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THE 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 JOHN HOWARD PAYNE, 
 
 IK AC'l'noK OF 
 
 HOME, SWEET HOME; THE TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS; 
 AND OTHER DRAMATIC WORKS, 
 
 GABRIEL HARRISON 
 
 ALBAI^Y, N. V. 
 JOEL M n N S E L L . 
 
 ♦ 1875. 
 
^.t*^ 
 
 ^e.1 
 
 PUBLISHED BY SUBSCRIPTION, 
 
 LIMITED EDITION OP TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY OCTAVOS, 
 AND FIFTEEN QUARTOS. 
 
MY BROTHER MEMBERS 
 
 THE FAUST CLUB 
 
 BROOKLYN, 
 
 THIS BOOK 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY 
 
 etricateU 
 
 AUTHOR 
 
PREFACE 
 
 vJNLY one or two short sketches of Mr. Payne's 
 life have hitherto been printed. The preferable one 
 was written by Mr. Fay, and published in the New 
 York Mirror, immediately after Mr. Payne's return 
 from Europe, which was over twenty years prior to 
 Mr. Payne's death. The whole amount of matter 
 therein, contained less than thirty octavo pages, but 
 was perfectly accurate, as the material for the sketch 
 was furnished by Mr. Payne himself. Of this matter 
 the writer has made the most ample use, and has so 
 indicated the fact by quotation-marks. The rest of 
 the material used has been found in journals and 
 letters of Mr. Payne's, kindly furnished by a relative 
 of his, and is here offered as a simple statement of facts 
 without any attempt to place Mr. Payne any where 
 else than where he belongs. His gifts were so versatile 
 that it is a matter of some astonishment that he 
 attained a prominence in any one of the many things 
 he attempted. 
 
 The great success of many of his plays at the time 
 he wrote them, and the fact of his tragedy of Brutus 
 and several other dramas holding possession of the 
 English stage for over a half a century, place him at 
 the head of American dramatists — many of the 
 greatest actors from the days of Edmund Kean to the 
 days of Edwin Forrest, gaining distinction by perform- 
 ing Mr. Payne's leading dramatic creations. 
 
 The collection of juvenile poems, under the title of 
 The Livings of the Muse, is a reprint of a pamphlet 
 
VI PEEFACE. 
 
 which Mr. Payne put together, while in London, 1815, 
 for the sole purpose of presenting to his friends, when 
 asked for a copy of some one of his early poetic efforts. 
 There were but a few copies of this pamphlet printed, 
 and to possess a copy is more a matter of good fortune 
 than of endeavor. 
 
 To the collection, however, the compiler has added 
 several which are from Mr. Payne's manuscripts, and 
 which have never before been published. The collec- 
 tion of poems of his latter days are all from the last 
 named source. The whole collection, together with 
 the three different arrangements of the song of Home, 
 Sweet Home ! also the passage from Mr. Payne's manu- 
 script journal, is presented to the reader more as a 
 cluster of sweet thoughts, happily expressed, than with 
 any purpose of placing the author before the public as 
 a great poet. 
 
 The tragedy of Brutus, is carefully printed from 
 the first London edition, which had Mr. Payne's own 
 supervision, and to which is annexed the scene that 
 was omitted after its first night's performance at Drury 
 Lane Theatre. To leave out of this work the tragedy 
 of Brutus, while presenting other specimens of his 
 writing, would be like giving the play of Hamlet, with 
 the part of Hamlet omitted. 
 
 The poems in the appendix, with one or two ex- 
 ceptions, have never before been put in type, and 
 are extracted from Mr. Payne's^journal, where he had 
 transcribed them from the original manuscripts, copies 
 for safe keeping. Several of them are so very fine, 
 that not to have included them in the book would 
 have been a culpable omission. 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 If the Pilgrim Fathers who founded a new colony through the 
 adventurous spirit of civil and religious liberty, that bore them in 
 frail barks over the then pathless Atlantic, to the snow-covered 
 and rock-ribbed coast of a newly discovered land, are sung in the 
 inspired measures of poetry, and have their names and features 
 made imperishable in bronze and marble, then, so should the men in 
 the new land, who first strove, against every disadvantage, to form a 
 national literature, be also entitled to an equally warm regard. 
 
 What newly discovered country, what wilderness of land newly 
 formed into a nation, ever grew so quickly into a literature of its 
 own, suited to the new republic of states. The suns of centuries 
 lighted and warmed the growth of foreign nations before they had 
 a literature equal to ours. If the citizens of the United States have 
 any one thing more than another of which to be justly proud, it 
 is of her native writers, her historians, her poets and her novelists, 
 and especially those who were the pioneers of American literature ; 
 men who struggled against discouragements and obstacles, cold 
 neglect and contempt; for, at the time when the early writers of this 
 country began individually the work, that was the foundation of our 
 national literature ; it was the prevalent belief of Americans them- 
 selves, that nothing of literary power could emanate from this side of 
 the Atlantic. All such matter was sought abroad, as much as were 
 many of the necessaries of life. When a paper or a poem emanated 
 from an American mind, it was not valued according to its real merits, 
 because its origin was in this country. The press was feeble ; there 
 were, of course, no large book-publishing establishments to send the 
 works of the author broadcast to the public of a large city; no 
 widely circulated newspapers or magazines, with scholarly critiques, 
 to guide the public mind, pointing out the true value of the work. 
 Yet, in the face of all such difficulties, there were men found brave 
 enough to write, edit and publish their works, who had scarcely the 
 hope of emolument. The names and works of these men should be 
 cherished, and their features kept fresh by the painter and sculptor. 
 They arc the lawful heirs of perennial fame. 
 
Vlll PROLOGUE. 
 
 " The character of the poetry of a country has always been justly 
 regarded as indicative of its general moral and intellectual progress. 
 We know of no early poets of a nation, whose writings were of a 
 character to promise so much in this regard as those of America, 
 nor do we know of a country more rich in materials for originality 
 of poetic and artistic works. This fact can readily be derived from 
 the vastness of the country, with all its broad and boundless mid- 
 lands, and variety of climate, by its varied scenery, its great valleys, 
 and its innumerable rivers where 
 
 " The savage has winged his skiflF 
 Like the wild bird on the wing ; 
 
 and where now 
 
 " Lifts the white throng of sails, that bear 
 And bring the commerce of the world." 
 
 Its sky-piercing mountains that overlook the clouds, with their 
 summits bathed in the amber lights of the summer sunset, and 
 their peaks sparkling again like caps studded with diamonds, formed 
 from the crystal snows. Its many cascades, its thundering cata- 
 racts that leap down into fathomless chasms, its rocky coasts, its 
 long, sweeping curves of glistening, sea-shore sands, its interminable 
 woods, that frown 
 
 " O'er mound and vale, where never summer's ray 
 Glance, 'till the strong tornado breaks his way and illuminates 
 Its many sheltered glades, with blossoms gay 
 Beneath showery skies and sunshine mild," 
 
 to which add the various peculiarities of its people and of its govern- 
 ment — in these things, so abundant and characteristic, the poet and 
 the artist have an inexhaustible world from which to select any sub- 
 ject, whether of calmness or of passion, for ballad, epic, or historical, 
 for landscape or sea-view. 
 
 The early American poets were frequently prompted to verse by 
 these great gifts of their country; many of them whose names and 
 works are almost utterly neglected and forgotten by the general 
 reader, have left specimens of poetry that compare with the best 
 efforts of the English poets. 
 
 Among the early poets of this country who did good work for the 
 commencement of our national literature, may be mentioned Joel 
 Barlow, Koyal Tyler, Eichard Alsop, Theodore Dwight, William 
 
PROLOGUE, IX 
 
 Clifton, Robert Treat Paine, jr., Enoch Lincoln, Paul Allen, Henry 
 Pickering, James A. Hillhouse, John G. C. Brainard, Katharine 
 A. Ware, and others. These were the men who, as pioneers by their 
 works, laid the difficult foundation of their national poetry, upon 
 which have since been reared, as the massive and shapely columns, 
 the works of Bryant, Emerson, Poe, Whittier, Longfellow, Willis, 
 Dana, Halleck, Cooper, Sigourney, Osgood, Alger, and Lowell. 
 
 Duulap remarks in his memoir of Charles Brockden Brown, one of 
 our earliest and best novelists, that it is generally expected that the 
 subjects of biography should be the men who have attracted the 
 world's gaze by their deeds, their inventions, or their writings, and 
 in regard to whom the public show a strong curiosity to be satisfied 
 by a detailed account of their public and private lives. However this 
 may be with men of great public prominence, we are of those who 
 believe that merit of humbler proportions is worthy of notice and 
 approbation. 
 
 The subject of our sketch, although he does not fill the largest 
 niche in the temple of American literature, yet occupies so large a 
 place in one branch of our literature (dramatic), that it fully en- 
 titles him, not only to a more extended biography than this work 
 contains, but to the monument that has recently been erected to him 
 in one of our grandest public parks. 
 
LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 JOHN HOWARD PAYI^E 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " An honest tale speeds best, being plainly told." 
 
 John Howard PAYNE comes of good family. 
 His father was of English descent, whose parents came 
 from Portsmouth, England, in the early settlement of 
 Massachusetts. His grandfather on his father's side was a 
 man of fine abilities, who, prior to the revolution, was a 
 provincial officer of high rank, and at one time a leading 
 member of the legislature. Robert Treat Paine of Bos- 
 ton, a judge, and a signer of the Declaration of Independ- 
 ence, and Robert Treat Paine, Jr., a graduate of Harvard 
 University, a poet of marked ability, were of the same 
 family. 
 
 About forty years after the arrival of the May-flower 
 at Plymouth, there came from Portsmouth, in the south 
 of England and landed at East Hampton, in Massachusetts 
 Bay, three brothers named Paine. One of these brothers 
 went to Virginia, and from him descended Miss Dolly 
 Payne, who married President Madison. Another one 
 settled in the Middle States. The third remained at East 
 Hampton. He there married for his second wife a Miss 
 Osborn, and there, three months after his father's death, 
 his son William was born. 
 
