My life has been crowded with incidents, none of which can be particularised without extending this paper beyond the limits obviously prescribed to it.
When the promulgation of what was called the "New Philosopy" disturbed many a happy home, I was in my boyhood. At sixteen years of age, with feelings alive to every quick-coming event, consequent upon the Revolution in France, and with curiosity awake to every revived opinion denominated new, I quitted my paternal roof to work my way in the world. To my young eyes all seemed fair and beautiful. The New Philosophers prophesied a coming reign of universal philanthropy and happiness, and the downfall of superstition. In common with many other youths I learned from their writings that Religion was a childish dream, the Bible a fable-book, and that all institutions for religious purposes were mere devices of the crafty to enslave the ignorant. I became so imbued with this wretched lore, that I should not have believed a sincere believer in Christianity existed, if had not known, beyond the possibility of mistake, that my own Father was one. I am reluctant to say how far my desperate unbelief extended, and it is needless to relate by what degrees it lessened in the course of years; but it may be an instructive fact, a kind of lesson to be remembered by parents, and by young persons who may become parents, that at different periods of my subsequent life, some of the little religious sayings impressed upon my memory in infancy, would suddenly arise to recollection, apparently uncaused, accompanied by unwelcome thoughts, occasioning for a few minutes certain misgivings. I have sometimes been startled on the recurrence of some short passage of Scripture, which I had not remembered for years and which seemed almost inaudibly uttered in my Father's voice. At other times I have been surprised upon finding myself humming a tune and stanza of one of Watts's Songs, until that moment forgotten from infancy. Frequently, of later years, have occurred passages which my Father had been accustomed to cite, particularly these—"My son, give me they heart." — "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it." The frequent remembrance of these passages forced upon me very serious reflections.
For the sake of brevity I refrain from specifying any of the circumstances which have marked a life of self-will, waywardness, and disquietude. After forty years of incessant turmoil, and vain endeavour to derive happiness from objects of sense, and the usual sources of intellectual gratification, I have attained to that peace which the world can neither give nor take away. In my struggles formerly, I struck out into the gulf-stream of Politics, and drifted into its very vortex. There was no happiness for me in that whirlpool, and with exhausting efforts I succeeded in reaching the pleasant region of Literature.
There I strove to solace myself with books, and renewed an old and fascinating intimacy with works of art. Still I was uneasy. My heart refused to be quieted even in country retreats, among calm and peaceful scenery, and when I sought to pacify it by walking out in the turbulence and uproar of tempests, I did but "shift the place, and keep the pain." My pen had been engaged upon political frivolities, and, under feverish excitement of mind, upon something worse, as regards its tendency in a religious light. I resolved to employ it in efforts for general instruction and recreation. My labours in that way were heavy and unceasing, and the fatigue increased my gloom. In that state, I longed for the simplicity of my excellent father's mind. He was living, and he was happy. Had the world been mine, I would have exchanged it for his serenity.
Long before the recurrence of those events which rendered my name familiar to the world, I had so acquainted myself with the Bible as to have acquired reverence for it, as a book containing facts more extraordinary, and infinitely more wisdom than I could gather from history, or all the writings of all the philosophers. In my estimation their philosophy shrunk to nothing in comparison with the vast moral wisdom of the scriptures. I had read, and understood the controversy between the Church of Rome and the Reformed Churches, and detected and detested the fraud of papal usurpation. This reading led me into much of Theology and Controversy upon other points. I now rushed into Biblical criticism, and with this addition to my former reading; I fancied I had constructed for myself a satisfactory religion, and, had I been pressed to the declaraction, I should have conscientiously affirmed myself a Rational Christian. According to my comprehension of the Saviour's character, I admired it, and I believed as much as I could of his Miracles. There was a glimmer of light in my head, but no warmth in my heart. I conceived I could be quite religious enough at home on Sunday, while reading the New Testament, without going to any Chapel. It was a maxim with me that "Conduct is Worship," and to do what is right is all that God requires. I tried to persuade myself that all this was perfectly true, yet I had secret fears that there was something more in religion than I had found out. My suspicions were speedily verified. Domestic troubles had accumulated upon me, and under the weight of sudden calamity, I needed powerful support; in the storm of my mind I turned to Rational Religion for help—it blew away from me, like a heap of chips in a hurricane.
The successive four years of my life were passed in hurryings, and in stillnesses which afforded me much leisure. Retrospective views of my circumstances were painful, and my conceptions of what the future might bring forth dismayed me. I refer now to my temporal concerns. The dangers I would have shunned, I ran upon. I considered, and it struck me forcibly that there must have been more than common causes beyond those that were seen, to operate upon me such a series of misfortunes. From the moment that this view stood out, in its reality, I took courage, and endeavoured to disentangle my affairs, firmly believing that whatever might be the issue, Providence would order all things right. This was the first time I had conceived of Providence interfering in such a way. In the midest of this, the trouble of my soul, in relation to itself, drove me to earnestly seek God in strong and fervent ejaculations—I had desired to pray but could not, and now, every night upon my pillow before I slept, and every morning before I rose, I supplicated God in silence, that He would teach me how to pray, and what to pray for. I persevered until, in time, I went upon my knees. Meanwhile I endeavoured to understand the New Testament, and prayed to God to show me the meaning of what I read. Usually, at these times, I read rapidly, in great agitation and left off confusedly.
