The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1912-03-16
FAT Her PR0UT
THE STORY OF THE GIFTED
AUTHOR or "THE BELLS or
SHANDON."
written for The Catholic Bulletin.)

written for The Catholic Bulletin.
About the middle of the last century
there appeared In the leading pc
riodicals of the day, remarkably bril-
liant series of letters, chiefly on liter
airy subjects and known as the "Prout
Papers," or "Reliques of Father
Prout." For some years the real
author of these fiery essays remained
unknown. That there was real Father
Prout, an DID, retired clergyman,
was certain. Could it be that this
venerable octogenarian was the auth
or, the real mail-clad knight, who now
sought fame and fortune in the liter
airy arena? The disclosure came at
last in the person of the Rev. Francis
Mahony, a young Corkman. lately or
dained to the priesthood.
Born in the city of Cork, and after
passing through the schools and col
leges of his native city, young Mahony
was sent to Paris and Rome to COM
plete his education. Soon after this,
on his return to his native country,
he was ordained priest, and sent
as curate to this same Father Prout,
in small and unattractive place
called Water Grass Hill, about three
miles outside the city of Cork. Full
of life and energy, with plenty of tai
ent of high order, the young Cork
man was ill at ease. Suddenly he
determined to have at least literary
revenge on the miserable surround
ings of the gloomy place, and at once
brilliant dashes of prose, poetry, criti-
cism and philosophy began to flow
from the facile pen of Father Prout."
Frazer's Magazine, the Cork Examin-
er, and the Dublin periodicals were
lit up each week with these fiery pro-
auctions, signed with the pen name,
Father Prout'
Week after week the mails came
laden with congratulations from lit
erary men. In vain the venerable pas
tor protested that he knew nothing
of the subject matter. His protest
was taken as merely an expression Of
his modesty, while the real author
was enjoying the scene his drollery
created. No subject escaped his OBJ
servation. A disputation on the phil
osophy of Plato or Socrates, homely
on pastoral theology, down to hum
orous description of sailors boat
ing village was equally relevant, and
like his countryman, Oliver Goldsmith,
he touched no subject that he did not
adorn. AS poet he ranks favorably
with Gerald Griffin and Oliver Gold.
smith.
Who can read his immortal BELLS
of Shandon" with all the beauty of
it's music and versifcation, it's pure
sentiment of deep love and affection
without feeling come over him OF
return to childhood's happy dream
Whose sounds so wild would, in
days of childhood
Fling round his cradle, their magic
spells" -.
There is a weird fascination running
through all the literary productions Of
this gifted man. In the earlier years
of his writing, he seems to have writ
ten mostly for the mere love of con
quest, the Certaminis Gaudia, as il
were, of the hour. Even Moore, the i'm
mortal author of the Irish Melodies
came near being dethroned from the
high place he held in the realm Of
poetry, through the brilliant wit, ant
caustic sarcasm of Father Prout.
Some of Moore's finest gems were
translated by Prout into classical Lat
in, and it was then given out that he
| (Prout) had just discovered then
among some old and long forgotten
manuscripts, thus making it appear
that the renowned author of the mel
odies was only mere plagiarist, un
worthy the high place he held among
his countrymen.
Such was the brilliant dawn o
Prout's early years. We now come K
a period-the parting of the ways al
it were-where sorrow and disap
pointment cloud the setting sun. Aftel
years of hesitancy and doubt, believ
ing he had no true calling to thu
p11CStAOOus A0 PCttG1OACt
Rome to release him from his clerica
duties. From now ON, we find him III
the great cities Of London and Paris
still writing for the papers Of the day
not indeed for glory and renown, a.
in earlier years, but actually for bread
Temporal mutantur ct nos mutamul
in ills. Times are changed, and VIZ
are changed in them.
i Could those cold and gilded salons
of the gay city of Paris, where hence
forth he lives the life of recluse
sadden the memory of his childhood
i dreams? Can those
Symbols glorious, swinging uproar
iOus
From the gorgeous turrets of Notr'
Dame"
bring back those early recollections o
his own Shandon Bells, whose