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Updated: June 20, 2025
This tale of the deja vu, therefore, leads up to the marvellous narratives of dreams simultaneous with, or prophetic of, events not capable of being guessed or inferred, or of events lost in the historical past, but, later, recovered from documents. Of Hone's affair there are two versions. Both may be given, as they are short.
"It wouldn't be yourself at all if you were, you that could tread me underfoot like a centipede and not be a mite the worse." She smiled a little, smiled and uttered a sudden quick sigh. "Don't you think you are rather a fool, Pat?" she said. "I gave you credit for more shrewdness. You certainly had more once." "What do you mean?" There was a sharp note of pain in Hone's voice.
I am engaged in painting the full-length portrait of Mr. Hone's little daughter, a pretty little girl just as old as Susan. I have made a sketch of the composition with which I am pleased, and so are the father and mother. I shall paint her with a cat set up in her lap like a baby, with a towel under its chin and a cap on its head, and she employed in feeding it with a spoon....
I was but a child in those days. I did not know the rules of the game, and so you had the advantage. But you could not hope to have it always. It is my turn now, and I think I may claim the return match for my own. So good-bye, Achilles! Perhaps the gods will send you better luck next time. Who knows?" No eye but Hone's ever read that heartless note, and his but once.
What is that?" Hone stood still. "There! Don't be scared!" he said soothingly. "What would it be at all? There's nothing but shadow." "But there is!" she gasped. "There is! There! On the bank above the boat! What is it, Pat? What is it?" Hone's eyes followed her quivering finger, discerning what appeared to be a blot of shadow close to the bush above the water. "Sure, it's only shadow " he began.
"I cannot imagine why you took the trouble." A dark flush mounted under Hone's tan. He straightened himself abruptly, and she was conscious of a moment's sharp misgiving that was strangely akin to fear. Then, as he spoke no word, she rose and stood beside him, erect and regal. "I submit," she said quietly; "not because I must, but because I do not consider it worth while to do otherwise.
The church had been fully decorated under her directions, and she had turned it into as elegant a reception room as circumstances permitted. White favours had been distributed to the dusky warriors under Hone's command who lined the aisle.
Tall and spare, his bearing was distinguished, his face handsome and refined; his manners were courtly, of what is known as the 'old school'; his tact was great he had a faculty for saying the right thing. In his own house his hospitality was enhanced by a graceful urbanity and a ready wit." The story of Philip Hone's life is substantially the story of the town from 1780 till 1851.
The latter apparently came under Hone's notice in January, 1836, and the first mention in the Diary reads: "There is an ill-looking, squinting man called Bennett, formerly connected with Webb in the publication of his paper, who is now editor of the Herald, one of the penny papers which are hawked about the streets by a gang of troublesome, ragged boys, and in which scandal is retailed to all who delight in it, at that moderate price.
If they illustrate the deja vu, they also illustrate the fond discrepancies of all such narratives. "It is said that a dream produced a powerful effect on Hone's mind.
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