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His pen was of iron, and his heart was of granite. He was as insensible to the existence of wife and baby as if he had never paid a house bill, nor rushed from a nursery at the sound of an infant squall. O blessed privilege of Authorship! "O testudinis aureae Dulcem quae strepitum, Pieri, temperas! O mutis quoque piscibus Donatura cyeni, si libeat, sonum!"
He was as insensible to the existence of wife and baby as if he had never paid a house bill, nor rushed from a nursery at the sound of an infant squall. O blessed privilege of Authorship! "O testudinis aureae Dulcem quae strepitum, Pieri, temperas! O mutis quoque piscibus Donatura cyeni, si libeat, sonum!"
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