The Sun.
London, England, 1864-06-23 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

Becollections and Wanderings of Paul Bec
One Vol:, pp. IGO. Routledge, Warne, and
Routledge.
A capital book of its odd kind is this anecdotal
chit-chat about himself and his belongings given to
us (as just a taste or flavour of his autobiography)
• by the biggest and jovialist among our popular Low
Comedians. As about the best word we could say
for it—we immediately on getting it read through
the whole of the thin gilt-edged volume in which
Paul relates his "Recollections and Wanderings,"
we read through the whole of it from
cover to cover, if not literally at a single sit-
ting (seeing that we began the reading of it
in the street), at any rate, right off, at one innings,
on end, or however we may like to put the fact
idiomatically, a fact that Sam Slick would
express in Ysrilree lingo by the term—at a single
streak. C 5 ueleling not infrequently as he turns the
leaves, anyone else who has a keen relish for, we
won't say exactly Tilt, but we will una
hesitatingly say for a capital bit of fun, may do
the like, with great profit to his dirgestion.
From cover to cover, that is, the reader of Paul
Bedford's souvenirs may skim lightly.and pleasantly
through his amusing recollections from the lifelike
frontispiece representing Paul Bedford in propria
persona (of course with an open overcoat, of course
with his hat on, the said hat having just the
faintest perceptible cock over the left ear)
from the frontispiece, we say, down to the last
words of the book ending so very characteristically !
We may fancy we hear the words trolled out
in a deep bass voice, rather guttural in its intona-
tions, " And no w, my fostering friends and patrons
[meaning the' kyind public'] allow me to subscribe
myself—your devoted boy—PAUL." It is just for
alt the world the,very kind of a book that we should
have looked for at the hands of our devoted boy
Paul, in the happy event (now realized) of fats
jotting down his professional souvenirs. The
only fault is—there is not by any means
enough of it. Like Friar Bacon's brazen head in
the old pantomime, new that we have tasted so
much, we are clarnorcus for " more And, no
matter at what uncertain intervals, just as Gri-
maldi used to feed the Brazen Head with " moro"
—we shall really hope to taste a few supplementary
tidbits of the same relishing, kind, vouchsafed to us
(to devour just precisely in the same way, off hand,
and with an almost audible smack of the lips),
vouchsafed to us benignantly by a sort of
an after-thought, by our exhilarating friend
Paul—Paul with the stalwart form, and the
purple face, and the deep voice, and the irreaistibly
winking eyelids ! At any rate, for as much of his
recollections as he here obliges us with spontane-
ously, he merits at once our thanks and our congra-
tulations. Who, indeed, shall venture to say that
he is not entitled to our congratulations, seeing that
the book reveals himself (the writer of it) as the per-
sonal associate (among a crowd of other celebrities)
of men of mark as illustrious and as varied in their
genius e 4 Edmund Lean, as the Emperor Napoleon
111. when Prince Louis Napoleon, GS Lord Byron, as
Madame Malibran, as Sir Walter Scott, and Madame
Catalain, and Daniel O'Connell ! Yes—be it now
known and henceforth borne honourably in remem-
brance, not only th t Paul B dfor.l asso-
ciated with these and a great number of other
famous and gifted people, but that some among them
he knew intimately,. with some amongst them
he enjoyed the high and enviable privilege of an
earnest and cordial friendship. For one thing, by
the way, we can't fancy any man befog—seriously
—an enemy of Paul Bedford's. We don't know him
in the least personally. But, at any rate, we can
say that. The word Enmity and the name of Paul
Bedford somehow or another seem incompatibi',
incapable of any association whatever ! Tne
coupling of tho two gives one upon the
instant a notion of the ludicrous ! However
here, in honest black and white, are proofs positive
of his friendships. About the earliest recorded
among these being his intimacy with one of the
greatest actors that ever breathed (of whom Paul
Bedford tells many a pleasant anecdote), meaning
that world famous Genius of Tragedy, Edmund
Kean, Paul's first Betting eyes upon Edmund Lean,
as the former relates, occurred on the stage of the
Bath Theatre in "Richard lll."—Paut Bedford as the
Duke of Norfolk, Kean as Richard—the scene
Bosworth's Battlefield! There it is that the King
asks—

• "Has any careful friend
Discovered yet the nurob2r of the rebels ?"

