Last January twelvemonth it pleased God to afflict me with what was called a paralytic stroke, and, from that time, until within the last two months I have suffered greatly every way — loss of every shred of property which in the shape of furniture & books I had been enabled to get together after my bankruptcy with loss of strength of body, and mental capacity. This time twelvemonth I was in a furnished lodging at Camberwell with my wife and three of the younger children, my wife nursing me as well as she could—without a penny of income—unable to remain in the place from inability to pay the weekly rent, unable to remove from it for want of another place to go to, unable to get furniture to put into such a place if one could be found, & unable to earn anything from my infirmity. At Michaelmas I removed to a lone house on Peckham Rye Common where I passed the winter in a manner I can scarcely relate, & where we still reside. With loss of personal ability, there were long intervals in which I lost my memory and other faculties of the mind. By the providence of the Almighty I have recovered very rapidly during the spring, and now, after an exertion, which much surprises me, I'm making an attempt to obtain the sub-librarianship of the London Institution,2 whence within a few days I have been excluded, as a candidate, by a note of the Managers which rendered age above fifty a disqualification for the office, I say, now, I find myself so wonderfully re-invigorated, that being in town, before I return to my family, after earnestly endeavouring for the situation I sought, I sit down to write to you, as I have done frequently before, but never accomplished fully owning to my many infirmities. Hence it is that from me you have not heard of the death of our mother, which to me was a [one word illegible] calamity, for my efforts in arranging for the funeral, in April twelvemonth, threw me back into greater weakness, and, with a series of continued family distresses, I have been sorely visted ever since. In March last I learned at the Admiralty the death of my son John, whom, you may remember, I was anxious you should see. He was drowned in the West Indies.
The day after the resolution of the London Institution managers, which cut off my hope of succeeding to the vacancy in their library, I presented a diligent inquiry at the Post Office respecting letters to my mother come from you, and the investigation of the officers there has terminated in their [one word] that certainly none had arrived. At different times in the course of my illness, my son-in-law Thomas Hemsley whose business carries him into the docks brought me intelligence of his having seen captains & others who had arrived from Hobart Town, & known you there, & your family, & left you & them in good health, and on each of these occasions I anxiously expected letters. Yesterday I went into the Catherine Docks, and saw Capt. Goldsmith of the Wave, the last ship which came in, & he assured me of your welfare. Mr. Helmsley [sic] had before seen the Captain of the Caroline of your place, & the passengers on board, who know you—but still no letters come to me through them or the post office. Could I collect and [one word] up to you the letters I have wrtten, & commenced to write, which were characterized by almost total loss of memory, during the hallucinations of my weakness, you would thence see somewhat of my anxieties to be informed respecting you & to know in what way our mother's affairs could be arranged to the satisfaction of the creditors. On the day of her death I went, ill as I was, to do what I could towards the last sad offices—they were performed to the best of our ability under my wife's personal superintendence. At that time my family was about to be dispersed, & were afterwards scattered, and a long train of sorrows ensued. Mr. Ashby buried our mother.
As I mentioned before, I do not write this at home, & cannot therefore recur to documents, but all our mothers papers, & her little well-kept accounts, with your letters to her and my father, and indeed all the family papers were brought away by me from Perceval Street on the evening of the day she died. She had been for some time in daily expectations of hearing from you with a remittance. The last letter which appears to have been written by you was one to me received after her death requiring me to tell her she should have a letter from you shortly. The last letter arrived in Perceval Street arrived in September. It was written to my mother by Mrs. Hobbs who said she had seen you the day before she wrote and that you would write by the next ship. This letter was placed by Mr. Stewart (your mothers landlord) in his attorneys hands, and at his office in the presence of Mr. Stewart & Mr. Scott another of your mother's creditors, & who had been very kind to her, I opened & read the letter to them. They were much disappointed, and so indeed was I, for had a remittance arrived to cover the debts I should have administered to the end. Mr. Stewart wants [paper torn] the little furniture, which would have been of great service to us, but which he still retains though he gave me notice in February last that he should have it condemned and sold. To relieve me in great necessity, Mr Hoard[?] had the power of advancing me £10 in two several sums, upon my assuring him I was satisfied whatever might happen to me, that you as my brother, would repay him that amount. Our mothers debts, including that sum & Mr Ashby's bill for her funeral, amount to about £160, a pound or two more or less. I have been wholly unable to account to the creditors for you silence. It had pleased God to enable you to maintain our parents, and it will afford you pleasure to know that my mother [torn paper] for nothing to the last moment. Mr. Scott let her have money as she wanted it, & she had 3'p in her p[torn] when she died. This Mr. Stewart took, but I prevailed on him to give it to Jackson, a [one word] nursed our father, & our mother too, to the last. There are £6 or 7 due to this poor creature, who has since gone into the workhouse. I am very sorry to add that as kind a man to our parents as Mr. Scott, is himself a creature for compassion —this poor man who lived in apparent opulence, maintained that appearance by systematic falsifications, &, after defrauding the parochial boards to a large amount, has absconded. As respects myself I am nore destitute, and more happy than I once was long before my paralytic affliction it was of the mercy of God that I was prepared to bear that or any other calamity. Indeed it was in a place of worship that I was struck & carried out as dead, from which blow I am now wonderfully recovering. By Almighty grace I was strengthened for that chastisement, & all I have since suffered—loss of worldly goods & worldly friends. He had long been the only friend to whom I looked and on whom I depended. Mine is the trial of adversity — I humbly hope that he has been your friend in the greater trial of prosperity. Through the loving kindness of my blessed Saviour I have been drawn to Him, as "my Lord and my God," and our father's prayers for us are answered. My daily prayers are to be kept close to him, and to be kept living above the world—and in these prayers you and yours are not forgotten. All this may seem to you very wonderful —it is not less wonderful to me—for to me the greatest wonder on earth is the conversion of a natural human heart to the obedience of God, through the reconciliation of the Cross. You see where I am, and by the Grace of God, what I am. With sincere love to my nieces, and your little wife, I am, my dear Brother, Most affectionately, and more than ever, most affectionately, Yours W Hone
[Hone continues the letter with an additional paragraph on the outside flap:]
How Providence may dispose of me I cannot tell — it seems likely that I may not be long on Peckham Rye Common, for the distance is too far for ready access to town, where alone anything with a view to livelihood is to be sought. If you write, it seems to me the most probable address through which a letter will be safely received is as follows, "Care of Mr Thomas Hemsley, optician, 11 King St. Tower Hill". My daughter Fanny is his wife. She is now lying under the room in which I write, as well as she can be, after premature delivery of a dead child — they have three alive. Mr Hoard called here yesterday, & told me of a letter he had seen from Mrs Hobbs to a Mr [Binny?]. His astonishment was great in finding I had not heard from you —he was more astonished when had seen me, for he had heard I had died. A day or two ago I was told my death had been mentioned in some newspaper. I am "dead to the world."