2 Life and Writings of 
 
 While William was quite young, Mrs. Paine married 
 her second husband, a Mr. Doane, of Connecticut, and 
 moved away with him, leaving little William in charge of 
 the Eev. Mr. Crocker, a Presbyterian clergyman. 
 
 When a youth, William lived as tutor in one of the 
 wealthy old Boston families. In this position he found 
 time to study for the profession of physician, under the 
 famous General Warren, who perished at the battle of 
 Bunker's Hill. He soon, however, gave up his first choice 
 of profession, and selected that of school-teacher. While 
 on a visit at Barnstable, he met a Miss Lucy Taylor, who 
 became his first wife, but died a short time after marriage. 
 He then went to the West Indies, on commercial business 
 which took him, on his return, to 'New London, Conn. 
 Here he met with a Miss Sarah Isaacs, of East Hampton, 
 Long Island ; who was on a visit ; they became attached to 
 each other and were married. The father of Miss Isaacs, 
 a convert from the Jewish faith, came from Hamburg, 
 Germany, many years before the revolution, and settled 
 at East Hampton. He was a man of education and wealth, 
 but difficulties in his own country, and the revolution in 
 his adopted country reduced his wealth to a mere compe- 
 tence. His wife was a Miss Hedges, a daughter of a lady, 
 whose maiden name was Talmage. Her uncle Talmage was 
 the Earl of Dysart, (Scottish) English nobleman of wealth. 
 The earl died unmarried. Upon his death, an agent was 
 sent to this country to notify the brother, but, after a long 
 voyage, it was found that the brother had died but a few 
 weeks after the earl. The brother having left a family of 
 daughters only, the estate reverted to the crown. 
 
 Immediately after the marriage of William Payne to 
 Sarah Isaacs, which was about 1780, they removed to East 
 Hampton, Long Island, where Gov. De Witt Clinton caused 
 to be erected an academy, and placed Mr. Payne at the 
 head of it. The Ilev. Dr. Buel was also concerned in the 
 management of this Institution. Mr. William Payne re- 
 
John Howard Payne. 3 
 
 mained the principal of Clinton Academy for many years. 
 He then moved to l^ew York, and in 1796, he moved to 
 Boston to hold the position of master in the Berry Street 
 Academy. His wife, Sarah Isaacs, died in Boston, June 
 18th, 1807. After her death, the family once more returned 
 to 'New York, where Mr. William Payne died on the 7th 
 of March, 1812. Mr. Isaacs, the father of Mr. William 
 Payne's wife, died and was buried at East Hampton, where 
 his tombstone may now be seen, bearing the simple and 
 truthful eulogy of 
 
 " An Israelite indeed in whom there was no guile." 
 
 Mr. William Payne had nine children, the dates of whose 
 births and deaths have been taken from the family record. 
 
 Lucy Taylor, b. 1781, m. in 1816, Dr. John Cheever 
 Osborn, of IS". Y. She was the mother of two 
 boys who died in infancy ; d. in Brooklyn, IST. 
 Y., 1865. 
 
 William Osborn, b. at East Hampton, Aug. 4, 1783 ; 
 d. March 24, 1804. 
 
 Sarah Isaacs, b. East Hampton, July 11, 1785 ; d. New- 
 burg, on the Hudson, Oct. 14, 1808. 
 
 Eloisa Richards, b. East Hampton, March 12, 1787 ; d. 
 Leicester, Mass., July 1819. 
 
 Anna Beven Leagers, b. East Hampton, April 9, 1789 ; 
 d. Newport, R. L, Oct. 11, 1849. 
 
 JOHN HOWARD, b. New York, June 9, 1791; d. Tunis, 
 Africa, April 9, 1852. 
 
 Eliza Maria, b. in New York, Sept. 19, 1795 ; d. New 
 York, May 25th, 1797. 
 
 Thatcher Taylor, b. New York, Aug. 14, 1796; m. in 
 New York, in 1833, to Mrs. Anna Elizabeth 
 Bailey ; d. in Brooklyn, Dec. 27, 1863. 
 
 Elizabeth Mary, b. in Boston, Mass., ; died there, 
 
 aged about 2 years. 
 # 
 We have thus been particular for the sake of historical 
 
 accuracy, as well as to speak of one or two other members 
 
4 Life and Writings of 
 
 of the family, who were remarkable for talents, and cannot 
 here refrain from speaking particularly of Eloise Richards 
 Payne, a lady of extraordinary genius and accomplish- 
 ments. At the early age of fourteen, she underwent the 
 questioning, after eight days' study in the Latin language, 
 of the first professor at the Harvard University, and is said 
 to have displayed an almost incredible proficiency in con- 
 struing and parsing. To more solid attainments, she 
 added so remarkable a skill in penmanship, that some of 
 her productions have been preserved in the library of 
 Harvard University. In the latter part of her life, she 
 became highly distinguished as an amateur artist. ISlone 
 of her literary compositions have yet been published, but 
 her various writings, especially her letters, are spoken of 
 by some of the first belles lettres scholars in this state, as 
 well as in Massachusetts and Rhode Island, as among the 
 most favorable specimens extant of female genius, in 
 America. The two last years of her life, during which 
 she was often contemplating the probability of an early ter- 
 mination of her broken health by the grave, were distin- 
 guished by a peculiarly religious cast of thought, of which 
 she is said to have left some invaluable memorials in her 
 manuscripts. 
 
 While looking over our large number of manuscripts, let- 
 ters and poems of John Howard Payne, for the purpose of 
 preparing this book, we came across a dramatic criticism 
 evidently written in a part of an old journal kept by Eloise 
 Payne, and dated 1802, when she was only fifteen years 
 of age. The criticism shows so much good judgment and 
 presents to us so strong a picture of Mr. Cooper's fine 
 acting, that, if for no other reason than the latter, it is 
 worthy of being presented to the reader. 
 
 She says ****"! first saw Cooper in Hamlet. My 
 highly wrought expectations were infinitely exceeded. 
 He was received with the most rapturous demonstrations 
 of delight. For a moment he was Cooper — bowed with 
 
JouN Howard Payne. 5 
 
 the utmost grace, but soon resumed the downcast grief of 
 the Prince of Denmark. The first mad scene with Ophelia 
 was inimitable. The closet-scene with his mother, and 
 the scene of the play were equally fine. The anxiety with 
 which he watched his uncle's countenance, — his trans- 
 port, his start of extasy when his suspicions were con- 
 firmed — beggar description. His exclamation to Laertes, 
 ' / loved Ophelia ' was fervent and delicate. 
 
 " In Penruddock, the same great talents were displayed, 
 but not with equal eiFect. His Youny Norval was fine : His 
 modest account of himself to Lord Randolph, and the wild 
 joy on discovering his mother — particularly his reply to 
 Glenalvon's insulting taunt of ^ Ha! dost thou threaten — 
 Dost thou not hear f ' evinced the spirit of Douglas, indignant 
 at injury. 
 
 " His Hichardwaa incredibly fine. The scene with Lady 
 Ann — his elegant discrimination between i^/cAar^Z humbly 
 imploring (xood cousin of Buckingham to aid his designs on 
 the crown, and the haughty tyrant, seated on the throne ; 
 and the infernal rapture with which he throws down the 
 Prayer Book, were delineated with wonderful propriety. 
 The tent-scene — his start from the couch — his exclama- 
 tion, ^ I freeze with horror' seemed to congeal the very 
 principle of life. After the exclamation, 'a horse I a 
 horse ! ' a break in the line gave great force and energy to 
 the succeeding part. 
 
 " In Leon, he was to me still more wonderful. In the 
 counterfeit scenes, no bufibonery, no tricks to gain ap- 
 plause, even when vacancy was seated on his countenance, 
 he preserved his dignity. His voice was softened to childish 
 imbecility in which his eyes exhibited the most idiotic 
 stare, there might be seen in it a latent meaning and ex- 
 pression that chastised the folly of his lips. His reply to 
 Mafguerite 'lam bashful' was exceedingly fine and in 
 perfect character, but, when he appeared as the officer. 
 Cooper's triumph was complete. His step was regal; 
 
6 Life and Writings of 
 
 dignity was seated on his open brow ; and I' thought I 
 beheld the perfection of acting. 
 
 " His Romeo, was all that the delicate lover could be or 
 do, in gaining the heart of a Juliet. He excited sympathetic 
 emotions in every bosom. 
 
 "In jShylock, the transitions of character were seized and 
 delineated with effect — with astonishing effect. The trial- 
 scene, where, while whetting the instrument of death, and 
 viewing Antonio askance with such malignity, and the 
 very thing painted on his countenance, when, on Portia's 
 pronouncing, ' Shed not a jot of blood,' he let fall the ponder- 
 ous scales, would alone have gained him immortal fame. 
 
 "In Holla, in his last scene, when he restores the child, 
 his exclamation, ' ' Tis my blood, Cora /' I shall never think 
 of it without horror. 
 
 "But his Othello was reserved to crown the whole. His 
 first scene with lago, who first infuses suspicion into his 
 mind was fine ; but the second scene, his passionate excla- 
 mation on seizing the deep, designing villain : 
 
 ' If thou dost slander her and torture me, 
 Never pray rnore — Abandon all remorse — 
 On horrors' head, horrors accumulate. 
 Do deeds to make Heav'n weep, all earth amaz'd, 
 For nothing can'st thou to damnation add 
 Greater than that ! — ' 
 
 " The handkerchief! in the scene where Desdemona inno- 
 cently agravates his feelings by pleading for Cassio — but 
 the last scene where, after he has killed his wife, he says — 
 ' My wife — What wife ! I have no wife' — there was a depth 
 of regret, sorrow and remorse, that never failed to draw 
 tears from his audience, and then the contrariety of pas- 
 sion in his last address to Cassio. The first part of the 
 sentence was delivered in a firm tone, but where he refers 
 to the base Indian, and spoke of his own feelings, his voice 
 faltered; but, suddenly recovering himself with astonish- 
 ing dignity and wonderful energy — 
 
JouN Howard Payne. 7 
 
 'In Aleppo once 
 When a malignant and a turban'd Turk 
 Slew a Venetian and traduced the state, 
 I took by the throat the circumcised dog 
 And smote him thus, and thus, and thus ! ' 
 
 " As it has left an everlasting impression, this ought to 
 crown the brow of Cooper, not with a deciduous laurel, 
 but with the evergreen bays reserved for transcendent 
 merit." 
 
