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in　Covent　Garden。　　His　sitting…room　was　on　the　ground　floor；　and　he

prudently　kept　the　blinds　down　for　fear　of　being　seen。　　Thirteen

years　before；　when　he　was　making　his　fine　collection　of　majolica

and　Marc　Antonios；　he　had　forged　the　names　of　his　trustees　to　a

power　of　attorney；　which　enabled　him　to　get　possession　of　some　of

the　money　which　he　had　inherited　from　his　mother；　and　had　brought

into　marriage　settlement。　　He　knew　that　this　forgery　had　been

discovered；　and　that　by　returning　to　England　he　was　imperilling　his

life。　　Yet　he　returned。　　Should　one　wonder？　　It　was　said　that　the

woman　was　very　beautiful。　　Besides；　she　did　not　love　him。



It　was　by　a　mere　accident　that　he　was　discovered。　　A　noise　in　the

street　attracted　his　attention；　and；　in　his　artistic　interest　in

modern　life；　he　pushed　aside　the　blind　for　a　moment。　　Some　one

outside　called　out；　'That's　Wainewright；　the　Bank…forger。'　　It　was

Forrester；　the　Bow　Street　runner。



On　the　5th　of　July　he　was　brought　up　at　the　Old　Bailey。　　The

following　report　of　the　proceedings　appeared　in　the　TIMES：…





Before　Mr。　Justice　Vaughan　and　Mr。　Baron　Alderson；　Thomas　Griffiths

Wainewright；　aged　forty…two；　a　man　of　gentlemanly　appearance；

wearing　mustachios；　was　indicted　for　forging　and　uttering　a　certain

power　of　attorney　for　2259　pounds；　with　intent　to　defraud　the

Governor　and　Company　of　the　Bank　of　England。



There　were　five　indictments　against　the　prisoner；　to　all　of　which

he　pleaded　not　guilty；　when　he　was　arraigned　before　Mr。　Serjeant

Arabin　in　the　course　of　the　morning。　　On　being　brought　before　the

judges；　however；　he　begged　to　be　allowed　to　withdraw　the　former

plea；　and　then　pleaded　guilty　to　two　of　the　indictments　which　were

not　of　a　capital　nature。



The　counsel　for　the　Bank　having　explained　that　there　were　three

other　indictments；　but　that　the　Bank　did　not　desire　to　shed　blood；

the　plea　of　guilty　on　the　two　minor　charges　was　recorded；　and　the

prisoner　at　the　close　of　the　session　sentenced　by　the　Recorder　to

transportation　for　life。





He　was　taken　back　to　Newgate；　preparatory　to　his　removal　to　the

colonies。　　In　a　fanciful　passage　in　one　of　his　early　essays　he　had

fancied　himself　'lying　in　Horsemonger　Gaol　under　sentence　of　death'

for　having　been　unable　to　resist　the　temptation　of　stealing　some

Marc　Antonios　from　the　British　Museum　in　order　to　complete　his

collection。　　The　sentence　now　passed　on　him　was　to　a　man　of　his

culture　a　form　of　death。　　He　complained　bitterly　of　it　to　his

friends；　and　pointed　out；　with　a　good　deal　of　reason；　some　people

may　fancy；　that　the　money　was　practically　his　own；　having　come　to

him　from　his　mother；　and　that　the　forgery；　such　as　it　was；　had　been

committed　thirteen　years　before；　which；　to　use　his　own　phrase；　was

at　least　a　CIRCONSTANCE　ATTENUANTE。　　The　permanence　of　personality

is　a　very　subtle　metaphysical　problem；　and　certainly　the　English

law　solves　the　question　in　an　extremely　rough…and…ready　manner。

There　is；　however；　something　dramatic　in　the　fact　that　this　heavy

punishment　was　inflicted　on　him　for　what；　if　we　remember　his　fatal

influence　on　the　prose　of　modern　journalism；　was　certainly　not　the

worst　of　all　his　sins。



While　he　was　in　gaol；　Dickens；　Macready；　and　Hablot　Browne　came

across　him　by　chance。　　They　had　been　going　over　the　prisons　of

London；　searching　for　artistic　effects；　and　in　Newgate　they

suddenly　caught　sight　of　Wainewright。　　He　met　them　with　a　defiant

stare；　Forster　tells　us；　but　Macready　was　'horrified　to　recognise　a

man　familiarly　known　to　him　in　former　years；　and　at　whose　table　he

had　dined。'



Others　had　more　curiosity；　and　his　cell　was　for　some　time　a　kind　of

fashionable　lounge。　　Many　men　of　letters　went　down　to　visit　their

old　literary　comrade。　　But　he　was　no　longer　the　kind　light…hearted

Janus　whom　Charles　Lamb　admired。　　He　seems　to　have　grown　quite

cynical。



To　the　agent　of　an　insurance　company　who　was　visiting　him　one

afternoon；　and　thought　he　would　improve　the　occasion　by　pointing

out　that；　after　all；　crime　was　a　bad　speculation；　he　replied：

'Sir；　you　City　men　enter　on　your　speculations；　and　take　the　chances

of　them。　　Some　of　your　speculations　succeed；　some　fail。　　Mine

happen　to　have　failed；　yours　happen　to　have　succeeded。　　That　is　the

only　difference；　sir；　between　my　visitor　and　me。　　But；　sir；　I　will

tell　you　one　thing　in　which　I　have　succeeded　to　the　last。　　I　have

been　determined　through　life　to　hold　the　position　of　a　gentleman。

I　have　always　done　so。　　I　do　so　still。　　It　is　the　custom　of　this

place　that　each　of　the　inmates　of　a　cell　shall　take　his　morning's

turn　of　sweeping　it　out。　　I　occupy　a　cell　with　a　bricklayer　and　a

sweep；　but　they　never　offer　me　the　broom！'　　When　a　friend

reproached　him　with　the　murder　of　Helen　Abercrombie　he　shrugged　his

shoulders　and　said；　'Yes；　it　was　a　dreadful　thing　to　do；　but　she

had　very　thick　ankles。'



