Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 26, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 July 1885 — JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. [ARTICLE]

JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.

Last Days of the Author of “ Home, Sweet Home.” My recollections of poor Payne are still fresh in my memory. He was a small man with a fine, intelligent face, but of a very serious and melancholy expression. He spoke slowly, with great dignity of manner. He was highly educated and very well informed. His conversation was extremely pleasant and interesting. Though rather cold and reserved in his manners, he had a strong temper and will. The many ups and downs he had had in his life had made him rather skeptical and given him a strong touch of misanthropy, which increased, in his last years. He never spoke of his theatrical life before me; politics was the ordinary topic of his conversation, as it is generally with United States Americans. He liked to talk about poetry, too, although I do not think he cultivated it any more at that time—at least I have not heard he left any compositions of this period after him. He told us one evening how he wrote Sweet Home” at Paris while sitting on a bench in the Champs Elysees and under the influence of a strong spell of homesickness. He said the music was Sicilian, but did not tell whether it was he who adapted the words to it. He had a good collection of books, which has been in a gross way dispersed here since his death. He used to show us a certain quantity of Indian weapons and was very fond of natural history; he used to collect numerous specimens of our African birds and wild animals, which he got from the Arab sportsmen and sent home. He professed a great friendship for the English consul at Tunis, Sir Thomas Reade, who used to invite him for whole weeks to his beautiful summer house at Marsa; it was there that he met Moses Santillano, the English interpreter attached to the British Consulate, who became deeply attached to him, and with whom I have lately talked, and secured some of the details I am imparting. He (Payne) spent nearly all his time in studying. Mr. Santillano told me he thought he was preparing a work on Tunis, I know he went two or three times in the interior of the regency, but I never heard him say anything about this work; I do not think he left Anything on the subject. All his papers were at his death thrown, just as they were found, that is, in the greatest disorder, into several baskets (at least twelve), and stored in damp magazines where they remained for years and from whence many must have been lost or stolen. It was very long after his demise, ten or twelve years at least, that they were claimed by his sister, who very reluctantly sent the money for their expedition.

Payne’s official occupations were altogether nominal. It was very rare to see any American ships in our bay, and there were no American traders in Tunis. His task was altogether political and gave him no trouble; he had therefore all his time free, and had spent it in reading ahd writing. I remember the negotiations he had with the Tunisian Government for the repairing of the consular house; they were, I am sure, the most important fact of his official career here. He succeeded, though, in getting what he wanted, and the house was completely remade according to the plans of a German architect, Mr. Konneger, who was intimate with him. The Bey had to pay a famous sum for it. Poor Payne did not enjoy it very long, though; he died some time after, and Dr. Heap, his obstinate competitor for the Tunisian Consulate, succeeded him at last.. Payne in the last year of his life had become of very sedentary habits and very gloomy in his ideas. I remember to have seen him many times sitting; in his arm-chair by a red-hot stove drinking brandy and water, and looking very sad. He seemed to have no ties left in this world. H© saw very few persons here, and did not seem to like new acquaintances, He was at last taken with a slow fever, which, neglected, took a bad turn and became dangerous. We saw to our great consternation that his constitution was giving way before it without the least resistance, and we soon found that our poor friend’s days were numbered. Every care was taken of him, but with no effectual result, except showing him that he was cared for and surrounded by friends. He died after tea oar twelve days’ illness, without suffering, and like a lamp whose oil is extinguished. We buried him in his Colonel’s uniform. We had him taken to our cemetery, and I took care of his tomb ever since—up to the day his dust was removed to America. The slab was put upon the grave by the care of my excellent friend W. P. Chandler, of Philadelphia, once American Consul here, who wrote the epitaph which is upon it. These are the few details I can give you upon our regretted friend. I have been in a position to ascertain fully the precious qualities with which he was endowed, the loyalty oi his character, the frankness and dignity oi i his manners, and the depth of his in- : telligence and information.— Pricate letter of Alfred Chapelie, Tunis.