 There were among the manuscript letters other criti- 
 cisims showing equal amount of careful appreciation of 
 good acting as well as showing for one so young an aston- 
 ishing knowledge of the author's meaning. 
 
 Thatcher Taylor Payne, who died in Brooklyn in 1863, 
 was for many years a prominent member of the IS'ew York 
 and Brooklyn bar. Those who still live and knew him, 
 as a practitioner of the law, speak of him as a man of 
 deep research in his profession, eloquent in his pleadings, 
 and a gentleman of perfect integrity, but, to come to our 
 immediate subject. 
 
 John Howard Payne, the sixth child of William Payne, 
 was born in the city of New York, (old number) 33 Broad 
 street, near to the corner of Pearl street, on the 9th of 
 June, 1791. It is a singular fact that the date and place 
 of his birth have, on every occasion of a notice of him in 
 the encyclopaedias, and even on his tombstone at Tunis, 
 hitherto been wrongly stated. Although he was born in 
 the city of New York, yet the larger part of his early child- 
 hood was spent at the old homestead. East Hampton, Long 
 Island. It was there his 3 oung heart drank its first inspi- 
 rations from the beautiful nature that surrounded him, 
 and where the lowly coticuje^ and the birds singing goyhj^ that 
 came at his call, made the lasting impression which recurred 
 in after years when. An exile from Home, he wrote the song 
 that will live forever. It was in Boston, however, that 
 Howard Payne received the early part of his education. 
 
8 Life and Writings of 
 
 It was at this time also, 1804, only twelve years of age, 
 that the precocious boy organized the little military asso- 
 ciation which attracted so much atttention that it made 
 his name in the city a household word. On one occasion 
 while parading on the Boston common, Master Payne's 
 company, of which he was captain, was presented with a 
 standard by a young and beautiful girl, who afterwards 
 became the wife of one of our foreign ambassadors. Major 
 General Elliott, who was also at the time on parade with 
 the military of the city, heard of the presentation, and im- 
 mediately thereon extended to the young volunteers an 
 invitation to join them in the line of march. For their 
 discipline, they received the congratulations of the gene- 
 ral, and the huzzas of the crowd. 
 
 Among the branches of education for which young 
 Payne's father obtained the greatest renown, was that of 
 elocution. His mode of teaching it was peculiar, and 
 succeeded far better with a larger number of his pupils 
 than any who at the time professed the same branch of 
 education. 
 
 Young Howard benefited by it very rapidly ; and, hav- 
 ing suifered severely from a nervous complaint which 
 incapacitated him two or three years from applying to 
 deeper studies, his attention was principally confined to 
 this. This exercise of declamation was supposed to do his 
 health good service ; and from an earnest scholar in his 
 class, he soon became assistant instructor. In the school 
 exhibitions, where scenes of plays were acted, he always 
 took the lead from the superior merit he showed both in 
 acting and in elocution. Just as Master Payne began to 
 be noticed for these evidences of dramatic talent, the fame 
 of Master Betty, the Youthful Eoscius of England, had 
 reached this country, the press everywhere resounded with 
 his praises. This had a powerful influence over young 
 Payne's mind, it wholly absorbed his attention, and his 
 great ambition was, to be the Betty of America. He 
 
John Howard Payne. 9 
 
 thought of nothing else, he talked of nothing else, he 
 devoted all his leisure moments to the reading of plays and 
 the study of characters, he already felt himself bedecked 
 with the sword and shield of Young Norval, and heard the 
 thunders of applause that greet Ociarian, when in rags, and 
 staff in hand, he rushes from the dark cave to seek the 
 first rays of the morning's sun. He sought every oppor- 
 tunity to assist and perform in private theatricals. On one 
 occasion a member of the Boston Theatre, who held quite 
 a high position as an actor, happened to be present at a 
 performance in which Master Payne took a prominent 
 part, and was so much struck with the young man's per- 
 sonal beauty and remarkable dramatic talents, that he con- 
 ceived that Payne might be made the young Roscius of 
 America. 
 
 He at once called on young Howard's father and offered 
 to take charge of the son, and give him all the instructions 
 in his power for one-half of the emolument, that might be 
 derived from a two years' engagement. The offer was at 
 once refused by the affrighted parent, who was a strict 
 church member, and who had never for one moment thought 
 that his son desired to dedicate his talent to the theatre. 
 The friends of the father and of the youth became alarmed. 
 Every method was immediately employed to discourage 
 Master Payne's wish to be an actor. The guards were 
 doubled, as they say in the play ; every entrance and exit of 
 the boy was watched. They would listen at his door to 
 discover whether he was reading the dramatic poets aloud, 
 as hitherto he frequently had done ; his play books were 
 secreted from him. Shakespeare was tucked away from 
 his sight, Beaumont and Fletcher were hidden among the 
 cobwebs on the rafters of the garret, Congreve was lost, 
 and the engraving of Betterton as Hamlet, which had 
 ad^ned the side wall of his room and created new eager- 
 ness for dramatic fame every time the youth's eyes beheld 
 2 
 
10 Life and Writings of 
 
 it, suddenly fell upon the floor and was destroyed by the 
 merest accident in the world. But all this availed no- 
 thing. It was in his blood to be an actor ; it was his nature, 
 and no power could change his love and desire for the pro- 
 fession. His dramatic Etna was smothered but for the 
 time, and was destined to break forth with irresistible 
 flame, and to illuminate his name. 
 
 Thus, as he was not permitted to act at the time, young 
 Payne became a critic upon actors, and by some adroitness 
 he found his way into the Theatre to see the principal per- 
 formers of the day. The papers always indulged him with 
 the use of their columns, his essays on the drama attracted 
 so much attention that he was encouraged to become a 
 contributor, upon general subjects, in the local periodicals. 
 
 Mr. Fay, who at one time was the editor of the New 
 York Mirror, in a short biography of Mr. Payne, published 
 in that paper in 1832, immediately after Payne's return 
 from Europe, says that, at the time young Payne was with 
 his father in Boston, 1804, he became acquainted with 
 Samuel Woodworth, the poet, then himself a boy in a 
 printing ofiice, where he published a child's paper of his 
 own called The Fly. The assistance of young Payne was 
 encouraged by Woodworth, whose afiection for the friend 
 of his youth strengthend with the lapse of years. 
 
 It so happened about this time that his elder brother 
 William Osborn Payne suddenly died. He was a mer- 
 chant in the city of New York, the favorite and the pride 
 of the firm of which he was a member. The shock of his 
 death was terrible to his mother, whose health was then 
 declining, and from this she never recovered. With this 
 loss, the spirit of his father also seemed to bow, and his 
 life became ever after a gloom and a fatigue. 
 
 William Osborn Payne left his partner in possession of 
 the business. It was thought desirable to remove young 
 Howard from the associates and pursuits which had ri- 
 veted his attention to the stage; and equally important 
 
John Howard Payne. 11 
 
 to place him in the way of being qualified, ultimately, to 
 take the place and the business of his deceased brother. 
 He was accordingly sent to New York, to assume the posi- 
 tion of a clerk in the counting-house of which his brother 
 had been a member, and with a strict understanding that 
 his propensity for theatricals was to be watched and crushed. 
 This was perhaps attempted by modes unsuited to his tem- 
 per, and which, by making him uncomfortable, threw upon 
 him the very attachment, whence it was meant he should 
 be weaned. As we may conjecture, such errors are some- 
 times committed from the best and the kindest of motives. 
 We have it in our power to say, only, that the next we 
 know of him is, his being engaged, soon after he entered 
 the counting house, in the clandestine editorship of a 
 little paper in the city of New York entitled The Thespian 
 Mirror. Boy-like, he undertook this work without the 
 remotest view to any consequences, the only object the 
 little editor proposed was to indulge his favorite pursuits 
 as a relief from those to which he went with a heavy heart. 
 His solicitude was not for notoriety, but concealment. 
 With much alarm, therefore, he read in the New York Even- 
 ing Post, a notice from the editor, Mr. Coleman, promising 
 the communication of Oriticus, from the Thespian Mirror in 
 his next paper. A boy's terror at being detected in forbid- 
 den sports haunted his imagination with visions of his mas- 
 ter's frowns, and short words, for this was the tender point; 
 in this he had sinned. He felt as if he had unintentionally 
 pulled upon his head a ruin under which he and his 
 little world must all at once be crushed. In his horror, he 
 wrote to the editor of the Post, for the purpose of depre- 
 cating any remarks which might involve an exposure; 
 and the singularity of the note, " written," observes Mr. 
 Coleman, " in a beautiful hand, though evidently in haste," 
 anil the mention in it of the writer's age, strongly excited 
 the curiosity of that gentlemen to whom it was addressed. 
 
12 Life and Writings of 
 
 Upon this subject, however, we let Mr. Coleman speak 
 for himself. " I perused the note," says he in the Evening 
 Post of January 24th, 1806," a second time, and it will not, 
 I think, be considered strange or harsh that I was incredu- 
 lous as to the story of the writer's youth. I turned to the 
 paper, and my credulity was by no means lessened. 
 
 " It was difficult to believe that a boy of thirteen years of 
 age could possibly possess such strength and maturity of 
 mind, but, to take up the story again, I wrote him a note, 
 inviting him to call in the evening. He did so, but his 
 occupation in the counting house had detained him till so 
 late an hour that I had gone out. In the morning he re- 
 turned, and I saw him. I conversed with him for an hour ; 
 inquired into his history, the time since he came to re- 
 side in this city. He told me that he was a native of New 
 York city, but had resided in Boston, and a portion of his 
 earliest life at East Hampton, and his object in the publica- 
 tion in question. His answers were such as to dispel all 
 doubts as to any imposition, and I found that it required 
 an eflbrt on my part to keep up the conversation in as 
 choice a style as his own. I saw him repeatedly after- 
 wards and had not only the circumstances of his ex- 
 treme youth confirmed, but, what was more astonishing, 
 that three years of his little life had been, as it were, 
 blotted out of his existence by illness, so that he really 
 could be considered scarcely more than ten years of age. 
 He was introduced to some of the first circles in the city 
 of New York, and there he was looked upon as a prodigy." 
 