From　Newgate　he　was　brought　to　the　hulks　at　Portsmouth；　and　sent

from　there　in　the　SUSAN　to　Van　Diemen's　Land　along　with　three

hundred　other　convicts。　　The　voyage　seems　to　have　been　most

distasteful　to　him；　and　in　a　letter　written　to　a　friend　he　spoke

bitterly　about　the　ignominy　of　'the　companion　of　poets　and　artists'

being　compelled　to　associate　with　'country　bumpkins。'　　The　phrase

that　he　applies　to　his　companions　need　not　surprise　us。　　Crime　in

England　is　rarely　the　result　of　sin。　　It　is　nearly　always　the

result　of　starvation。　　There　was　probably　no　one　on　board　in　whom

he　would　have　found　a　sympathetic　listener；　or　even　a

psychologically　interesting　nature。



His　love　of　art；　however；　never　deserted　him。　　At　Hobart　Town　he

started　a　studio；　and　returned　to　sketching　and　portrait…painting；

and　his　conversation　and　manners　seem　not　to　have　lost　their　charm。

Nor　did　he　give　up　his　habit　of　poisoning；　and　there　are　two　cases

on　record　in　which　he　tried　to　make　away　with　people　who　had

offended　him。　　But　his　hand　seems　to　have　lost　its　cunning。　　Both

of　his　attempts　were　complete　failures；　and　in　1844；　being

thoroughly　dissatisfied　with　Tasmanian　society；　he　presented　a

memorial　to　the　governor　of　the　settlement；　Sir　John　Eardley

Wilmot；　praying　for　a　ticket…of…leave。　　In　it　he　speaks　of　himself

as　being　'tormented　by　ideas　struggling　for　outward　form　and

realisation；　barred　up　from　increase　of　knowledge；　and　deprived　of

the　exercise　of　profitable　or　even　of　decorous　speech。'　　His

request；　however；　was　refused；　and　the　associate　of　Coleridge

consoled　himself　by　making　those　marvellous　PARADIS　ARTIFICIELS

whose　secret　is　only　known　to　the　eaters　of　opium。　　In　1852　he　died

of　apoplexy；　his　sole　living　companion　being　a　cat；　for　which　he

had　evinced　at　extraordinary　affection。



His　crimes　seem　to　have　had　an　important　effect　upon　his　art。　　They

gave　a　strong　personality　to　his　style；　a　quality　that　his　early

work　certainly　lacked。　　In　a　note　to　the　LIFE　OF　DICKENS；　Forster

mentions　that　in　1847　Lady　Blessington　received　from　her　brother；

Major　Power；　who　held　a　military　appointment　at　Hobart　Town；　an　oil

portrait　of　a　young　lady　from　his　clever　brush；　and　it　is　said　that

'he　had　contrived　to　put　the　expression　of　his　own　wickedness　into

the　portrait　of　a　nice；　kind…hearted　girl。'　　M。　Zola；　in　one　of　his

novels；　tells　us　of　a　young　man　who；　having　committed　a　murder；

takes　to　art；　and　paints　greenish　impressionist　portraits　of

perfectly　respectable　people；　all　of　which　bear　a　curious

resemblance　to　his　victim。　　The　development　of　Mr。　Wainewright's

style　seems　to　me　far　more　subtle　and　suggestive。　　One　can　fancy　an

intense　personality　being　created　out　of　sin。



This　strange　and　fascinating　figure　that　for　a　few　years　dazzled

literary　London；　and　made　so　brilliant　a　DEBUT　in　life　and　letters；

is　undoubtedly　a　most　interesting　study。　　Mr。　W。　Carew　Hazlitt；　his

latest　biographer；　to　whom　I　am　indebted　for　many　of　the　facts

contained　in　this　memoir；　and　whose　little　book　is；　indeed；　quite

invaluable　in　its　way；　is　of　opinion　that　his　love　of　art　and

nature　was　a　mere　pretence　and　assumption；　and　others　have　denied

to　him　all　literary　power。　　This　seems　to　me　a　shallow；　or　at　least

a　mistaken；　view。　　The　fact　of　a　man　being　a　poisoner　is　nothing

against　his　prose。　　The　domestic　virtues　are　not　the　true　basis　of

art；　though　they　may　serve　as　an　excellent　advertisement　for

second…rate　artists。　　It　is　possible　that　De　Quincey　exaggerated

his　critical　powers；　and　I　cannot　help　saying　again　that　there　is

much　in　his　published　works　that　is　too　familiar；　too　common；　too

journalistic；　in　the　bad　sense　of　that　bad　word。　　Here　and　there　he

is　distinctly　vulgar　in　expression；　and　he　is　always　lacking　in　the

self…restraint　of　the　true　artist。　　But　for　some　of　his　faults　we

must　blame　the　time　in　which　he　lived；　and；　after　all；　prose　that

Charles　Lamb　thought　'capital'　has　no　small　historic　interest。

That　he　had　a　sincere　love　of　art　and　nature　seems　to　me　quite