Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1881-10-08
4" HOME, SWEET HOME. !"

The song Sweet Home" is known to
everybody, although comparatively few
know that he who wrote so touchingly of
home died himself, nearly thirty years ago,
in foreign land
John Howard Payne was born at No. SO
Broad street, New York, in 1871. His
father, William Payne, was, for a time, a
celebrated teacher of English and elocution
in the best schools of Boston, and after
ward in New York. The " cottage" in
which John Howard Payne spent his earli-
est and sweetest years, and of which he re-
tanned such fondly-cherished memories, was
a homestead at Easthampton, on the east
end of Long Island.
Towards precoeity was altogether re-
markable. When mere boy of twelve,
residing with his father at Boston, he read,
studied and wrote poetry. At thirteen he
wrote for the press, and edited the Ties
plan Mirror. His father and mother were
religious persons, and carefully guarded his
mind from the dangers to which these gifts
and distinctions exposed him.
His eldest brother, merchant in New
York, at this time generously supported
his parents and the whole family but he
was overtaken by business reverses which
prevented him from being longer able to
do so. At this juncture Howard removed
to New York, and took situation as clerk
in a mercantile firm His brother soon after
died. The routine of unintellectual en-
ployment being somewhat urcongenial to
young Payne's refined tastes and aspira-
lions, several literary friends, who esteemed
and recognized his abilities, enabled him
to obtain the advantages of a college edu-
cation.
Just after leaving Union College, his
mother, TO whom he was tenderly attached,
died !; and the fathers increased embar-
easements obliged him TO look to his sons
for help. Howard nobly came forward to
the rescue. and by his literary exertions
rendered the needed assistance. In 1872
he went to London. and gained many
fundamentally Sir Henry Bishop, KEN
bic, etc. He afterward for some time
travelled on the Continent, and then re-
turned to America.
In later years the United States Govern
ment, in recognition of his estimable char
acter and genius, appointed him American
Consul at Tunis, where he died on the lst
of April, 1852. A monument was erected
to his memory there, in the Christian
Cemetery of ST. George, "by his grateful
country" A bronze bust of him has also
been placed in Prospect Park, Brooklyn,
exhibiting the care-worn and furrowed
features of face which had seen the sum-
mers and winters of over threescore years.
But the truest and most enduring memo
rial of him viii ever be found in the two
brief stanzas, Home, Sweet Home, :"
which are lovingly enshrined in hearts that
are
True to the kindred points OF heaven and home.
For the following interesting history OF
the song, given in Payne's own words, we
are indebted to the Rev J. B. Waterbury,
D. D.: When questioned, while at New
Orleans, on the subject of the music of the
song, Home, Sweet Home" Payne told
his personal friend, James Rees, of Phila-
delphia Z" / first heard the air in Italy.
One beautiful morning as | was strolling
alone amid the delightful scenery, my at
tention was arrested by the sweet voice of
q peasant-g girl, who was carrying basket
laden with flowers and vegetables. This
plaintive air, so trilled out, with SO much
sweetness and simplicity, the melody at
once caught my fancy. l accosted her,
and after few moments conversation, |
asked her for the name of the song, which
she could not give me. But, having a
slight knowledge of music myself, | re-
ousted her to repeat the air, which she
did, while | dotted down the notes as well
as l could. It was this air that suggested
the words of Home. Sweet Home, both
of which I sent to Bishop. He happened
to know the air perfectly well, and adapted
the music to the words. The words of the
song were written in Paris, and not IN
London, as has been frequently stated.
Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever SO humble there's no place like home
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
Which, seek through the world, is neer met with
elsewhere.
Home home ! sweet home.
THERE'S no place like home!
An exile from home, spendor dazzles in vain !
Oh give me my owly thatclled cottage again
The birds singing gayly that came at my call:
Give me these, and the peace Of mind, dearer than
all.
Home home sweet home
There's no Illace like home