 Mr. T. McKee, of New York, possessing a large collec- 
 tion of valuable material relating to the stage, and among 
 which he had a perfect copy of the Thespian Mirror, has 
 kindly furnished the following interesting history of this 
 miniature periodical, and a copy of young Payne's farewell 
 address on leaving the editorial chair of the boy-journal. 
 
 "The Thespian Mirror Rrat appeared December 28th, 
 1805, and was issued weekly on every Saturday evening. 
 
John Howard Payne. 13 
 
 It was of octavo size, well printed and on good paper. It 
 appeared anonymously, and was printed for the editor by 
 South wick and Hardcastle, N'o. 2 Wall street. The paper 
 contained well written memoirs of Cooper, Hodgkinson, 
 and other contemporaneous actors, with criticisms of their 
 performances and the plays they performed in, besides 
 various items of interesting dramatic and literary news 
 from the London, Boston and Philadelphia periodicals, 
 showing considerable research, extensive reading and good 
 discrimination. Each number also contained a portion of 
 a story which ran through several numbers to its comple- 
 tion, together with poems, which, though generally attri- 
 buted to correspondents, were no doubtwrittenby the editor 
 himself He seems to have been on the best of terms with 
 his contemporary editors, for there are frequent acknow- 
 ledgments of the receipt of exchanges, and thanks for 
 courtesies extended. 
 
 " There were rumors at the time that the editor of the 
 Mirror was about to appear in character upon the Park 
 stage, and there was a general curiosity and desire to see 
 him, the theatre was filled upon the occasion of his ru- 
 mored appearance. And there is no doubt that Payne 
 then intended a series of performances after the manner 
 of Master Betty, but was prevented from so doing by his 
 friends. 
 
 " Payne learns of the rumors, and seems to have rather 
 enjoyed the publicity thus given his journal and in number 
 VI of his Mirror he says : ' The editor of the Mirror was 
 not a little amused on hearing it whispered throughout 
 the boxes on this occasion that he was to personate Don 
 Carlos in the Duenna, and his amusement was somewhat 
 heightened upon the entrance of the expected novice, ' a 
 pretty strapping boy,' exclaimed one; 'pretty tall for his 
 age* said another. The editor begs leave to inform those 
 who still labor under this unfortunate mistake, that he 
 really was not the Don Carlos of Monday evening.' " 
 
14 Life and Writings of 
 
 The Mirror ran through thirteen numbers, the last ap- 
 pearing March 22, 1806. In his farewell address in this 
 number his name appears for the first time as editor. This 
 address is so neatly expressed that I give it entire, and 
 from it you can form an idea of the style of his articles 
 generally, and understand how it was that there was a 
 general doubt of the editor's being but thirteen years of age. 
 
 " To the Public : The editor of the Thespian Mirror re- 
 spectfully acquaints his friends and subscribers that, in 
 consequence of circumstances that have transpired since 
 the publication of the fourth number of this miscel- 
 lany, he has resolved to relinquish the editorial duties of 
 that work, in order more particularly to devote himself to 
 studies which may promote his future usefulness in life, 
 and mature, strengthen and extend a disposition for litera- 
 ture which has grown with his earliest years. When the 
 Mirror was commenced in this city, it was under circum- 
 stances which have since materially altered. From the 
 interest which some warm-hearted friends (perhaps inju- 
 diciously) took in the editor, the work was brought for- 
 ward, and enthusiastically ushered into public notice. Va- 
 rious were the sentiments of the community respecting it, 
 and as various was popular conjecture on the efi'ects of the 
 misdirected exertions of its juvenile editor. From a wish 
 to render himself useful rather than ornamental in society, 
 plans were agitated for placing him in the full possession 
 of advantages with which he might cultivate a literary 
 taste and direct his views to objects which promises benefit 
 to his country ; satisfaction to his friends, and utility and 
 honor to himself. 
 
 The work which he had heedlessly commenced, was con- 
 sidered by the judicious as the fruit of an itch for scribbling, 
 the materials for which, without a more extensive stock 
 of ideas drawn from the pure fountains of classical learn- 
 ing, would be soon exhausted. The patronage of one to 
 whom he feels obligation which he cannot express, has 
 
John Howard Payne. 15 
 
 placed within his reach advantages, the rejection of which 
 would be the height of folly and ingratitude. A collegiate 
 education will, therefore, be the object of his present pur- 
 suits, and the study of the law, the goal of his future exer- 
 tions. And, determined exclusively to devote himself to 
 these important objects, he now declares his design of dis- 
 continuing the Mirror after the publication of this number 
 (which completes the original term of engagement), and of 
 waiting patiently the laurels of fame until science shall ex- 
 pand his mind, and crown his labor with lasting and 
 deserved celebrity. He begs leave to express his warmest 
 acknowledgments to those friends who have encouraged 
 him by their assistance in the advancement of the Mirror ; 
 he is convinced that, feeling for his real welfare, they will 
 approve the step which he has taken, and he assures them 
 that, cherishing the most grateful sentiments, he will never 
 feel himself more happy than in the opportunity of ex- 
 pressing the esteem with which he is 
 
 Their much obliged 
 
 And very humble servant, 
 
 John H. Payne." 
 
 Mr. Coleman thought it advisable to make the adven- 
 ture public, and through the nobility of his heart, and an 
 active interest in the boy's behalf, formed and carried out 
 a plan to have the youth sent to college. Mr. Seaman was 
 thereupon introduced to young Payne, and was at once 
 captivated with the boy's beauty, smartness and manliness. 
 This gentleman was always busied in doing kindness to 
 others, and he at once looked into young Payne's situation, 
 and here he found room for his philanthropy. He consulted 
 Payne's friends and his father by letter, who was at the time 
 in Boston. He proposed to pay the expenses of his educa- 
 tioi»at Union College, Schenectady; the offer was accepted. 
 Young Payne left the counting-house forever. It was at 
 this time that Joseph D. Fay, the father of one of the edi- 
 
16 Life and Writings of 
 
 tors of the New York Mirror, became the intimate friend 
 of John Howard Payne, and so remained through his life. 
 Charles Brockden Brown, the celebrated American novel- 
 ist, also became deeply interested in Payne, and was very 
 active in his behalf Payne had now become the charm 
 in the learned circle of JSTew York ; every one seemed to 
 feel that the boy's future was no longer in his own hands ; 
 each and all strove to monopolize the youth and crowded 
 upon him all sorts of advice ; he Was trotted from house 
 to house, and completely covered with flattery. Brown 
 seeing this over-officiousness, in its right light, more than 
 once expressed his regret, and feared that the youth's re- 
 gard for good advice would be endangered by its too fre- 
 quent intrusion, when his mind was too young to admit of 
 it, like a dose of physic thrust upon men when well, to 
 prevent them from being sick. The hour, however, had 
 now arrived for young Payne to take his departure for 
 college. Mr. Seaman, Mr. Coleman, and Mr. Brown fre- 
 quently talked the matter over. Brown was selected to 
 conduct the youth to the seat of learning, at Schenectady, 
 ]^. Y., of which the well known Dr. E'ott was the presi- 
 dent. In those days we had not the iron horse to dash us 
 with electric speed up along the banks of the Hudson, 
 nor had we floating steam-palaces, that, like things of life, 
 swiftly glide over the waters at the rate of twelve knots an 
 hour. It was either by the dull rocking and plodding 
 stage over the rough roads, or by the sloops that would at 
 times only have speed enough to indicate a white foam 
 along its bow, but which more frequently would lie at 
 perfect rest for hours, awaiting the whims of the winds. 
 However, they took passage upon the sloop Swan. Charles 
 Brockden Brown was young Payne's companion. It 
 was in the soft month of June, the weather was beauti- 
 ful. Thus speaks a letter of young Payne's to his father, 
 dated at Albany, " June 18th, 1806. 
 
 " The passage through the " Highlands" is sublime. I 
 
John Howard Payne. 17 
 
 have never seen anything more striking, and I fail of the 
 power to describe the effect its magnificence had upon my 
 mind. The winds, however, are so very precarious, that no 
 calculation can be made as to how long it will take to make 
 a passage to Albany. We stopped on our course no less 
 than four times; this gave us a fine opportunity to look 
 around us, to walk along the shore, to view the mountains 
 and country about us. Mr. Brown, the celebrated Ameri- 
 can author, and myself had many delightful walks along 
 the hill sides and over their tops. I found his conversa- 
 tion excessively pleasing and instructive. I also found 
 Col. Willet and his lady very agreeable company. There 
 were two other female passengers equally pleasing." 
 
 This extract from Master Payne's letter is a slight evi- 
 dence of the boy's mind and style when he was less than 
 fourteen years of age. As regards the remark of Mr. 
 Coleman on the peculiar neatness of Payne's handwriting 
 at those early years, they are fully confirmed by the several 
 letters of Master Payne that now lie before us. 
 
 Young Payne's mind was so fully imbued with the 
 beautiful and picturesque effects of the Hudson river 
 scenery, when under the mystical influences of moonlight, 
 that, one night while on his trip to college, he wrote the 
 following sweet poem in his journal, that he kept at the 
 time. 
 
 On the deck of the slow-sailing vessel, alone, 
 As I silently sat, all was mute as the grave ; 
 It was night — and the moon mildly beautiful shone, 
 Lighting up with her soft smile the quivering wave. 
 
 So bewitchingly gentle and pure was its beam, 
 In tenderness watching o'er nature's repose, 
 
 That I liken'd its ray to Christianity's gleam, 
 
 When it mellows and soothes, without chasing, our woes. 
 
 And I felt such an exquisite wildness of sorrow, 
 * While entranced by the tremulous glow of the deep, 
 That I long'd to prevent the intrusion of morrow, 
 And stay there for ever to wonder and weep. 
 3 
 
18 Life and Writings of 
 
 This journal, containing several other poems and ac- 
 counts of the scenery along the Hadson, was handed 
 around when he arrived at Albany, and created quite a 
 sensation among the literati. The following verses were 
 afterwards published in a magazine, edited by Mr. Brown 
 at the time in Philadelphia. 
 
