THE RELIQUES OF FATHER PROUT. No. VII. THE SONGS OF FRANCE. ON WINE, WAR, WOMEN, WOODEN SHOES, PHILOSOPHY, FROGS, AND FREE TRADE. From the Prout Papers. CHAPTER I.-WINE AND WAR. "Favete linguis! Carmina non priùs Audita, Musarum sacerdos, Virginibus puerisque canto." HOR. Carmen Sæculare. "With many a foreign author grappling, Thus have I, Prout, the Muses' chaplain, Songs for the boys' of after-ages." PROUT'S Transl. of Horace. THAT illustrious utilitarian, Dr. Bowring, the knight errant of free trade, who is allowed to circulate without a keeper (his derangement being considered harmless) through the cities of France, and in whom our Gallic neighbours have got an inexhaustible fund of innocent merriment, an itinerant budget of fun, -will be in high glee at this October manifestation of Prout's wisdom. Verily, the Doctor hath found a kindred soul in the Priest. To promote the interchange of national commodities, to facilitate the commercial intercourse of the two countries, to cause a blending and a chemical fusion of their mutual produce, to establish an equilibrium between our negative and their positive electricity; such appears to be the sublime aspiration of both these learned pundits. But, alas! the beneficial results attendant on the efforts of each are widely dissimilar. They are both Arcadians, but not equally gifted in the rivalry of song. In sober sadness, we have to record nothing of Dr. Bowring in the way of acquirement to this country; we have gained nothing by his labours : our cottons, our iron, our woollens, and our coals, are still without a passport to France; while in certain home-trades, brought by his calculations into direct competition with the emancipated French, we have encountered a loss on our side to the tune of a few millions. Not so with the exertions of Father Prout: he has enriched England at the expense of her rival, and engrafted on our literature the best and choicest productions of Gallic culture. Silently and unostentatiously, on the bleak top of Watergrasshill, he has succeeded in naturalising these foreign vegetables, and has associated himself in the gratitude of posterity with Sir Walter Raleigh, the planter of the potato. The inhabitants of these islands may now, thanks to Prout! sing or whistle the " Songs of France," duty free, in their vernacular language; a vastly important acquisition! The beautiful tunes of the "Cà ira" and "Charmante Gabrielle" will become familiarised to our dull ears: instead of the vulgar sound of "Peas upon a trencher," we shall enjoy that barrel-organ luxury of France, "Partant pour la Syrie;" and for "The Minstrel Boy to the wars is gone," we shall have the original, "Malbroock s'en va-t-en guerre." What can be imagined more calculated to establish an harmonious understanding between the two nations, than this attempt of a benevolent clergyman to join them in a hearty |