom he had so long coha- bited, and who had borne him so many children, eloped with Mr. Hodgkinson, (the light comedian,) carrying with her thirty guineas of his money, his daughter Esther, and a child yet unborn. Munden had long suspected that some familiarities existed between the parties, and bad called Mr. Hodgkinson to account ; but the fact was denied. A vile scrawl which she left behind her, addressed to Mr. Whitlock, apprised Munden of the step which she had taken. After many entreaties to sooth and calm him, which, indeed, were not needed, she adds—' 1 likewise inclose a leter wich I beg give him—also the lisd of his pro-, perty—with many thanks for your frensbip for 9 years.' Mr. Hodgkinson also wrote to Mr. 'Whitlock, attempting to justify his own conduct and throw the blame on Munden. This precious couple were married at Bath ; the female being in the last stage of pregnancy : but Hodgkinson soon found out what a bargain he had got, and separated from her at Bristol, embarking for America

with an actress of the name of Brett. • • *

" This event had well nigh shaken Munden's popularity at Chester, as it drew aside the veil of his pretended matrimony. Be acted, however, like a man of sense and determination ; attempted no pursuit, admitted his error, and set about repairing it by getting married in earnest. His choice fell on Miss Butler, a young actress of merit and considerable personal attractions, who had been some time in the company."

It should be added in justice to Mrs. MUNDEN, that she brought up all the illegitimate children, who were eventually respectably settled in life.

In 1790, MUNDEN made his first appearance before a London audience, and immediately succeeded; though his high reputation was of slow growth, and, in consequence of the presence of veteran actors, his range of characters mere limited than they afterwards became. At Covent Garden he remained, playing also at the Hay- market during its season, until 1811; when, in consequence of some disputes with the management, carried on with all the dignity of diplomacy, he left that theatre, and never returned to it. In 1813, he joined the Drury Lane company, the year after the re- building of the house; and there he remained till he quitted the stage, in 1824. It was the opinion of some of his friends, and the public, that he retired prematurely : but MUNDEN had a sounder judgment. At sixty-six, the constitution which has been exposed to the labours, excitement, and irregularities of an actor's life, and shaken by frequent attacks of the gout, has need of respite, and cannot be relied on for physical exertions, however robust it may originally have been. As it was, he did not long enjoy his leisure. Infirmities crept upon him; he soon only rose to dine, and retired early to bed.

" He had always," says his son, " when he was on the stage, partaken freely of wine, [perhaps because it bad the quality admired by Diogenes]; but latterly, he abstained from it entirely, and denied himself those comforts which his age required and his situation in life enabled him to afford. He was at- tended diligently and affectionately by his wife; who, though older than himself, cheerfully endured many privations to which his disease—tar it was a disease— of penuriousness subjected her. We wish we could add that he bequeathed to her [she survived him] a larger sum than the trifling annuity of one hun- dred pounds for the term of her life. Upon the other dispositions of his will, which was made two-and-twenty years previous to his death, with occasional codicils, we do not desire to enter, and they would not interest the reader. About the end of January 1832, he suffered under a derangement of the bowels, for which he took his own remedy, and increased the malady, being un- able to retain any nutriment on his stomach. He sent, when too late, for Mr. Roberts, of Great Coram Street, Brunswick Square, who knew his constitu- tion, and on whose ability and experience he had the most perfect reliance. The eminent physicians Dr. Roots and Dr. Bright also attended ; and every

thing which medical skill could effect was tried, but in vain. He sank beneath a gradual decay of nature, on the 6th February; and was buried in the vaults of St. George's, Bloomsbury ; where the remains of his widow were deposited five years afterwards."

The merits of MUNDEN as an actor have been described at length by TALFOURD, Lama, and LEIGH HUNT; and those who wish to gratify their curiosity will find the critiques at large in the volume before us. As an actor, his essential characteristic was a rich but rather grotesque humour, mingled, when the part admitted it, with touches of pathos. His humour was held to degenerate into gri- mace; but it was so far natural that it stuck by him in private. He was apt, however, like most buffo performers, to push it too far, when he saw it was "setting on the barren spectators to laugh." His defect, originating perhaps in the trashy abortions he so often had to vivify, was a deficiency in representing natural character. It was not that he did not lose his own idiosyncracy, (which no player, save GARRICK perhaps, ever accomplished,) but that MUNDEN was always before the audience embodying certain ab- stractions. This defect CHURCHILL attributed to an actor of still greater celebrity— "In fancy'd scenes, as in life's real plan,

He could not, for a moment, sink the man. In whate'er cast his character was laid, Self still, like oil, upon the surface play'd. Nature, in spite of all his skill, crept in; Horatio, Dorax, Falstaff, still 'twee Quin."

It may be doubted, however, whether Quist so completely sub- stituted himself for his character as MUNDEN did. But there was great variety in JoZs acting: it was always a different phase of

MUNDEN.

Some of the best parts of this volume, as we have already ob- served, relate less to MUNDEN than to the stage in general. Our miscellaneous extracts, therefore, will follow the character of the book, and bear a slender relation to its nominal hero.

"PUNCH'S PEELINGS."

Austin used to relate, that in walking up the stage with Garrick, until the burst of applause which followed one of his displays in Lear should subside, the great actor thrust his tongue in his cheek, and said, with a chuckle, " Joe, this is stage feeling !" In like manner, Mrs. Siddons, after rushing off the stage in apparently the most excruciating anguish, in Belvidere or Mrs. Be- verly, was accustomed to walk quietly to the green-room, thrusting up her nose enormous quantities of snuff with the greatest nonchalance imaginable. After commending Kelly's acting in The Deserter, she gravely added, " Bat, Kelly, you feel too much : if you feel so strongly, you will never make an actor." True it is, that an actor who plays from feeling will play worse at every suc- cessive representation, instil he will be unable to act at all.