 " Sweet face ! where frolic fancies rove, 
 Where all youth's glowing graces reign, 
 
 What art thou ? Grenius ? Pleasure ? Love ? 
 The smiling vision answer'd, Payne ! 
 
 I thought Pain was a spectre dire, 
 Was Genius', Love's or Pleasure's bane ; 
 
 Thy cheek is health ; thy eye is fire ; 
 No, beauteous youth ! thou are not Pain ! 
 
 Ah, gentle maid! if e'er thy breast 
 
 Knew transient Joy, Love's galling chain, 
 
 One ray of Genius hadst possess'd, 
 
 Thou wouldst have known they all were Pain. 
 
 After a few days' rest at Albany, Master Payne was in- 
 troduced to Dr. ITott, president of the college, by Robert M. 
 Sedgwick of l!Tew York, and HermanusBleecker of Albany. 
 The kindness of the president to Payne lasted through 
 his collegiate career. But, after the two friends of the 
 young student had left him at college, with everything 
 looking bright and comfortable before him, young Payne 
 soon began to feel that some influence was bearing too 
 hard upon him. His patrons were advised to keep a 
 strong hand over him, and not to let him have more money 
 than was indispensable ; his instructors were admonished 
 not to allow him too much latitude, lest he should con- 
 tract an appetite for pleasure, and every word he uttered 
 was watched, and every expression of impatience reported 
 as a proof that he required still more restraint. The thing 
 had gone so far as to create frequent uneasiness between 
 Mr. Payne and his friends; letters were even sent to Master 
 
John Howard Payne. 19 
 
 Payne's father, which annoyed Master Payne so much 
 that he sought other arrangements with the college, and 
 started a little paper called the Pastime, the avails of 
 which were to pay the three hundred dollars a year for 
 his education. The college boys became great patrons 
 of the paper. They also elected him an officer of one 
 of their literary societies. Payne was also appointed 
 master of ceremonies whenever they gave a dramatic 
 performance in the college chapel, where he on several 
 occasions distinguished himself, beyond all others, by his 
 good acting; and especially so on one occasion, when 
 he performed the part of the heroine in an original 
 play called Pulaski. He for this occasion wrote the epi- 
 logue and spoke it in the costume of the female cha- 
 racter, Lodoiska. In this part his success was great, 
 his beautiful face and sweet voice added much to the de- 
 ception and the perfection of the character. After this 
 performance of Lodoiska, he became the little god and 
 the great every thing of the Institute. He made many 
 strong friends and a few enemies — the latter always an 
 accompaniment of success. !N^ot a great while after this, 
 he was invited by his college mates to write a Fourth of 
 July ode, of which the following anecdote is told. It was 
 a somewhat crude, hasty, boyish cluster of rhymes, but it 
 nevertheless got into the papers, and, as a matter of course, 
 his enemies were ready to tell its faults to the author, 
 " Only for his own good, nothing more." Perceiving too 
 much of this spirit towards him, he determined to combat 
 it, and, having gone for a few days to Albany, and fully 
 aware of the faults of the ode, he wrote a critique upon it, 
 which was published in the Albany papers, and which very 
 pointedly enforced all the bitter warnings which had been 
 pronounced against him, and very humorously laid open 
 mor# faults than even the most voluble of his friends, for 
 the professed purpose of correcting his vanity, had been in- 
 dustrious enough to point out. On the appearance of this 
 
20 Life and Writings of 
 
 critique, a vast change took place suddenly in the deport- 
 ment of many who had before done him honor. Even 
 some who thought that he ought to be kept from listening 
 to praise, were less forward to touch their hats to him since 
 he had become the theme of censure. 
 
 At a public table where he was a little shunned, a gentle- 
 man proposed for a toast, pointedly addressing young 
 Payne, "The critics of Albany;" a loud jeering laugh 
 followed. The toast was drunk with acclamation, upon 
 which Master Payne is said to have returned thanks very 
 good humoredly, but in a way which at once left room for 
 the truth to be decidedly inferred, and he turned the laugh 
 upon those who meant to joke him down. 
 
 In a letter now before the writer, dated Albany, Sep- 
 tember 23d, 1806, addressed to his father, Barry street, 
 Boston, young Payne thus alludes to the critique. 
 
 " You will receive herewith a newspaper containing a 
 critique on me and my productions written in the Mitch- 
 illian style by myself I did it for amusement, and was 
 well repaid. It was attributed to so many, and it gave 
 rise to so much speculation, that I would not have lost the 
 pleasure which it aftbrded for the injury a real attack 
 could do me ; it was an excellent sham-fight. 
 
 " The cat was so soon out of the bag, that embryo answers 
 from Mr. J. V. E". Yates, H. Bleecker, Dr. Finn, Dr. Nott, 
 and Robert Sedgwick lost their effect. It has discovered 
 for me who are not my friends. In the same paper you 
 have an original elegy of mine." 
 
 By a letter dated February 26, 1807, we still find Payne 
 at college and hard at work. He said in his letter to his 
 father, that, at his own request, the president had placed 
 him under the immediate instructions and care of Mr. 
 Allen for private preparation for the next commencement, 
 and that, as Mr. Allen was the most learned man in the 
 college, he had attained more knowledge in the past few 
 months than in the whole year before. 
 
John Howard Payne. 21 
 
 The young student certainly had many friends to urge 
 him on through the labyrinthine paths of college study, 
 and, as for good advice, there were none who gave it more 
 judiciously than Charles Brockden Brown. In one of his 
 letters dated from Philadelphia, shortly after Payne had 
 entered college, and which we extract from Dunlap's 
 Memoirs of Mr. Brown, page 238, he says : " Most sin- 
 cerely do I rejoice that you find Schenectady so agreeable. 
 I tremble with apprehension when I think how much of the 
 dignity and happiness of your whole life depends upon the 
 resolutions of the present moment. Were it possible for 
 a miracle to be wrought in your favor, and that the ex- 
 perience of a dozen years could be obtained without living 
 so long, there would be little danger that a heart so un- 
 perverted as yours would mislead you. The experience of 
 others will avail you nothing. They may talk, indeed, but 
 till you are as old as the counsellor — and have seen, with 
 your own eyes, as much as he — his words are idle sounds, 
 impertinent and unintelligent. Fancy and habit are su- 
 preme over your conduct ; and all that your friends have 
 to trust to, is a heart naturally pure and tractable, and a 
 taste, if I may so call it, for the approbation of the wise 
 and good. When you write next, I hope you will have 
 both leisure and inclination to be particular on the subject 
 of your studies. 
 
 " What are your books and your exercises ? What pro- 
 gress do you make ? and what difficulties or reluctances 
 stand in your way ? I have a great deal more to say to 
 you, but I am afraid, judging from the brevity of yours, 
 that you have no passion for long letters. I will therefore 
 stop, in due season, and only add the name of 
 
 Your true and warm friend, 
 Charles Brockden Brown. 
 
 There is a judiciousness of advice in the above that but 
 few friends have the power to give ; and, when such impres- 
 
22 Life and Wkitings of 
 
 sions are made upon the mind of the young, the effect is 
 lasting. 
 
 When we look over the broad lawn, and, by the clearness 
 of the atmosphere, we are almost enabled to count the 
 leaves upon the far distant trees, we seldom think at such 
 a moment of calmness and brightness ; that there may lay 
 far off behind the hills, or low down in the horizon, the 
 dark cloud laden with the storm that does not select its path, 
 or stop to pick out the shrub or tree it may destroy, while 
 sweeping onward ; but at times the storm is there, and will 
 come, with wild roar through the air, to do its work of de- 
 vastation ; and so it is with our afflictions and sorrows in this 
 world, which often come, when least expected, to darken 
 and throw a gloom over the thresholds of our homes. 
 
 The storm for Master Payne now came; suddenly it 
 broke with its worst wrath over his home, and he realized 
 for the first time in his little, busy, sunny life the gloom of 
 deep sorrow. On the 18th day of June, 1807, his mother 
 died. To a nature like Payne's, the blow was overwhelm- 
 ing. He remarked in one of his letters to his father: 
 " To me, now since mother's death, all nature seems speech- 
 less ; the flowers have lost their colors and their perfume. 
 The heavens are black, and the trees seem motionless, but, 
 when I think of mother's many virtues, there comes a 
 solace to soothe my deep grief. If a life spent in the ex- 
 ercise of all that is pure and noble in female character can 
 lift the cloud from off the bereaved heart, then the dis- 
 persion will come to mine. The stranger witnessed her 
 urbanity ; the afiiicted were solaced by her sympathy, but 
 her family alone knew the extent of her meek and unas- 
 suming goodness." 
 
 Old Mr. Payne had been severely tried by the death of 
 his elder son, and now the second blow seemed nearly 
 beyond his bearing, and he became too distressed in mind 
 to give that attention to his affairs which an uuprosperous- 
 
John Howard Payne. 23 
 
 ness, that had been for some time coming over them, 
 rendered necessary. 
 
 " The law accomplished what bereavement and misfor- 
 tune had begun, and he was compelled to abandon all he 
 had to his creditors." Young Howard Payne looked 
 upon this shipwreck with the philosophy and the calmness 
 of a hero. The ruin must be cleared away, and there was 
 no one else so competent among those who were left as 
 himself; immediate measures became necessary. He at 
 once thought of his dramatic talents, and at last wrung 
 from his father and friends a slow, reluctant and weeping 
 leave that he should try his fortune upon the stage. The 
 Etna of his dramatic Sicily that had been so long smoul- 
 derino:, at last broke forth in a blaze. The conduct of his 
 patron on this occasion, was kind and beautiful; he stood 
 behind the scene with young Payne's father and Mr. Joseph 
 D. Fay, (who composed the introductory prologue spoken 
 by Mr. T waits on the occasion), during the whole evening 
 of the 24th of February, 1809, when John Howard Payne 
 made his first appearance on the public stage as Young 
 Norval, at the Old Park Theatre, New York. 
 