I loved my wife and children as my own lifeblood—the sight of them was terrible to me. My dear wife, whom I had married when we were both young, I had detached from attending upon the worship of God, to which she had been brought up by a pious mother, and my children had neither been instructed by me in any religious duty, nor had I taken them to a place of worship. My reflections upon these defaults were insupportable. Latterly, however, I had led the four younger ones into a church, with the hope that their two elder sisters who were adults, and at home with me, might follow. While doing this my mind became less distressed, but not less anxious. I heard nothing from the minister in the church-pulpit but what I assented to—still, however, it was not satisfying—it served only to increase desires for something more.
On New Year's Day, 1832, being Sunday, I left my children at the church-door to enter by themselves, while I turned off, not knowing whither to go, yet hoping to hear somewhere an experienced faithful-hearted preacher. Until I got to the corner Eastcheap, I forgot the Weigh-house; I then remembered that I had been there about eight-and-thirty years before, and there, by the Providence of Almighty God I was led once more. I heard Mr. Binney—my conscience admitted every reproving sentence in his discourse applicable to my own case, and on going home I retired immediately to my own room and fervently prayed. From that time it pleased God to keep me in private supplication. During about three months in that year I was in temporary lodgings at Kingsland, and when unable to get to the Weigh-house, I attended the faithful ministry of Mr. John Campbell—with that exception throughout the whole of 1832, I was regularly at the Weigh-house.
Before going to Kingsland in 1832 I perceived in myself a growing indifference to the public occurrences of that eventful year, and books and persons I had formerly liked, became distasteful to me. I could not write with pleasure upon any of my usual subjects, and with difficulty I maintained a brief conversation upon literary topics which I had been accustomed treat fluently. A change had come over me for which I could not account. I had plenty of domestic troubles but my heart was at rest, and my mind stayed, and I wondered.
I was soon led, however, to believe, and I now firmly believe, that at that time Divine grace had said to my tumultuous heart, "Peace, be still." I had been accustomed to pray with extreme fervour that God, of His infinite mercy, would accept my confessions of sin, grant me true repentance, subdue me wholly to Himself, and do with me as He pleased. I continued to find relief and happiness in constant prayer. I supplicated mentally while I walked the streets, and this I continued to do after I left Kingsland, pray in my heart all day long, while fully occupied in the perplexing concerns of my daughter's business, which had necessarily devolved upon me, in consequence of her having been seized with a brain fever.
Briefly—it pleased God to reconcile me to Himself. I had penitently yielded to Him, as I was, a penitent sinner, having nothing to offer to Him but a contrite heart, softened by grace, through faith in the atoning blood of the Saviour. I have a hope beyond hope, even an assured peace in believing, that if it please God to keep me, as He has hitherto kept me, I may be testified as an example of the Power of Divine Truth upon the Heart. At the beginning of the last year, 1833, the Almighty laid His hand upon me while I was engaged in His worship, and suddenly suspended my mental and bodily functions; and while under that infirmity I was visited with heavy calamities of another kind; but in these distresses I have been enabled to feel and declare that "He does all things well."
I humbly thank Him that my faith has never wavered. Every infliction from His hand has driven me closer to Him, and been sanctified by His holy spirit to enlarge my views of His abundant mercies, and ne'er-failing Providence. I praise His holy name that He enables me to declare "It is good for me that I have been afflicted." What I deemed the desolation of my family has been, by the order of His Providence, a gracious answer to my prayers and tears in their behalf. The mother of my children, my dear wife, now dearer to me in our declining years than when I first loved her in my youth, recalls with fond recollections the religious teachings of her infancy. When we were children we had been accustomed to go together to the house of God, and now, after an estrangement of nearly thirty years from attendance upon His service, we again together turn our feet thitherward—and the countenance of our Heavenly Father shines upon us. He has subdued us to Himself, and each of us seeks union with the Saviour's Church. With us, too, comes one of our daughters with her husband, whose attendance upon Mr. Binney's minstry has issued in the submission of their hearts to the Saviour and their God. And with us come also three of our other daughters, in whom, I believe, the dealings of God with their father wrought astonishment and cause them to enquire, "How can this thing be?" They have succesively fallen under God's messages through the same awakening minstry at the Weigh-house. It is the belief of each of us that we come in obedience to the heavely call, each of us praying in behalf of all, that the love of God, our Father, and the grace of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, may be with us now, and henceforth. Amen. Even so.
[This devotional statement by Hone is then followed by a list of each person in the family who is being accepted into the Weigh-house congregation:]
WEIGH-HOUSE,
Tuesday, 30th December, 1834.
Four daughters of William and Sarah Hone Admitted Members, viz.
Also, three other daughters of William and Sarah Hone Baptized by Mr. Binney, viz.—
Likewise a son-in-law of William and Sarah Hone, Baptized and Admitted Member, viz.—
Also the three children of the said Thomas and Fanny Hemsley were baptized by Mr. Binney, viz.—
All born in the Liberty of the Tower, St. Botolph, Aldgate, Middlesex.