The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1868-07-01
Home. Sweet Home.

London. and the mantle of mists that all
day long had enveoped the city grew
more dense, and fell in beaded drops of rain.
The gas-lights burned brightly at the cor
ners. but it was dreary night to be out
in. Yet crowds filled the streets, for even
in night storms the great thorougllfares
are never deserted. Guilt and wrctchcd-
ness are always wakcfll and abroad. 10
realize desolation of loneliness, one must
be stranger in a crowded city, with
sensitive nature, and refinement that
sinks from rude contacts, and uncongenlal
companionship.
Alone in the country, with the blue sky
above us, and the green grass beneath our
feet. there are charms that WOO us to tor
cettulness: There is music in the running
Stream, and beauty in the flowers that
grow upon It's banks. Some German wrl.
teri have forgotten who-has called
flowers the stars of earth, and stars the
flowers ofhcaven. Fair and radiant flow
ers they are and shed their brightness on
the smoke wreathed city, but in their
matchless, softcned, and mellowed light,
seem to linger more pleasantly on green
fields and waving corn.
Alone in London! Dreary and desoiate
reality. that swelled almost to bursting
weary and aching heart. The stranger
gathered his thin cloak around his shiver-
ing form, and drew his face with a sensl-
tive shrinking from the crowd that rudely
iostled past lin. He was alone i'll London,
and very poor, not even shilling to pro-
cure scantv supper.
Somewhere in a dark part of the city,
whore the gas-lights were few, up many
flights of stairs, was the garret in which he
slept, but in it there was nothing save the
darkness. one broken chair, and a. wretch
ed bed with its scanty covering.
When lie entered this desolate chamber
on nights like this, an unseen company
surrounded him, the spirits of-the yiewless
air, and in the wailing of the wind, they
told him strange, yterious tales OF wretch
edness and dread, until, lalf wild with
dark imaginings, he rushed forth in the
night and the pating storm. Thus through
the chilling slcet and rain he walked the
streets, looking into the hard faces OF the
passcrsby, and wondering if, in all London
there WAS another man who had no one to
care for him, no one to love him. And
then he thought how deliciously strange it
would seem TO hin,-a stranger and a
wandercr for many years-to be loved.
He hoped the blessed Ii ght wonld dawn
upon linn, but in the darkness of thi; night
it seemed great way off. The cloud OF
novelty and gloom that wrapped his heart
vas too cold and deep he feared, for lu-
man sympathy and love to penetrate. lie
seemed to see before him, Fate, with wierd
fingers, weaving the mystic web OF his
lonely destiny, and as he watched the
phantom hands with teverish intensity, he
wondered HAT if, at some future day, that
mantle of brightness might ilupon him
instead of pail. "A strain of sweet, sad
music broke in upon lis lonely musings
Over all refined natures, music has an alb
sorbng power, and though it often ILLS
The soul with sadness, it casts upon it the
spell of an irresistible t:iscination; and the
stranger paused in his dcsolate walk to
listen to the song. The windows of the
princcly.mansion were but half yelled and
lie could sec the happy group that sur
rounded the piano, and the fair girl that
sang the soft minor air which sank into
Tie listeners heart.
He was poet. and had written songs
of tcnde ness and love for others to sing.
Himself, he could not sing with such Il
weight npon his heart. Tie light Of ge
MUS was in his eye, and the imagery of a
terviL imagination gathered around his.
brain, and the poets native impulse, low
ing warm and true, lived within his heart.
In the sensitive and gifted, the longing
for sympathy and love is far more intense
than, in rudcr natures, and ali his life long
his heart had ycarncd with passionate ca
gerncss for the pure delights Of home, and
the bliss of sympathy and love.
The song was over, but still he fingered,
watching the irelight's ti,tul glow, as it
shed its rnddy sheen upon the changing
group.
Again the fair girl took Ter scat at the
piano, and sang with inimitable grace aud
beauty, the song, "Homc, Sweet Home"
1t was Kissing!
lie, the homeless wandercr, had written
"IIomc, Sweet Home.
He stood out in darkness and night lis
tenmg to his song, the child of his own
heart and brain, and looking in at the win
dow of CLONE, Sweet lIome," knew that
in all the world there was no home for
him.
The song ended. lie sat down on the
stone steps of the stately mansion, with
the rain beating heavily upon him; and
burying his face in his hands in the bitter
ness of his heart.
Years passed away, and still he was a
homeless wanderer Oftenin the streets
of London, Berlin and Paris, he heard
"IIome, Sweet Home" which in all lands
and all hearts had become household
word.
Later in life he became consul to Tunis,
and died stranger in a strange land.
Nrvcr. save in lis dreams, bad he known