The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1893-09-09
BELLS,
An Interesting Sketch of the Life
and Career Of "Father Prout,"
Author of
hTHE BELLS OF SHANDON,''' Z

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Contributions From His Pen that
Astonished the World
of Literature.
Most of the students of English litera-
ture can easily recall to mind the name
of Father Prout, but few are familiar
with that of Rev. Francis Mahoney, says
Eugene Davis in the Rosary Magazine.
Yet both were one and the same; for
Prout was the pseudonym of the Rev.
litterateur. There are not many, how
ever, cognizant of the fact that there was
at one time real live Father Prout in
the diocese of Cork, who had been for
years the pastor of Watergrasshill, a par
ish in which the famous Blarney stone is
located. He was simple minded, unso-
phisticated old man when young Ma
honey knew him, now some six decades
ago. The knowledge of moral theology,
which the P. P. had acquired, was suff
cient to enable him to take spiritual
charge of his flock, but he was absolutely
ignorant of literature, history and other
mundane subjects. Shortly after the
death of the venerable ecclesiastic, Ma
honey, who was then on the staff of Fra
zer's Magazine, in London, contributed
to that periodical series of interesting
and erudite papers entitled s'The Rel
iques of Father Prout" In introducing
them to the notice of his readers, Ma
hony, who concealed himself behind the
pen-name of Oliver Yorke, announced
that Father Prout had left him all his
valuable MSS. which would now appear
in successive numbers of Frazer. The
essays which astonished the literary
world of that day by their scholarly
qualities and stately eloquence of style,
We're written on such themes as t'An
Apology for Lent" in which the parish
priest of Blarney proved by quotations
from the Fathers of the Church aud
other authorities that fish was more nu-
tritious and palatable than any kind of
meat: "A Defense of the Jesuits," the
logic ef which dumb.founded every light
in the Protestant camp; a "Visit of Sir
Walter Scott to Barney" on which oc-
casion the aged cure proved to him the
oriental origin of the stone which the
Scotch baronet kissed at great risk of
life and limb, the "Rogueries of Thomas
Moore" in which the author translated
some Of the Irish poets melodies into
quaint old classic French, and gave them
to the public as originals alleged to have
been found in the archives OF continental
ibraries-thus showing up the 'spoet of
all circles and the idol of his own" as a
plagiarist of a most shame. faced type!
These articles particularly the last,
caused the utmost sensation in literary
coteries all over the British Isles. Moore
became as mad as March hare over the
unfounded accusation brought against
him. Oliver Yorke simply replied by
congratulating him on his skill as a
translator! Other articles which dem
onstrated Father Prout's intimate knowl-
edge of Cork city and it's intellectual and
political status caused still greater SEN
sation on the banks of the Lee, where the
worthy mayor and aldermen woke up
one fine morning to find themselves IA
mous-thanks to the publicity given
them in Frazer. No one, except DR..
Maginn, the then editor, who was, like
Mahoney himself Corkman, had any
idea OF tie identity of the real author of
those scathing and talented contribu-
tions.
Mahoney was born in Cork in 1904; OF
prosperous Kerry family that had set
tied in that city, and became the origin
at ors and owners of the celebrated Blar-
ney tweed industry, which, I believe, is
still nnder their control. At an early
age the young lad was sent by the bishop
of Cork to the Irish college of Rome,
where he prosecuted his ecclesiastical
studies for several years. The venerable
nonogenarian, DR.. Kirby, archbishop of
Epheeus, who is still alive, was a fellow
student of Mahoney. Ihad an interview
with the doctor in 1885, at time when
he had been for almost half a century
the rector of that establishment. It was
from the lips of this veteran ecclesiastic
that learned the circumstances attend
ant on the composition of the 'sBells of
Shandon," by Mahoney. These remark
able lines were penciled by their author
on the wall of his cell one languid sum-
mer afternoon when the college was en-
joying its siesta. The dean of the house
saw them as he was making his daily
rounds next morning, and while he com
plimented the youth on his poetical tai
ent, reminded him that his mission in
life just then was not to become poet,