The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1895-02-13
The Origin of "Home, Sweet HON e.u

The Origin of d" Home, Sweet Hon e."
John Howard Payne, the author of
Home, Sweet Hon, ;" was already an
old man when be came to Tunis as
United States consul. NOlhng suited
the poet better than such post, both
on account of its isolation al d the ORR
entail habits of the people. He was
fond of telling the story Of his life, and
particularly the circums ances of his
writing Home, Sweet Home" Mr..
Payne has the reputation Of being dis
sipated. This is borne out by incidents
limited at by him of his early years. An
actor by profession, its TEN ptations
were never completely overcome. The
poets greatest confdauts in Tunis
were the Chapelie family, and to Mr..
Alfred Chapeie, then a young man, he
often remarked: Nothing makes me
so happy as an old friend good book,
and my pipe"
Mr.. Payne, as reported by Mr.. Chspe-
lie, was man of quiet and retiring
habits. He was great reader, for as
writer he had done his work. The old
fire kindled in his eyes when he told Of
his career. His tragedy of &" Brutus"
was his favorite, and placed by him
higher than his poem of Home, Sweet
Home" The collection of scraps was
mania with him. His Moorish study
was Uttered with papers and magazines
in several languages. Large drawers
were filed with his literary treasures.
Verses which the pee had jotted down
on scraps of paper during his rambles,
were thrown in like pearls in the sands.
Whether at coffee-house, or on
jaunt to the ruins of Carthage or The
palaces of the Beys, the inspiration
never forsook him. At the poets de 9Th
this collection was gathered into baskt ts.
1t took twenty to contain it, and
runisian basket holds fully bushel.
Correspondence was then opened with
the poets relatives. Sketches, poe ms
and episodes from Mr.. Payne's life
warranted the preservation of this ma
terial. No answer came from America.
The baskets were stored in the " Maya
ziD." Here they lay for many years.
Such lack of interest by those most
deeply concerned would justify the be-
lief that original matter of enduring
meli it from the pen of the poet was thus
lost t. the world.
SIT was in the Gardens of the
Tuleries that the words of Home,
| Sweet Home first came to me-" In
this wise spoke Mr.. Payne one day 10
his friend, Mr. Chapelie. 81 had been
pretty much over the world. Actors
get &C ;ustomed 10 Bohem MAN life. L
could see it was beginning to tell on
me, so in time / drifted to Paris some
way; how, I've almost forgotten. But
as | wandered alone and without a
! penny through the city, l became
thoroughly home>ick. | took great
liking to the Tuileries. The song of
the birds, the sunlight or moonlight
raining through the trees, the perfume
of those lowers-how they all reminded
me of homeW
Whoever has been in Paris, especially
in the springtime, will appreciate these
words of the poet. A lovelier park
than the Tulleries could not be found.
Here the little girls wheel their dolls
around in the tiniest of carriages, and
the boys float their balloons. Over
there foun ain is discharging thou
sand showers, rainbow converting
them Immediately into diamonds, rubies
and sapphires. The sparrows-how
tame and friendly ley are! To get on
good terms with them one must tarry.
| DllbS dlOhS Jun ilCll IhC OlCahJhob
table; suspicion disappears. But at
first only two or three Of the dainty
creatures approach - probably scouts
sent out by the aerial tribe. A dozen
now come up, and 500 n it would seem
as if all the birds of Paris had learned
of the picnic and were fastening
hither as fast as their little wings could
bear them. They do not stop at ones
feet, but perch on ones hands, he ad
and shoulders. There never were
heard such cries of joy. The air is full
of song Ia such place as this is it
wonder that poet should be inspired?
Yes continued Mr.. Payne, " the
sentiment had been running in my
mind for some time. | could not hit
on the rhyme. One evening as was
resting in the Tulleries, an the stats
were venluring cut from their hiding
places, the ST. ain of beautiful melody
was borne on the air. 1t was a Sicilian
tune. had heard it years before. 1t
was exactly what / had been waiting
for. With heart full of home, l hur-
ried back to my lodgings in a remote
part of Paris. Before the night was
over my work was done. TIE tune
made the poem. | was G ting desper-
ate by this time. hsd nard sou in
my pockets; but one or two friends
helped me. My passage to America
was paid. AT LIS, got back. There
were sad chat gee A few only were
left. After all, there is no place like
home. y John L. Hurst, in lions Her.
ald
In ia tho in nhink a, f.