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        <title type="main">William Hone to "Grayson," 1833</title>
        <title type="sub">An Electronic Edition</title>
        <author>
          <name key="Hone, William, 1780-1842">William Hone</name>
        </author>
        <editor>
          <name xml:id="KG" key="Grimes, Kyle">Kyle Grimes</name>
        </editor>
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        <p>For publication in the Hone Correspondence section of the William Hone BioText,
          http://honearchive.org. The letter is published under a Creative Commons license, details
          of which are accessible from the BioText homepage.</p>

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        <p>Transcribed from the original in British Library, Add. MS 40120, f. 384</p>
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      <change when="2021-01-17" who="#KG">Coded in TEI from Word copy made at BL</change>
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      <div type="letter" n="1833-00-00">
        <head>William Hone to <ref type="person">Grayson</ref>, <date when="1833">1833[?]</date>.
            <anchor xml:id="citation"/><note resp="#KG" place="foot">British Library, Add. MS 40120,
            f. 384. This is the last sheet of a longer letter, but the previous sheet(s) are missing
            from the archive. The fragment is particularly interesting for the contrast Hone
            develops between two influential preachers: Edward Irving (1792-1834) to whom Hone became
            increasingly attracted in the late 1820s, and the celebrated Baptist cleric Robert Hall
              (1764-1831).<ref target="#citation"> [return]</ref></note> &#8212; <ref type="tei-link"
            target="1833-00-00-toGrayson.xml"> -TEI- </ref>
        </head>
        <div type="letterbox">

          <div type="lettertext">
            <p>... Robert Hall his master – nor do I disparage Robert Hall by thinking Mr Irving a more
              useful minister. They are both stars. Mr Irving is nearer to the multitude – Mr Hall
              is the morning planet cheering the early risers from his distant orbit, coming with
              the day spring – and fading before the hum of the busy world begins. Irving’s mind is
              for the bustlers [torn, one word], the revellers of the eleventh hour, who perchance
              may be brought within his voice, and, being within it, be arrested and stayed on their
              way from the final consummation of barren joys. But I should be wearying you &amp;
              myself if I were to gossip on in this way, and as my wife calls, I bid you good night
              and pray God to bless you, and me, and ours, and all mankind.</p>
            <p/>
            
          </div>
          <closer>I am, Dear Grayson,<lb/> Sincerely Yours<lb/>
            <signed>W Hone</signed>
          </closer>

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