G⸺ soon gave proofs of the greatest abilities, and had he, fortunately for himself and the world, pursued his natural propensities for literary pursuits, he would, beyond all doubt, have shone as a star of the first magnitude, and avoided the miserable fate, which at a premature period, removed him from the world. But he was all fire—a real child of the sun—without deliberation or reflection, without care or thought of remoter consequences, he yielded implicitly to the first impulses of his mind, and was too proud and too lofty to retract or recede. Most unluckily, at the moment when G⸺ was beginning to feel the consciousness of his intellectual superiority, the poisonous and malignant seeds of the French Revolution had shewn their germs above the surface of the earth, and were advancing to an ill-omened maturity. The delusive cry of liberty always impresses the youthful mind with an impatient ardour, and when properly disciplined and restrained, may afterwards display itself in the zeal of a sound and honest patriotism, and eventually become the parent of every manly virtue. But when the object of this ardour takes a false name and wrong direction, when zeal is misled by an ignis fatuus, and not by the genuine flame of real liberty—when the name of liberty is made the stalking horse of ambition, the instrument of selfish ends and motives, the tool of the demagogue, the whoop of a low and sanguinary multitude, what great, what dire, and what deplorable mischiefs may be expected, we have too disastrous a proof in the source, progress, and history of the French Revolution.
It was this false fire which led J⸺ G⸺ astray, and with no ordinary deviation. It was not like the error of an inconsiderate young man, who for a time obeys the impulse of some particular passion, but on reflection sees his danger, retraces his steps, and makes compensation by acknowledging his indiscretion, and afterwards pursuing the safe and straight line of duty. G⸺ all at once, like an unbroken colt, burst every check and restraint, and bounded away over hill and dale, through woods, over plains and rivers, with the impetuous and ungovernable fury of the wildest buffalo. The word liberty being once sounded in his ears, he dressed up her image in the gaudiest hues of a vivid imagination, and bowed before it, with all the devotion of the most superstitious idolatry.
In the interval, however, but it is not pretended to be particularly accurate as to chronological periods, G⸺ returned to the West-Indies, where he married, and had a son and a daughter. There he left his wife and children, and coming back to England, immediately took an active part in the busy and perilous scenes which were then exhibiting. His former and natural love of literature was totally forgotten, or rather absorbed, by the boundless prospects presented to his political ambition. He had made some preparations to be called to the bar, but all ideas of entering upon any profession, were now contemptuously thrown aside, and conventions, corresponding societies, committees, delegates, &c. danced before his disturbed fancy, in all the mazes of political confusion.
Finally, he became a zealous and active member of the Corresponding Society, and in the year 1793, had, what to his infatuated mind appeared no ordinary distinction, the high honour of being elected with Maurice Margarot (par nobile fratrum) as a delegate to what was absurdly denominated the British Convention, which assembled at Edinburgh.
Here be it permitted to pause awhile, and lament the waywardness of this man’s mind. There was no eminence in any profession to which he might not have aspired, and had he pursued any other path but the delusive one which obtained his partial preference, he might have lived in dignified independence, and left a revered and honoured name behind him. His temper, it must be confessed, was not of the most conciliating kind, and like most of the lovers of reform, and advocates of liberty and equality, he was tyrannical, insolent, imperious, and overbearing.
Among his other qualifications, he had considerable theatrical talents, and when very young, performed the arduous character of Zanga in the Revenge, to the admiration and delight, of a numerous and very enlightened assembly.
The individuals with whom he ostensibly lived in the greatest familiarity, were his old master, Dr. Parr, Mr. (now Sir James) Mackintosh, his old school-fellow, the Historian of Hindostan, Mr. Sheridan, Dr. Raine, and the editors of those papers more particularly pre-eminent in their opposition to the measures of government, and their countenance of the French Revolution.
But it is now well known, that he had other unavowed connections; that, like Jaffier, he had his midnight divan, where he presided as Autocratist. His principles gave way, either to the contagion of the low and mean herd, with whom he finally associated, or were made subservient to his political schemes and projects. He once had the candour to make this acknowledgment himself; but he ultimately threw off all regard to decorum; lived in open licentiousness, and indulged in every sensual irregularity.
His writings of a particular kind were very numerous, but chiefly consisted of small pamphlets, letters, and paragraphs; all of them characterized by great vigour and acuteness. His most extensive work was entitled, “A Convention the only Means of saving us from Ruin,” which was distinguished by its extraordinary boldness, and contemptuous disregard of existing authorities.