Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1895-03-20
The ORIGIN OF "HOME, SWEET HOME.

OOhh 1iO"oio sAS eNS''~' ~
"Home, Sweet Home" was already an
old man when he came to Tunis as
United States consul. Nothing suited
the poet better than such q post, both
on account of its isolation and the
Oriental habits of the people.
He was fond Of telling the story of
his life, and particularly the circum-
stances of his writing "Home, Sweet
Home" Mr.. Payne has the reputation
of being dissipated. This is borne out
by incidents limited at by him in his
early years. An actor by profession,
its temptations were never completely
overcome. The poets greatest conf
dants in Tunis were the Chapelie
family, and to Mr.. Alfred Chapelie,
then a young man, he often remarked !:
"Nothing makes me so happy as an
old friend, a good book, and my pipe"
Mr.. Payne, rs reported by Mr..
Chapelie, was man of quiet and re-
tiring habits. He was great reader,
for, as n writer, he had done his work.
The old fire kindled in his eyes when
he told his career. His tradegy of
"Brutus" was his favorite, and placed
by him higher than his poem of "Home,
Sweet Home" The collection of
scraps was q mania with him. His
Moorish study was Uttered with papers
and magazines in several languages.
Large drawers were filled with his
literary treasures. Verses which the
poet had jotted down on scraps of pa
per during his rambles, were thrown
in like pearls.m the sands. Whether
at u cotfee-house, or on jaunt to the
ruins of Carthage or the palaces of the
Beys, the inspiration never forsook
him. At the poets death, this collec-
ton was gathered into baskets. 1t
took 90 to contain it, and q Tunisian
basket holds fully bushel. Cores
pondencc was then opened with the
poets relatives. Sketches, poems and
episodes from Mr.. Payne's life war
ranted the preservation of this material.
No answer came from America. The
baskets were stored in the "Magazin."
Here they lay for many years. Such
lack of interest by those most deeply
concerned would justify the belief that
original matter of enduring merit from
the pen Of the poet was thus lost to
the world.
at was in the Garden of the Tuileries
that the words of Home, Sweet Home
first came to me-" In this wise spoke
Mr.. Payne one day to his friend, Mr..
Chapelie. 81 had been pretty much
over the world. Actors get accustom-
ed to Bohemian life. could see it
was beginning to tell on me, so in
time drifted to Paris some way how,
I've almost forgotten. But as l wan
dered alone and without penny
through the city,'I became thoroughly
homesick. I took q great liking to the
Tuileries. The song of the birds, the
sunlight or 'n00HIirht raining through
the trees, the perfume of those flow.
ers-how they all reminded me OF
homew %
Whoever has been in Paris, especial
" in the springtime, will appreciate
these words of the poet. A lovelier
mark than the Tuileries could not
be found. Here the little girls wheel
their dolls around in the tiniest Of car
riages, and the boys float their balloons.
Over there fountain is discharging
thousand showers, rainbow convert
ing them Immediately into diamonds,
rubbies and sapphires. The spar
rows-how tame and friendly they
arc To get on good terms with them
one must tarry. Bring along a bun
from the breakfast table; suspicion
disappears. But at first only two or
hree of the dainty creatures ap-
proach-probably scouts sent out by
the aerial tribe. A dozen now come
up, and soon 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, head and shoul-
ders. There never were heard such
cries of joy. The air is full of song.
In such place as this is it a wonder
that poet should be inspired?
eyes" continued. Mr.. Payne, "thc
sentiment had been running in my
mind for some time. could not hit
on the rhyme. One evening as / was
resting in the Tuileries, and the stars
were venturing out from their hiding
places, the strain of beautiful melody
was borne on the air. 1t was a Sici-
liam tune. l had heard it years before.
1t was exactly what had been wait
ing for. With heart full of home, l
hurried back to my lodgings in a re-
mote part of Paris. Before the night
was over my work was done. The
tune made the poem. was getting
desperate by this time. / had hardly
a sou in my pockets; but one or two
friends helped me. My passage to
America was paid. At last / got back.
There were sad changes. A few only
were left. After all, there is no place