Columbia Democrat and Bloomsburg general advertiser. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1850-1866, 1857-03-28

Home Sweet Home.

Though the trite old song, "Home, Sweet
Home" has been sung within the home
circle of almost every household, yet how
few persons of all who have heard its swee,
strains, know who was the author of those
beautiful words
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's is place like home.
1t perhaps has never occurred to the mind
Of any one unacquainted with the circum-
stances, that the writer of song, which
has found an echo in so many hearts could
be other than one who had experienced all
the pleasures Of 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 con-
tributed to the happiness of many homes,
never had home OF his own.
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, belev.
ing that it will find response in the hearts
of our readers
THE AUTHOR OF "SwEET HOME AS
| sit in my garret here in Washington,
watching the course of great men, and the
destiny Of party. ! meet often with strange
contradictions in this eventful life. The
most remarkable was that of John How
ard-Payne, author, of "Sweot Home. p
knew him personally. He occupied the
rooms under me for some time, and his
conversation ives so captivating that Of
ten spent whole days in his apartments
Tie was an applicant for office at the time
consul at. Tunis-from which he had
been removed. What sad thing it was
to see the poet subjected to aid the humili.
ations of office seeking! OF an evening
he would walk along the street. Once in
while We would see some family circle SO
happy, and forming to be so beautiful a
group, that we would stop, and then pass
silently on,
On such occasions he would give a his.
tory of wandering, his trials, and all his
cares incident to his sensitive nature and
poverty, "How often" said he once
"havo l been in the heart of Paris Perlin
and London, or some other city, ard heard
persons singing, or the hand organ playing
"Swect Home," without shilling to buy
the next meal, or place to lay my head
The world literally sung my song, unit
every heart is familiar with its melody
Yet have been wanderer from my boy
hood. My country has turned me ruthles.
from office; and in old age l have to sub
nit to humiliation for dread" Thus he
would complain of his hapless lot, His
only wish was to die in foreign land, tc
be buried by strangers, and sleep in obscu
rity.
met him one day looking unusually
sad--"Havc you got your consulate 2
said I.
ayes, and leave in a week for Tunis; !
shall never return
The last expression was not a political
faith. Far from it, Poor Payne his
wish was realized; he died at Tunis,-
Whether his remains have been brought
to this country, know not. They should
be. and if none others would do it, let the
homeless throughout the world give a pei
ny for an inscription like the following:
HERE LIES
J. HOWARD PAYNE,
TIE author Of "Swcet HonIe.'
A wanderer in life, he whose songs wcrt
sung in every tongue and found
and echo in every heart
NEVER HAD A HOME.
he DIED
In a f6'eign Land.