 His debut, and the circumstances leading to it, were treated 
 in a manner so poetical at his subsequent appearance in 
 Boston, by his relative Robert Treat Payne, jr., that it 
 would seem like neglect not to insert here that portion of 
 it, and, though a little out of chronological order, it will 
 nevertheless be acceptable to our readers. 
 
 " An humble weed transplanted from the waste, 
 Form'd the proud chapiter of Grecian taste. 
 Chance dropp'd the weight ; the yielding foliage twined, 
 And droop'd, with graceful negligence inclined. 
 Sculpture a model saw, to art unknown, 
 Copied the form, and turn'd the plant to stone; 
 The chisell'd weed adorn'd the temple's head, 
 And gods were worshipp'd where its branches spread ! 
 
24 Life and Writings of 
 
 " If in our Norval candid judges find 
 Some kindred flower, to grace the stage design'd ; 
 If, to the pressure fortune has imposed, 
 You owe those talents art had ne'er disclosed ; 
 If, like the graced Acanthus he appear, 
 Be you Callimachus — be Corinth here !" 
 
 The success of the debutant was complete. Mr. Dunlap, 
 the dramatic author, and for a long time manager of the 
 IsTew York Park Theatre, remarks in his History of the 
 American Stage, that the applause was very great, and the 
 boy's effort a surprise to all present. The papers of the 
 day following his debut were extremely warm in his praise, 
 and pronounced his death-scene of Douglas a master-piece 
 of dramatic art. 
 
 In those days, critics and actors were of a more austere 
 character thai^ they are at the present time, and it was not 
 so easy to obtain an opportunity to make a first appear- 
 ance upon the stage, or to get the critics' praise at any 
 other price than that of real merit. In those days, too, the 
 theatre was the fashion. The opera was not known to us, 
 and frequently the wealthy and the learned crowded into 
 the best seats in the pit and in boxes of the best managed 
 theatres ; this seemed to add importance to the drama, and 
 indeed it was more important than at the present day. 
 Previous to the beginning of the first act of the evening's 
 entertainment, there could be seen in the boxes, here and 
 there, servants of private families, dressed with the most 
 scrupulous care, with the white napkin fixed around the 
 right arm above the elbow, holding the reserved seats 
 until the party they represented came to occupy them, and, 
 long before the performance was over, strings of carriages 
 for blocks up and down Park place would be in waiting 
 for husbands and wives ; the old, the young ; the beautiful 
 and the learned who had graced the theatre on the occa- 
 sion. This class of audience would not tolerate such vile 
 trash as the Black Orook and the Neio Magdalen of our days. 
 
John Howard Payne. 25 
 
 " A supper was tendered to Master Payne and his 
 immediate friends, after the performance, at the residence of 
 the manager Mr. Price, where the young Roscius in speech 
 and manners appeared as old as any of them." 
 
 His engagement was for six nights only ; but, having 
 one night to spare, prior to his departure to fill an engage- 
 ment at Boston, he performed on the seventh for his own 
 benefit, on which occasion the debutants share was fourteen 
 hundred dollars, notwithstanding the rigors of a cold, 
 stormy night. The following we take from a Boston paper. 
 
 "Master John Howard Payne has completed his en- 
 gagement at ]N"ew York, with the most brilliant success ; 
 and afterwards, by request, performed an additional night. 
 In force of genius, and taste in belles-lettres, there are few 
 actors on the stage, who can claim competition with 
 him. This is not flattery ; and, if it were, it would not 
 be pernicious to him, who has so uniformly been quoted 
 as a rare instance of intellectual precocity. But his suc- 
 cessful application even of these thrifty and uncommon 
 properties of mind, to the profession of the stage, will ex- 
 cite some wonder, when it is known, that he has had no 
 dramatic preceptor in the artifice, that his word and his 
 action have been disciplined by his own judgment, and that 
 he steps before the public, full grown, like Minerva, with- 
 out being indebted to Jupiter's head for his origin. A 
 letter from I^qw York, which we have before us, states : 
 " I have seen Master Payne in Douglas ^ Zaphna, Selim and 
 Odavian, and may truly say, I think him superior to Master 
 Betty in all. There was one scene of his Zaphna, which 
 exhibited more taste and sensibility than I have witnessed 
 since the days of Garrick. He has astonished everybody." 
 The writer of this letter, we may add, had seen all the best 
 actors from Garrick to Kemble. This account may amaze 
 the Incredulous, but it has been truly said by the poet : 
 '' The art of acting its perfection draws 
 From Genius, more than from mechanic laws." 
 4 
 
26 Life and Writings of 
 
 His next success was in Boston, where the boy had not 
 been forgotten as the youthful captain and the boy-editor. 
 His reception amounted to an ovation, and his success 
 even more pronounced than in 'New York. It was here 
 that he accepted highly lucrative offers to appear in Phila- 
 delphia and Baltimore. After leaving Boston, he went to 
 Providence, Rhode Island, where his reception seems to 
 have been most affectionate. One of the newspapers of 
 that city stated : " Up to the present time we preserved an 
 obstinate and stubborn incredulity, and what was said of 
 young Payne in New York and Boston passed with us for 
 nothing. But unexpected good fortune at length gave us 
 the more decisive testimony to our ears and eyes, and from 
 repeated evidences of this kind, we are happy now to concur 
 in what has been said elsewhere. Last evening, a small 
 party of friends, with ourself, heard Master Payne recite 
 Collins's Ode on the Passions, which has been by critics 
 thought, and justly so, the criterion of merit. We were at 
 once caught involuntarily by the magnetism of his manner ; 
 and all the passions delineated in that delightful ode were 
 as forcibly reflected on our hearts. Kin such a turmoil of 
 surprise, we should select one stanza in preference to 
 another, it is this. Last comes Joy's exstatic trial, etc. His 
 voice and cadence in this portion of the ode were so mea- 
 sured as to leave nothing to wish for in the perfection of 
 elocution. 
 
 On his way south he performed a second engagement 
 at the, Park Theatre, with a still greater success than on the 
 previous occasion. At the conclusion of his second en- 
 gagement, it was Master Payne's misfortune to disoblige 
 Mr. Stephen Price, the manager of the Park Theatre. " It 
 was a part of Payne's engagement that he was to be supplied 
 with dresses by the management. The finery of these 
 dresses to him, of course, was a very great affair. When 
 his wardrobe was sent home to be packed for his journey 
 south, he found all the finery removed. With a childish 
 
John Howard Payne. 27 
 
 impetuosity he called upon Mr. Price with a self important 
 loftiness. The manager told him that the " ornaments be- 
 longed to Mr. (yooper, and had now to be returned for his 
 immediate use." This did not satisfy the young Eoscius, 
 and it is very likely that he was too rash to the gentleman, 
 who had been his friend. Price was of a very high-toned 
 nature and looked upon Payne's conduct as ingratitude, 
 and really never forgave Payne, though on many occasions 
 the feelings of the veteran manager were momentarily ex- 
 tinguished. Yet the influence of Mr. Price, with the 
 managers throughout the United States, was of such a 
 character that he could arrange or disarrange engagements 
 at his pleasure. We do not here pointedly accuse Price of 
 interfering with Payne's engagements elsewhere; but 
 Payne was surprised to find, on stating his readiness to 
 perform at Baltimore, and Philadelphia, that those theatres 
 seemed on a sudden closed against him. He, therefore, re- 
 mained unemployed for some time ; but at last determined 
 to find out the cause of the coldness of the managers in those 
 two cities. In a sort of reckless disposition, he wandered 
 to Baltimore, where at the time the Philadelphia company 
 was performing. He arrived there an utter stranger, and, 
 strolling the streets listlessly, to look for the theatre, he 
 chanced to remark the sign of the bookstore to which he 
 had addressed some letters. He saw a group of persons 
 there listening to a letter which he had sent to his friend 
 Edward J. Cole, who, as soon as he saw Payne, caught 
 him by the hand and led him to the group, exclaiming 
 " This is he." Jonathan Meredith, and Mr. Alexander 
 Contee Hanson, stepped forward. They told him they 
 had just heard a letter from a gentleman of 'New York (the 
 author of Westward Ho ! can tell our readers something 
 about that gentleman), stating that there was supposed to 
 be a*theatrical combination to put him down. They bade 
 young Payne to have no fear of such a combination. The 
 rest may be told briefly. The wanderer was taken at 
 
28 Life and Writings of 
 
 once by Mr. Meredith to his house. Mr. Hanson 
 espoused his interest with the greatest enthusiasm and 
 effect. Mr. William Gwjnne became his fast friend. He 
 was engaged. His reception by the warm-hearted inhabit- 
 ants of Baltimore, forms quite an era in the history of 
 Baltimore theatricals. In a fortnight he had fifteen hun- 
 dred dollars in his pocket. We cannot in our present 
 opportunity, fail of presenting the following epigram, which 
 appeared there the day after his benefit, when the house 
 had been filled to overflowing. 
 
 THE RETORT COURTEOUS. 
 
 All those who from Payne had experienced delight, 
 With increased admiration and pleasure each night, 
 To evince their desire of delighting again, 
 Attended last night, and gave pleasure to Payne ! 
 
 From Baltimore he went to Philadelphia where he made 
 an impression equal to that in Baltimore. At Eichmond, 
 his profits were great, and it was here that he became 
 acquainted with the celebrated Mayo family, upon a mem- 
 ber of which he wrote some verses which were reprinted in 
 many of the newspapers. He then visited Charleston, and 
 other theatres in South Carolina. It is stated that the cele- 
 brated comedian, Mr. Henry Placide who for many years 
 was one of the principal dramatic lights in this country, 
 first became known to the public by the wonderful imita- 
 tions he gave of Master Payne in several of his characters. 
 
