The melancholy sequel of his story is well known; but it may be a public benefit, and operate as a beacon to the young and unwary, here to recapitulate it. The writer of this article saw him for the last time, when he was about to take his departure for Scotland, to surrender himself for trial. He evaded the recollection of an old acquaintance. There was a haggard wildness in his looks, a disorder in his air, a sort of despondency in his demeanour, which made an indelible impression.
He was for a long time confined in Newgate, on his way from Scotland to fulfil his sentence of transportation to Botany Bay. Here his pride was gratified, and his mental exacerbation soothed, by a crowd of visitors, some of whom were of no mean rank. It is singular to say, but the fact is indisputable, that while he was in Newgate, orders for Drury-lane Theatre, with the signature of J⸺ G⸺, were admitted. This may well excite surprize, but when this was written, there were many living evidences able to bear testimony to the fact.
Another thing too, which may at first view appear alike difficult of belief, is, that whilst he was in Newgate, Lord Melville (then Mr. Dundas) sent to him, and offered to be the instrument of obtaining his free pardon, on condition of his signing a paper, purporting his determination to conduct himself for the time to come, as a peaceable and quiet subject. This he positively and ungraciously refused—refused too at a moment, when his health was obviously giving way to the irregularities of his life, and the perturbation of his mind; when he had great reason to think, that he was going to certain and inevitable death.
Various offers of money were made him by private persons: these also he pertinaciously rejected. He was well supplied elsewhere. One thing, however, unfortunately for himself, he did not refuse, namely, that which undermined and finally destroyed his constitution—he indulged in the fatal habit of drinking spirits. He departed for the place of his destination, without any ostensible depression of spirits, and, as might be anticipated, he returned no more.
The writer of this sketch has heard, and so have many others, Porson relate a singular anecdote of G⸺. He had occasionally met Porson, but though perhaps on one or two topics, there might exist something like community of sentiment between them, intimacy was out of the question. G⸺ was too fierce and boisterous, and had of late years too much neglected those pursuits which absorbed Porson’s attention altogether, to make them at all likely to assimilate.
Porson was one morning at his solitary breakfast in the Temple, when G⸺ called upon him, accompanied by a female. He desired permission and materials to write a letter. After spending a considerable time, in reading, writing, altering and consulting his female companion, he finished his letter, and returning thanks to the Professor, took his leave.
Porson saw no more of him for an interval of three years, when (and Porson’s accuracy might always be trusted in what related to memory) on that very day three years, precisely the same scene was repeated. G⸺ came a second time, at the same hour, accompanied by the same female, requested leave and materials to write a letter, consulted his companion as before, and having finished what he was about, in like manner took his leave, and departed. Porson saw him no more.
G⸺ left a son; by the benevolence of private friends, he was educated at the Charter-house, and is now occupied in some of the various branches of the law.
Desine blanditias et verba potentia quondam