The comet., 1880-10-02
.EOGIN HOWARD PAYNE.

How few of us realize when the home
thrilling memories are awakened in
our bOsoms by the touching strains:
Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be il ever 50 humble, there's no place like home"
that the author of these beautiful
words never had Il home. Yes, john
Howard Payne, the gifted poet, the
cultivated gentleman, VIII contributed
so much happiness to other homes,
| sighed and lamented that in his Jour
nry through life, that he was destined
to wander solitary and alone. In
early life he cvinccd much talent, and
a remarkable prediction for the stage.
At thirteen years of age, while clerk
in the mercantile business, he secretly
edited IL small periodical, called the
"Thespian Mirror" and showed such
ability and prccocity that II BENEVOLENT
old gentleman offered to dclray the
expenses of his education at Union
College but he was soon withrawn
from the institution by the mislortuncs
of his father, who became II bankrupt,
and this gifted youth was thrown up
on his own resources before complet-
ing his collegiate course. Hc imme-
diately went upon the stage as IL
means of support to his family. He
made his debut at the Park theatre,
New York, in 1909. He was entirely
successful. and subsequently appear
ed before large and enthusiastic audi
ences in Boston, Philadelphia, Balti-
more and elsewhere. He visited Eng
land in 1913, and made his first ap-
pearance at Drury Lane Theatre.
N a hi
performances called forth applause.
For nearly twenty years after this, he
pursued IL career of varied success. He
made translatons Of French dramas,
and produced number of original
plays, but from these efforts he re-
ceived small share of the profits.
His opera "CIari" contains his cclc
bcatcd song, "Home, Sweet Home" it
was written in an attic, in Paris when
the author was almost in Il starving
condition.
In 1882 he returned to the United
States, and employed himself in lite
rary pursuits. The shadows Of deep
ana holy memories are upon his brow,
and as we gaze upon his calm and
thoughtful cOuntenance, we picture
there tenderness, sympathy, disap-
pointed hopes. In the recesses Of
his heart of hearts lay buried, love,
hope, aspirations. In the solitude,
he had woven round him, tender
"reminiscences would creep into his
heart, and he would live in the land
of dreams. His own beautiful song
that has found an echo in every feeling
heart, has portrayed vividly his loving
nature, and our hearts go out to him
in sympathy, as he glides down the .
stream of life, with no tender smile,
no loving words to great him, poor
old man, weary of life, its tolls and
cares. In the evenening of life, in the
land that gave him birth, he met
with sad disappointments. Deprived
Of office, humiliated by his country
men, che wished to die in Il foreign
and, to bc buried by strangers, and
sleep in obscurity." This wish was
realized, after many struggles
md disappointments, he was at last
appointed Consul to Tunis. He babe
ldieux to his friends with the fore
Ioding that he had looked upon them
md his country for the last time. He
lied in Tunis while in Office, but the
lame of the author of "Home Sweet
Iomen can never rest in oblivion.