Late last night I got a copy of the new edition of the
Pilgrim's
Progress, at
[Mr. Major]'s, and, this morning, my
first employment is to obtrude upon you my most sincere and respectful thanks, for
your unexpected and generous mention of my name, and recent writings, in the
conclusion of your
Life of Bunyan.
In the final paragraph of the preface to his Life
of Bunyan, Southey writes: "In one of the volumes collected from various
quarters, which were sent me for this purpose, I observe the name of W. Hone, and
notice it that I may take the opportunity of recommending his Every-Day Book, and
Table-Book, to those who are interested in the preservation of our national and
local customs. By these very curious publications their compiler has rendered good
service in an important department of literature; and he may render yet more if he
obtain the encouragement which he well deserves" (Life of Bunyan
[1830], p. 72.) [[return]](#a)
For obvious reasons such a notice from you is especially grateful to me, and is the
more gratifying now, when the humble doings you are pleased to publicly favour can
benefit me no otherwise than by sometimes occasioning reflection on the honesty of
purpose which stimulated my labours, and which consoles me after I have lost every
thing on earth, except my integrity and 10 children; these, I trust, I shall be
enabled to keep to my life's end. To further literary exertion, I am beyond the reach
of 'encouragement.' At this moment, the last remains of my ruined fortunes, a few of
the books that assisted me in working out my [Every Day
Book](../../bibliographical/annotated.html#EDB-25) and [Table
Book](../../bibliographical/annotated.html#TableBook-27) (which, by the by, are mine no longer), are passing under the
hammer of an auctioneer, to realize a small instalment towards insufficient means of
commencing business, wholly foreign to all my former pursuits and addictions. I have
thrown down my pen forever, and at 50 years of age, am struggling to enter on a
strange drudgery, for the future support of my wife and family.
In the autumn of last year, while sojourning in a quiet hamlet, I packed up a book
or two respecting the
Pilgrim's Progress, with the intention of sending
them to you. I had misgivings, however, as to whether you would receive from me, as a
token of good-will, what I unfeignedly desired to communicate in that spirit, and the
parcel was put aside, sealed up, as it still remains. In that state, I shall forward
it for conveyance to you, through Mr. Major, simply to evidence my feeling towards you
several months ago. You may be convinced by it that your liberality has a kin in my
own mind. After all, perhaps, the best testimony I can give to the fact, that I am
duly sensible of your unlooked-for kindness, is the promptitude with which I
acknowledge the obligation.