The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1872-12-26
HOME. SWEET EsowE
Remislieenses Of the Aasthor.
From the HOMO .IonrnaI.

4
From the Home journal.
It was in the winter OF 1928, wl1sn ]
had rooms in the tower of the New York
University, facing Washington Square,
that | met John Howard Payne, the
author of "Home, Sweet Home. de
/ had lodging on or near Fifth aveIle,
| further out; and in the morning, on his
way down town, he would almost inrari-
ably call between 10 and II a. IA, talk
while, and then together We novel on
/ slowly toward the centre of the city, he
/ stopping to see every curiosity in the
windows as we passed. as highly ehted
as a grown boy from the country would
be at every new surprise, though al that
time he had been a traveller over mot OF
| the world, had seen every variety oflife,
and was in the meridian of his manhood.
His temper and uniform outward mood
was as smooth and gentle as summers
lake at eve, not even like it, disturbed by
the gentle zephyrs.
We have not met since 1871, when |
was one of the managers of the American
Institute. | CHANGED to be introduced to
him quite accidentally at the old City
Hotel, very handsome brick building OF
that day, standing on the right hand side
of Broadway going down, just this siCis-ot
Trinity church, at the head Of Wall st j,
kept by Jennings d Willard, the latter
Of famous memory, long since dead, |
believe. Were we to pass by his hotel,
Willard would probably shake hands
and exciaim: ''Oh, yes | recollect-fe-
collect you very well. You were here
with Payne and your erratie brother.-
You took julep about Il o'clock, and
Payne wanted his made Of plain brandy,
very weak. | had just bought half
ton Of the best loaf sugar to be foundin
the market" None Of your readers, who
go back to those days, thirty years ago,
who recollect the proprietors, famous the
world over, of the old City Hotel, but
will pardon this DEPRESSION.
In the spring of '43, as l commenced
to say, John Howard Payne gave me al
account of his adventure in Georgia
among the whites, bordering on their
settlements alongside the Choctaw and
Cherokee Indians.
Payne, like many of our litterati Of
small letters, had strong sympathy for
the red mans rights and home and with
out thought of exciting anger, expressed
his kindly feelings to any and every one.
II was the time when the people Of
Georgia, of the Indian country, hand slf-
fered by massacres and night fires aad
murder, till they could endure the OFT
RACES no longer, and President Jackson
was favoring the removal of the tribes to
the west OF the Mississippi
Travelling alone as Payne was with
out much baggage, so simple and ont
spoken in his manner, it was not long be-
fore he excited suspicion as an Indian
spy; and when they reached the next
stopping place it was whispered atput
that he was an enemy, in sympathy With
the Indians who had SO often committed
such terrible outrages upon the white
population as to eXasperate every one to
bitter enmity to them and all tleir
friends.
Not dreaming OF the cause, they ,ook
Payne, and tied his hands behind him; the
most girlish man in the world; and
marched him off between two strong,
fully armed men.
He saw his position, and began 10
trembIe and beg and protest and explain
who he was, but to no effect. On .hev
marched for perhaps half mile through
thickets and fields, passing toward an
unusually lighted and respectable-ap-
pearing log cabin. 1t was quite laIe in
the night, still the inmates seemed to be
moving, and as the party approached
nearer they heard singing; finally Payne
could distinctly recognize the music Of
Home, Sweet Home
He protested and tried to break loose
and get to the house. They held him
back. One of the guard went to the
house, in compassion for the prisoner, to
get some water, for he had tainted.
Meeting an officer from the house
which proved to be the headquarters of |
some of the United States soldiers not
long there-he said they had brought one
Of the spies Of the Indians, ''who claims |
to have written some song about Home, |
which L never heard on.
The officers curiosity was excited, who /
hearing the song at the same time, went |
with the guard to see the /
prisoner, whom he found stretched upon |
the ground.
''What is your name ?" asked the Off
Ger
John Howard Payne, said the pris-
oner, but only little above whisper.
Good heavens is it possible2' said
the officer. ''Unbind him Immediately
and bring water at once, or I'll blow the
id brains out OF every one of ye"
'Here, Payne, take some Of this,
handing him rude camp flask, while he
raised his head with own hands that he
might drink.
Soon Payne, half dead, was carried to
the house. There the whole matter was
and our hero was soon in as
com Portable room as could be obtained, |
by officers and ladies, who |
did everything in their power to calm and /
the author without a home.
As the earth turns on its axes, giving
a twilight every minute OF the day, with
its stranger homeless, so we may know
every minute. in the twenty-four hours
are repeated in sweet, melancholy strains:
Home, Sweet Home"
1t is sad to think that, although the
author lived to be somewhat advanced in
years, he died and was buried in foreign
lands, without ever knowing what it was
to have home of his own.
David Crockett A Child Ofthe