Of his faults and his follies behind.”
Here he stopped, which, I think, was a pity, as he evidently possessed the feeling and talents essential to an amatory poet.
PELLUCID RIVERS.—[p. 105.]
Chapter III.
It is a melancholy pleasure to me to wander among these vestiges of the departed great man; to trace his various thoughts from his earliest infancy to the time when death robbed the world of what should have been its brightest ornament, and left to it merely the paste and tinsel, the gewgaw and tomfoolery of literature.
Of his father he has left many records. This person, upon whom the honour of being Pellucid’s progenitor devolved, appears to have been a worthy undertaker; an unprofitable one, however, for he never undertook anything well, nor carried it out successfully. Nevertheless, his failings or shortcomings in life, served but to increase the love his son bore him, and which is manifested in many poetical scraps, evidently written in early life, one of which, commencing—
“My father, my dear father, if a name
Dearer and holier were, it should be thine,”