Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1857-03-14
EVENING STAR.
Home, Sweet Home.

p, Though the trite old song, "Home, Sweet
Home," has been sung within the home circle
of almost every household, yet how few per.
sons Of all who have heard its sweet strains
know who was the author of those beautifui
words
"Mid pleasures and palaces, though we NAV
B. It ever so humble, there's no place like home
1t perhaps has never occurred TO the mind
OF any one unacqusinted wi b the circum-
stances, that the writer Of song which has
found sn echo in 50 many hearts. could be
other than one who had experienced all the
pleasures of a happy home but sad as is the
reflection, it is nevertheless true, that John
Howard Payne, the author of Home, sweet
Home" though he has contributed to the hap
piness Of many homes, never had home Of
his otcn.
We clip the article below, suggesting that
monument be erected to the memory Of Payne,
from the Boston Olive Branch, and give it
place in our columns, believing that il will
find response in the hearts of our readers:
TIE AUTHOR OF "SwEKT HoME"-As sit
sit in my garret here In Washington, watching
the course of great men, and the destiny Of
party, 1 meet often with strange contradic-
tions in this eveptful life The most remark.
able was that of John Howard Payne, author
Of Sweet Home" knew him personally
He occupied the rooms under me for some
time, and his conversation was so captivating
that often spent whole days in his apart
ments. He was an applicant for Office st the
time-consul at Tunis-from which he had
been removed. What a sad thing il was 70
see the poet subjected to all the humiliati, n
Of office seeking. Of an evening we would
walk along the street. Once in a while We
would see some family circle so happy, and
forming go beautiful group, that we would
stop, and then pass silently on.
I'm L.
Of his wandering, his trials, and all his cares
incident to his sensitive nature and poverty
How often" said be once, "have been in
the heart of Paris, Berlin, and London, or
some other city, and heard persons singing. or
the hand organ playing q" Sweet Home" with
out shilling to buy the next meal, or O place
to lay my head. The world literally sung my
song, until every heart is familiar with its
melody. Yet have been q wanderer from
my bOyhoOd. My country has turned me
ruthless from office; and in old age have 10
submit to humiliation for bread Thus be
would complain of his hapless lot. His only
wish was to die in foreign land, to be buried
by strangers, and sleep in obscurity.
l met him one day looking unusually sad.
60 Have you got your consulate ?" said I
Yes, and leave in q week for Tunis
shall never return"
The last expression was not a political faith
Far from it Poor Payne! his wish was real
lied f; he died at Tunis. Whether his re-
mains have been brought to this country,
know not They should be; and if none
others would do it, let the homeless through
out the world give penny for a monument to
Payne L knew him, and will give my penny
for an inscription like the following:
HERE LIES
J. HOWARD PAYNE,
The Author Of Sweet Homs"
A wsuderer In life; he whose songs were sung
in every tongue and found an echo
in every heart,
NEVER HAD HOME.
HE DIED
In Foreign Land.