Poets can be rogues, but rogues cannot be poets

After finishing the third and final book of Tufts in a semi-conscious state of mind, I was entirely disappointed. However, my personal let-down aside, I was struck mostly by the now clear distinct differences in the three books. My assessment of these divisions comes mostly from my experience as a reader. The first book I found to be dishonest and melodramatic. The second book, in my mind, is the "best." By this I mean several things: honest, candid, shameless, humorous, developed (compared to the random fire plotting of the first book and the droll repetition of the third), and most decidedly Rogue-ish. The second book is Tufts in his prime. By the time we reach the third book, Tufts' escapades begin to seem foolishly repetitive. Therefore, his character begins to lack the creativity and daring we appreciated in the first parts of the narrative. Furthermore, his association with Abigail conflicts with our first ideas of Tufts as womanizer and rogue because he actually appears to care for her (nicknames, residence and other domestic normalcies). The idea of the faithful concubine could soon be reconciled and adapted into his rogue character, except he ultimately forsakes her, which really is the betrayal of the self he has been hell-bent to preserve all along. So in truth, Tufts is no rogue. Not ultimately, anyway. After a 5-year stint on Castle Island, he is at the mercy of his two sons who have prospered in spite of his horrible parenting, or lack thereof. To top it all off, he absconds with some 18-year old who makes a fool out of him. He then returns to Lemington and his family, crawling like a dog. Additionally, the inclusion of Tufts' poetry and other quoted verse only contributes to his weakness, in my very strong opinion. He turns to higher thinking, art and God only in his despair, which is only the result of his inability to trade his bad situation for a good one, and not from repentance or moral awakening. And so when he says in the final paragraphs "sincerely, I pray, that the bitter misfortunes here recited, may be a caveat to others, and a mean of deterring them from such ...pursuits and diabolical devices, as reason and conscience do not approve" (363), this reader can in no way reason out an ounce of "sincerity." This is simply the run of the mill validation included by the author for purposes of publication. The sexual exploits and violence depicted can somehow be reasonably included if the Narrator is "sorry" at the end. I would have liked it better if Tufts had retained the brazen rudeness of the second book.
Other Random Thoughts:
Tufts subscribes to the middle-class conceptions of "providence" as mentioned in Johnson and discussed in last class. He often uses phrasing referring to God as providence, but his actions, and sentiments expressed in the third book, demonstrate a weakness. He never fully subscribes or overthrows. Upon more detailed examination, his distance from modern religious convention could be interpreted as deist.
Also, Tufts' narrative is a masculine revolt of New England patriarchy, mirroring or foreshadowing the changing society in the late 18th century, as also discussed in Johnson.