 " Eeturning to ]!^ew York, Howard Payne found his 
 father reestablishing himself in the business of education, 
 and his sisters independently settled in a boarding school 
 of the first class at Rhode Island. He yielded to the 
 always earnest wishes of his family and friends to endeavor 
 to relinquish the stage, and opened an institution similiar to 
 our present Atheneum, which he purposed to extend into 
 one equal to the Atheneums of Liverpool and Boston. 
 Kow it was that Cooke arrived in America. 'Ho one 
 
John Howard Payne. 29 
 
 offered to make young Payne known to him, and he called 
 without an introduction. In Cooke's Journal which Mr. 
 Dunlap publishes, he mentions this call : " I was visited," 
 says Cooke, " by Master Payne, the American Roscius : I 
 thought him a polite, sensible youth, and the reverse of our 
 young Roscius." Mr. Cooke appointed a time to pass an 
 evening at young Payne's, who wished that his father and 
 friends should see the lion of the day ; and this evening Mr. 
 Dunlap describes in his life of Cooke. " A party of ladies 
 and gentlemen met, all anxious to see this extraordinary 
 creature, and anticipating the pleasure to be derived, as 
 they supposed, from his conversation, his humor, and his 
 wit. Cooke refused an invitation to dinner, and waited 
 for his young admirer to lead him to the circle of his 
 friends ; but, tired of solitude, he sent for Bryden, (who 
 kept the Tontine Coffee house, where he lived) pour passer 
 le temps over a bottle of Madeira, and, when Mr. Payne 
 arrived with a coach to convey him to the tea party, Cooke 
 was charged much higher with wine than wit. He was, 
 however, dressed, and, as he thought, prepared, and it 
 would not do, on his companion's part, to suggest anything 
 to the contrary ; besides, the effect of what he had taken 
 did not yet appear in its most glaring consequences. They 
 arrived, and Cooke, with that stiffness produced by the en- 
 deavor to counteract involuntary emotion, was introduced 
 into a large circle of gentlemen, distinguished for learning, 
 or wit, or taste ; and of ladies, equally distinguished for 
 those acquirements and endowments most valued in their 
 sex. A part of the property of the tragedian, which had 
 been seized by the custom-house officers under the non- 
 importation law, had not yet been released, owing to some 
 delay from necessary form, and this was a constant sub- 
 ject of irritation to him; particularly that they should 
 withhold from him the celebrated cups presented to him 
 by the Liverpool managers; and now his introductory 
 speech among his expecting circle, was addressed to one 
 
30 Life and Writings of 
 
 of the gentlemen, [Washington Irving], with whom he was 
 acquainted, and was an exclamation, without any prefatory 
 matter, of — ' My dear Washington ! they have stolen my 
 cups!' The astonishment of such an assembly may be 
 imagined. After making his bows with much circumspec- 
 tion, he seated himself, and very wisely stuck to his chair 
 for the remainder of the evening ; and likewise stuck to 
 his text; and his cups triumphed over every image that 
 could be presented to his imagination. ' Madam, they 
 have stopped my cups. Why did they not stop my 
 swords ? ISTo — they let my sword pass. But my cups will 
 melt, and they have a greater love for silver than for steel. 
 My swords would be useless with them; but they can 
 melt my cups and turn them to dollars ! And my Shak- 
 speare — they had better keep that : they need his instruc- 
 tion, and they may improve by him — if they know how to 
 read him.' Seeing a print of John Kemble, as Rolla, he 
 addressed it : ' Ah, John, are you there ? ' — then turning 
 to Mr. Payne, he, in his half-whispering manner, added, 
 ' I don't want to die in this country — John Kemble will 
 laugh.' Among the company was an old and tried revo- 
 lutionary officer [the late Col. Marinus Willett] — a true 
 patriot of 1776. Hearing Cooke rail against the country 
 and the government, he at first began to explain, and then 
 to defend ; but, soon finding what his antagonist's situation 
 was, he ceased opposition. Cooke continued his inso- 
 lence ; and finding that he was unnoticed, and even what 
 he said in the shape of query, unattended to, he went on. 
 ' That's right ; you are prudent ; the government may hear 
 of it — walls have ears !' Tea was repeatedly presented to 
 him, which he refused. The little black girl with her tray 
 next offered him cake — this he rejected with some asperity. 
 Fruit was offered to him, and he told the girl he was ' sick 
 of seeing her face.' Soon after she brought him wine. 
 'Why, you little black angel! 'says Cooke, .taking the 
 wine, * you look like the devil ; but you bear a passport that 
 
John Howard Payne. 31 
 
 would carry you unquestioned into paradise !' " The com- 
 pany separated early, and Mr. Payne happily resigned his 
 visitor to the safe keeping of the waiters of the Tontine 
 Coffee-house. But, notwithstanding this irregularity, Mr. 
 Dunlap mentions that Mr. Cooke was hy no means sparing 
 of his admonitions when in company with his young friend. 
 " He not only did not offer wine to him, but told him he 
 ought to avoid it." " Once," observes Mr. Dunlap, " when 
 young Payne was sitting with Cooke at the Tontine, the 
 veteran taking his glass after dinner, chatting very plea- 
 santly, Mr. Duffie, formerly on the stage in Dublin, who 
 frequently visited Mr. Cooke, called in. Cook received 
 him with a cool kind of civility, desired him to take a chair, 
 and then continued talking to Master Payne. ' Mr. Duffie, 
 help yourself to a glass of wine — John, I don't ask you to 
 drink. O, that I had had some friend when I was at your 
 age, to caution — to prevent me from drinking ! Mr. Duffie, 
 your good health. Yes, John, I should have been a very 
 different man from what I am. It's too late now ! ' " 
 
 The Atheneum speculation, projected by Payne, now 
 began to require greater resources than it produced. Cooke 
 had talked with him of the expediency of an attempt on 
 the stage in England. His thoughts, by the stress of cir- 
 cumstances, again dwelt on acting. Just then, Cooke's at- 
 traction began to decline. Master Payne was invited to 
 act with him. " N^otwithstanding," says Mr. Dunlap, " the 
 kindness with which he treated Master Payne, and the 
 terms of approbation with which he spoke of him," — " to 
 have a boy called in to support him, wounded his pride so 
 deeply, that he could not conceal his irritation, or its cause." 
 He was announced to play Glenalvon to Payne's Douglas, 
 and afterwards in other parts, but, throughout, affected ill- 
 ness. On the first of March, 1811, however, he performed 
 LeaA.0 Master Payne's Edgar, for the benefit of the latter — 
 and this was the last time, we believe, that our country- 
 man ever appeared at the Park theatre. He afterwards 
 
32 Life and Writings of 
 
 went to perforin in Boston, and, during his absence there, 
 his father suddenly died. He subsequently performed 
 in Philadelphia and Baltimore. During his visit to Balti- 
 more, a memorable event occurred. The printing-office 
 of his friend and supporter, Mr. Hanson, who then pub- 
 lished a political newspaper there, was levelled to the 
 ground by a mob. Mr. Hanson was absent from Balti- 
 more. The recollection of former services came upon 
 Mr. Payne. Though he never meddled in politics, he felt 
 it to be his duty not to forget friendship. He wrote to 
 ofi'er his aid to Mr. Hanson, in reinstating his paper. It 
 was accepted. He was very active in his attentions; 
 but after remaining at his post three days, was desired 
 on the night of the dreadful scenes which occurred there, 
 to convey a message to Mrs. Hanson. On his return, 
 he found the house besieged, and the war begun. Mr. 
 Hanson has included him among those to whom he pub- 
 licly returned thanks, although his offices chanced to 
 be merely those of kindness before and after the battle. 
 But the gratitude of this gallant and enthusiastic gentle- 
 man, impelled him to urge and assist the departure of Mr. 
 Payne for the purpose of studying the fine models of the 
 arts in Europe, and benefiting, if he should succeed, by the 
 fame of London. Under the auspices of Mr. Meredith, Mr. 
 Hanson, Mr. Gwynne, Mr. D'Arcy, and others of Balti- 
 more, Mr. Payne now turned his attention to England, 
 intending to limit his visit thither to one year. He was, on 
 the seventeenth of January, 1813, accompanied by his 
 brother, Thatcher Taylor Payne, and by his admirer and 
 most particular friend Joseph J). Fay, to the wharf, whence 
 he embarked in the ship Catherine Ray, for Liverpool. It 
 was not the destiny of Mr. Fay and Mr. Payne ever to 
 meet again." 
 
John Howard Payne. 33 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 " Use every man after his deserts, and who shall 'scape whipping." 
 
 Payne Abroad. 
 
 W E introduce Mr. Payne to our reader a^ain with his 
 arrival at Liverpool, after a passage of two and twenty days. 
 At that time the United States and Great Britain were 
 at war. Although the ship had a cartel, and he bore the 
 list of letters, our young friend and all his companions on 
 their arrival, were marched to prison. But Payne states 
 in a letter written at the Liverpool Borough Jail, February 
 11th, 1813, that " on Wednesday, after all the British sub- 
 jects were discharged, at the special intercession of some 
 of the most influential of the inhabitants, 'His worship' 
 the mayor, who is a very gentlemanly man, treated us with 
 great politeness, and indulged us with permission to be re- 
 moved to our present lodgings, which are delightful, and 
 for which we are permitted to pay five guineas a piece 
 weekly. ' We are seven' in number. The only thing that 
 interferes with our comfort, is the confinement within our 
 massey gates, but our apartments within the house of 
 the governor are as pleasant as can be wished for. When 
 our passports have been examined in London, and returned, 
 we shall probably be set at liberty, and permitted to visit 
 the great metropolis." 
 
 Mr. Payne remained in confinement for fourteen days, 
 and on the 28th of February, he left Liverpool for Lon- 
 don by the way of Chester. On his arrival there, he met 
 several of his old ]^ew York friends, and the first of them 
 that Be dined with were the brother and sister of Washing- 
 ton Irving. Here, too, he met Mr. Brevoort, who was stay- 
 ing, the most of his time, at Edinburgh, and who was hand 
 5 
 
34 Life and Writings of 
 
 and glove with Walter Scott, Jeffreys, and all of the literati. 
 Brevoortwas overjoyed to meet the young American of so 
 much promise, and for two or three days devoted his at- 
 tention to him by showing him around London. 
 
 A few days after his arrival, Payne presented his letter of 
 introduction to Roscoe, who received him most cordially, 
 at once became his personal friend, and introduced him to 
 John Philip Kemble, Campbell, Coleridge, Southey and 
 other magnates in the world of English learning. 
 
