July, 19 13 



AMERICAN HOMES AND GARDENS 



235 



stances and in deep mental grief, he 

 was not, nor never was, a street 

 pauper, as has sometimes been stated. 



Of the music of Home, Sweet 

 Home, we have Payne's own words 

 to enlighten us. In a conversation 

 with a friend in New Orleans he re- 

 lates the occurrence. 



"I first heard the air in Italy. 

 One beautiful morning as I was 

 strolling alone amid some delight- 

 ful scenery, my attention was at- 

 tracted by the sweet voice of a peas- 

 ant girl who was carrying a basket 

 laden with flowers and vegetables. 

 She trilled out this plaintive air 

 with so much sweetness and sim- 

 plicity, that the melody at once 

 caught my fancy. I accosted her 

 and after a few moments' conver- 

 sation I asked her the name of the 

 song, which she could not give me. 

 But having a slight knowledge of 

 music, barely enough for the pur- 

 pose, I requested her to repeat the 

 air, which she did, while I dotted 



Corner cupboard 



down the lines as best I could. It was this air that sug- 

 gested the words of Home, Sweet Home, both of whom I 

 afterward sent to Bishop at the time I was preparing the 

 opera of Clari for Mr. Kemble. Bishop happened to know 

 them perfectly well and adapted the music to the words." 

 It is interesting to note the correspondence of prominent 



actors and actresses relating to the 

 Payne Memorial fund for the bust 

 that was later erected in Prospect 

 Park, Brooklyn. These, together 

 with the cards of admission for the 

 services at the re-interment of 

 Payne at Georgetown, have been 

 preserved and framed. Among the 

 former are letters from John 

 Gilbert, then with the Wallacks; 

 Owen Fawcett, Booth's manager, 

 and one that particularly holds the 

 fancy of the visitor is from 

 Madame Anna Bishop, widow of 

 the Director of Music at Covent 

 Garden, London, to whom Payne 

 refers as adapting the music of the 

 Italian melody of Home, Sweet 

 Home. It would not be right to 

 leave the room without making 

 mention of the curious old wainscot 

 and window chairs, the treasure 

 chest of hand forged iron — contain- 

 ing secret drawers and clothed in 

 all the mystery which tradition at- 

 taches to such relics — that are in- 

 cluded in the seventeenth century furnishings of the apart- 

 ment. 



Of all the rooms in the old homestead, to none do we 

 turn more reverently than the kitchen. In this old-fashioned 

 room, most sacred to domestic joys, the fire still burns on 

 the hearth and the velvety soot covers the wide mouthed 



Copyright by G. H. Buck 



in the dining-room 



The dining-room 



Copyright by G. H. Buek. 