GENTLEMAN PALMER.

In the summer of this year, (1797,) the awfully-sudden death of John Palmer, the circumstances of which are too well known to be recapitulated, took place during the performance of The Stranger, on the Liverpool stage. The subject of this memoir always stated that John Palmer was the best general actor he had ever seen. Palmer played every thing, and every thing equally well. Ile possessed the advantages of a tall and well proportioned figure, an ex- pressive countenance, melodious voice, and most persuasive manner. Mrs. Siddons once observed, that so naturally insinuating was he in Stukely, she felt at times off her guard, and, for a moment, could hardly help fancying that his propositions were real. He carried this quality with him into private life; which obtained for him the name of "Plausible Jack." It is said that on one occasion, having an invitation to dinner, be knocked by mistake at the next door, where he found a large party assembled in the drawingroom. Not per- ceiving his host and hostess, he concluded they were in some other part of the dwelling, and commenced conversing familiarly with the company. The master and mistress of the house plainly perceived th.re was a mistake, but were so fascinated by his powers of conversation that they suffered him to proceed until dinner was announced, when they pressed him earnestly to let it be no mistake, but to remain and be their guest. Jack Palmer was improvident, and always' in difficulties : he however contrived to keep the bailiffs in good humour by orders for the theatre.

MUNDEN'S POLICY TOWARDS THE PRESS.

It was Munden's habit never to reply to a newspaper attack. " If I do," he said, very sensibly, "1 play into their hands, and raise a nest of hornets around me. If I do not, they'll fall upon somebody else tomorrow, and I shall be for- gotten."

THE SIDDONIAN TEST.

Mrs. Crawford also quitted the stage in this year. This lady disputed the palm with Mrs. Siddons; in such parts as Monimia she probably surpassed her: Lady Randolph was the character in which each struggled for pre- eminence. Munden aitnessed the performance of Lady Randolph by Mrs. Crawford and Mrs. Siddons from the pit on successive nights, being desirous of forming an estimate of their respective merits. He was lost in admiration of Mrs. Crawford's powers ; but when, on the second nigh; he prepared to

dress for the farce after Mrs. Siddons's performance, his feelings were so power- fully affected that he was incapable of rousing himself to comic effort without a stimulant.

amic-casrr AND PRINCE-CRAFT.

The allusion to Frogrnore refers to a morning fete given by King George the Third, in the open air, at which some of the London performers were com- manded to attend, and stationed in different parts of the grounds to sing and afford amusement to the royal guests. His Majesty having expressed a wish for a repetition of some song of Incledon's or Munden's, it was respectfully intimated that they had to perform at Covent Garden in the evening, and that the time was approaching. "Then, pray," said the good old King, "go at once. I will not have my people disappointed" ; and, turning to the Prince of Wales, "George, oblige me by seeing Mr. Munden and Mr. 1ncledon to their carriage." His Royal Highness, with his usual affable deportment, took each of the actors by the arm, and, the police-constables making a passage through the dense crowd, walked with them to the spot where their post-chaise was in waiting, saw them into it, and shook hands at parting.

From their long connexion at Chester and afterwards in London as brother actors, MIINDEN appears to have stored up many cha- racteristic anecdotes of that strange mortal COOKE ; with a few of which we close this notice.

THEORY AND PRACTICE.

Cooke had then (about 1789) begun to indulge in his favourite propensity. On the occasion of the company's removal from one town to another, Cooke accompanied Mrs. Menden in a post-chaise. He was exceedingly sentimental; and decried the fatal effects of liquor. "Never, my dear Mrs. Munden," said he, " permit my friend Joe to drink to excess ; but above all things make him refrain from spirits : brandy-and-water has been.my bane." They separated for the night to their different quarters. In the morning, Cooke did not come to rehearsal. Search was made after him in every direction ; and, with some difficulty, he was discovered lying dead drunk on the floor of a subterranean wine-vault.

COOKE AT LIVERPOOL.

Cooke had been playing on a previous occasion, when great excitement pre- vailed on account of the agitation of the Slave-trade Abolition question in Par- liament. Cooke fancied himself insulted, because his benefit had not been equal to his expectations ; and, passing in his usual state, by one of the principal coffee- houses, he beheld several of the merchants assembled in the rooms and vicinity. Shaking his fist at them, he exclaimed, "I thank my God, I carry away none of your d—d money : every brick in your accursed town is stained with African blood ! " When he appeared afterwards on the stage, the hubbub was indescribable. He attempted to speak, but was saluted by cries of" Off, off!" and a shower of hisses. Silence was at length restored, and Cooke addressed the audience in these words—" Ladies and gentlemen, if you will allow me to go through my part, I will never disgrace myself by appearing before you again."

He then retreated to the side-scenes, and said to a party there, from whom this anecdote is derived, with a satirical expression of countenance—" It's the blood—the blood!"

The managers advertised him for the next night, with the sure card—Richard the Third and Sir Archy Mac Sarcasm. The signal of his presence was one universal hiss. Cooke advanced to the stage, placing his hand on his breast, and bowing with affected humility, waited until the tumult subsided, and then entreated the audience to hear him. "Had I not been unfortunately in- terrupted, ladies and gentlemen," said he, in his blandest accents, "m address to you would have been thus—Lathes and gentlemen, if you will allow me to go through my part, I will never disgrace myself by appearing before you again in the same condition." The ruse succeeded : "Bravo, Cooke ! " resounded ; and he played Richard with more than his usual energy.