Norfolk.—My lord, as I from Epics am well informed,
Six or seven thousand is their utmost power.
Richard.—Why our battalia trebles that account;
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength,
Which they upon the adverse faction want.
Norfolk.—Their wants are greater yet, my lord, those e'en
Of motion, life, and spirit—TOid you but know
How wretchedly their men disgrace the field;
Oh, such a tattered host of mounted scare-crows
So poor, so famished ; their executors,
The greedy jack dales, fly hovering o'er their heads,
Impatient for their lean inheritance.
. Now, for my misfortune. When I uttered the words,
"Jack Daws," the audience were convulsed with laughter,
in which mirth the wondrous "Richard" joined. I could
not imagine what caused this merriment, but was very soon
illuminated on the point, for on quitting the stage my patron
manager came to me in terror, saying, " My dear, you com-
mitted a great error." Why so, sir ?" said I. " Why,
my dear, you mistook the name of the bird, It should
have been 'the greedy crows.'" "Oh, pray, sir, forgive
me," sail I, for my alarm was so great at the moment, I
knew not what I said. " But, my dear," said my manager,
"what will the great Mr Kean say to it ?'' I said, " I
am sure I don't know. I suppose I shall have my
marching ticket signed." When the tragedy ended
anaids, a hurricane of applause, I rushed to my
dressing-room, and commenced changing my gar-
ments, hoping :to escape from the theatre unnoticed; but
before I had completed ray toilet, a knock was hoard at the
door. " Who is there ?" said my attendant. A voice from
without replied, by saying "Mr. Kean requested Mr Bed-
ford would come to his dressing-room before ha leaves the
theatre." At that summons I became nervously excited.
I approached the dreaded chamber, under the impression
of instant dismissal. But not so ; for on entering the room
and imploring forgiveness for the mistake I had committed,
the kind and wondrous tragedian said, "Make no apology,
my young friend, for you made me laugh more heartily
than I have done for years." Ha concluded by in-
viting me to dine with him the following day, which event
commenced a friemlship that ceased not during the lifetime
of that inspired dramatic genius.

Thenceforth 13Aford, obtaining among his other
well known sobriquets, that of "Jack 11.3,77 Paul."
Conspicuous among the revelations here mAle by
this " unbuzzaming" of Paul'a, as he might call
it himself-- pre-eminent among them all in its
importance—should stand the remarkable dis-
c;o.,.4ure made by cur comic hero of the fact that
the phrase of phrases that he has most signally
immortalised by his mere manner of uttering it,
was interpolated by Mr, Buckstone in the original
manuscript of Green Bushes, at the suggestion of
the late Mr. T. P. Cooke ! That paragon among
theatrical sailors, inimitable not only in his vast-
heaving and his hornpipe, but in the very hitch
of his trousers, in the very turn of the quid in his
cheek ! And--the phrase hinted at ? Why
every ono will surely recognise the allusion
as pointing to no other Bedfordian or Paulo-post,
past, present, and, we had almost
bop !,
saidb, future
ni,ho
phrase than—" I believe you, n 3
origin of it being this. according to Peui'3 own
account of it, in the manner following ! Saith Paul
Bedford

The world. wide and domestic phrase. of "I believe you,
my boy," was indicated to the talented author by that Tar
of all nations, the late T. P. Cooke, who said, that when
ha was lad, at, the naval engagement of the taking of
Cape Si. Vincent, they had on boarda fanny and facetious
mesemate, who, amid to m battle's roar, would make them
laugh ; when a shot had just cleared his figurehead, his
nunl an " Hollo, Joe, that was too near to be
p
my boy," sung out Joe.
pleasant."
matt.e,
believe
you,
u,
Not another plum or bit of candied peel in the way
or anecdote Will we venture unfairly to pick thus,
Jack dorner-t,vise, out of this very rich slice
of autobiographical cake. To the slice itself
in Its integrity, es hero served up far
those who list, we commend the attention
of all iovers of such goad things as theatri..
oat small-talk and green-room facetiousness.
Again. we say it—the book is just precisely What,
from its title, we should have expected it to be :
which is certainly saying a good deal, as books go !
It is, in other words, exactly what it assumes to be--
namely, a tteroughly good-hurnuured,.merry, wink-
ing, 6g-in-the-ribs be.ft of buttotrh'Jilalog Gosk"iP of