 After waiting for a long time and using every means of 
 influence to obtain a hearing upon the stage of some one 
 of the London theatres, he at last wrote a letter himself 
 to the celebrated Mr. Whitehead, who was then chairman 
 of the Drury Lane management. The result was a pro- 
 mise of an immediate interview, which shortly followed, 
 resulting in arrangements for a series of performances at 
 the old Drury. He was admonished not to appear so near 
 the end of the season, but Payne had become impatient, 
 and his debut before an English audience was fixed on, 
 and his entree was to be in the character of Zaphna, but 
 Douglas was finally substituted. At the same time it was 
 proposed by the debutant and acquiesced in by the manage- 
 ment, that there should be no mention in paragraphs or 
 play-bills of his name or history. He was desirous to 
 stand or fall by the unbiased judgment of his hearers. It was 
 consequently announced that on " Friday evening, June 
 the 14th, 1813, the tragedy of Douglas would be performed, 
 the part of Douglas, by a young gentleman, his first 
 appearance." 
 
 At the only rehearsal summoned, and this not until the 
 day of the performance. Miss Smith (afterwards Mrs. 
 Bartley), who was cast for Lady Randolph, was not present. 
 Our young aspirant called on her and talked over the 
 business his part had with hers, but she was haughty and 
 did not agree with Mr. Payne, on the ground that his 
 mode of performing the part would take the attention of 
 
John Ho^^ard Payne. 35 
 
 the house from her, and, with a cool, low curtsey, she 
 bid the young actor good day with the wish that he would 
 succeed. 
 
 At night, as Payne entered the green-room dressed for 
 the part of Norvalj the stage manager informed Payne, for 
 the first time, that he had a new Ladi/ Randolph for him, 
 that Miss Smith was sick, and that they had borrowed 
 Mrs. Powell from Covent Garden. " There she stands, on 
 the stage; come; it is time for us to begin," and this was 
 his first introduction to the lady with whom his part had 
 so much important stage business, and his entrh upon the 
 boards of an untried stage in a strange country ! " Although 
 he had no opportunity for a moment's conversation, the 
 interest expressed by his theatrical mother was throughout 
 kindly, and perfectly maternal. While the house was 
 ringing with the thunders of approbation at the triumph 
 and power of his death-scene, the great Mrs. Powell, as 
 she leant over him, was exclaiming in an exulting whisper, 
 " There ! do you hear that ! do you hear the verdict ?" His 
 performance throughout was crowned with unbounded ap- 
 plause. 
 
 The next day Payne sent a letter to Mrs. Powell, in 
 which he thanked her for her sympathy and attention and 
 lauded her excellent performance of Lady Randolph, to 
 which she replied : " If you saw any merit in my per- 
 formance of the part, it was entirely owning to a son that 
 I felt proud of." The next night Miss Smith appeared in 
 the part, but the audience resented her conduct. He 
 repeated the part of Douglas several times ; the mana- 
 gers were now more explicit in their announcement, and 
 stated on the bills of the Monday following that, the 
 " Young gentleman" was Master Payne from the ITew 
 York and Philadelphia theatres. The paper spoke of the 
 young gentleman as having made a hit. The Morning 
 Herald remarked that his angry scene with Glenalvon had 
 the marks of genius in it, and that he maintained the mean- 
 
36 Life and Writings of 
 
 ing of his author with spirit, particularly when he ex- 
 claimed : " Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?" 
 and concludes, upon reconsidering the whole of his perform- 
 ance, that " we have never seen a finer representation of 
 Young Norval. It is remarkable that a youth from a 
 remote country, a country nearly two hundred years behind 
 us in the improvements of almost every art, should have 
 the courage to come before a London audience under 
 every possible disadvantage, and be a success. !N'ature has 
 endowed him with every quality for a great actor, and, to 
 reach that position, all he requires is a little more time and 
 study. He possesses all the simplicity and purity of style 
 that in the end must tell with great force, and this seems to 
 be the result of his own natural taste, which never suffers 
 him to run into those vicious extravagances so common in 
 blustering, half-formed actors. He speaks at once to the 
 sober senses, to the feelings, and to the heart ; in passion 
 he is never noisy. His own discretion is his tutor. But, 
 when he comes to contend with Glenalvon, he bursts foith 
 in all the fire of indignation and anger, arising from 
 wounded pride, and, when he found he was to ' perish by 
 a villain's hand,' his remark ' had slain him ' was not 
 delivered in a loud, boasting voice, but in the mild accents 
 of a dying hero, modestly conscious of his courage. Such 
 is the character of this young gentleman, who makes a 
 fairer promise than any juvenile adventurer we have ever 
 seen, and who, like some valuable, rare material brought 
 from a distant country, only wants a little of that fine 
 polishing which English artists can give in order to make 
 him perfect." 
 
 The theatre was now about closing for the season, there 
 remained time for only one attempt more. Romeo was 
 selected for the occasion, although it was not Mr. Payne's 
 choice of character, yet he succeeded perfectly in the part. 
 At that time he was very handsome and looked Romeo in 
 this respect, to the very life. It is worth recording, as a 
 
John Howard Payne. 87 
 
 marked event in the history of the stage and theatrical 
 revolution, that Mr. James "W". Wallack, one of the finest 
 actors the British stage has ever produced, that evening 
 represented the trifling character of the Prince, and his 
 brother, also famed on this side of the Atlantic, the servant 
 Abraham. 
 
 The success of our young countryman in the city of 
 London caused many offers from the provincial managers. 
 " Their eagerness was not in the least shaken even by an 
 attempt, probably emanating from stage-jealousy, to get 
 up a prejudice against him upon the assertion that this 
 " d — d Yankee, who had come from America, thinking to 
 teach English folks how to act," was " an illegitimate son 
 of Tom Paine." The trick was understood. The respecta- 
 ble papers crushed it with deserved contempt. 
 
 After his performances in London, he next appeared at 
 Liverpool, where his success was far beyond what he ex- 
 perienced in the city of London. Gore's Liverpool General 
 Advertiser, of July 15, remarks : " His performance of Ham- 
 let, on Tuesday evening, being his fourth appearance here, 
 was received with even more enthusiasm than either of those 
 which preceded it. The management at the close of the 
 play-scene was hailed with loud cheering and the curtain 
 dropped to four rounds of applause." In the Liverpool 
 Mercury, we find the following : " Mr. Payne's benefit, on 
 Friday evening, was attended by one of the most elegant 
 audiences which have graced the theatre this season. At 
 the close of the interlude, Mr. Payne unexpectedly appeared 
 in propria persona before the curtain, and made the follow- 
 ing spontaneous address : ' Ladies and gentlemen, I should 
 think myself wanting in gratitude and candor, could I quit 
 this place without emphatically acknowledging the warm 
 welcome with which I have been honored by the inhabit- 
 ants t)f Liverpool, and those particularly concerned in the 
 direction of the theatre. (Loud applause). It has been 
 every thing which could be hoped from hospitality, and 
 
38 Life and Writings of 
 
 has forced me to forget tliat I was a stranger. — (Loud 
 applause, and ' bravo ' from every part of the house). 
 Under existing circumstances, ladies and gentlemen, I 
 must feel, and feel sensibly, the magnanimity of that spirit 
 which, disdaining national distinctions, can hail even the 
 humblest member of the family of literature and the arts, 
 in whatsoever clime accident may have thrown his birth- 
 place, as a brother and a friend ! ' The applause at the end 
 of this address was protracted, and the most rapturous we 
 remember ever to have heard." A letter from the manager 
 to Mr. Payne, in allusion to this speech, was published at 
 the time, in which he remarks : " I have to assure you there 
 was as much pleasure on the one part, iii conferring any 
 little acts of justice and kindness, as there has been grati- 
 tude on the other, in making a public acknowledgment of 
 them. I take this opportunity of expressing a sincere 
 obligation for the service your talents have rendered the 
 theatre. That every success may attend your theatric 
 career, is the ardent hope of, dear sir," etc., etc. Mr. 
 Payne performed with equal success in Birmingham, 
 Litchfield, Walsall, Tamworth, and a great number of 
 small places; and especially in Manchester, where the 
 following curious comparison was made between him and 
 Mr. Betty: "This gentleman has a figure not imposing, 
 but well-proportioned; a face almost too beautiful for a 
 man ; and a voice, the clearest and most bell-like we 
 remember ever to have heard. His acting is quite equal, 
 if not superior, to that of Mr. Betty at the time of public 
 admiration and enthusiasm in his favor. In graceful 
 attitudes, and the pantomime of the art, they are nearly 
 equal; in expression of countenance and conception of 
 character, Mr. Payne has by far the advantage, but in 
 treading the stage, the palm must be given to Mr. Betty." 
 The next visit of our countryman was to Dublin. Here he 
 was received with very great kindness, both in public and 
 private, and formed an intimacy with the celebrated Mr. 
 
John Howard Payne. 39 
 
 O'Connell, Charles Philips, and others. He appeared in 
 Rolla, and, though this was soon after John Kemble had 
 made his farewell there in the same part, he was so well 
 received in it, that the play was instantly repeated. He 
 was supported throughout his engagement by the since so 
 highly celebrated Miss O'ifeil. The Hibernian Journal 
 noticed his engagement thus : " The departure of Mr. 
 Payne from our boards was marked by an incident of deep 
 interest, which riveted his claims upon the best feelings of 
 our countrymen. His extemporaneous parting address on 
 that occasion was one of the best-conceived efibrts of the 
 kind we remember ever to have heard, and certainly 
 nothing was ever received with greater fervor and delight. 
 The impression created by this gentleman's performances, 
 especially his Hamlet, has been of such a nature as to ex- 
 cite the warmest wishes in every quarter for his speedy 
 return, which will be hailed, whenever it may happen, with 
 all the warmth which Irish liberality never fails to exer- 
 cise towards public talent and private worth. The follow- 
 ing is a faithful report of the address which was alluded to : 
 ' Ladies and gentlemen, the unusual circumstances under 
 which I have appeared before you will, I trust, explain 
 and justify this unusual mode of acknowledging the polite- 
 ness with which my theatrical efforts have been received in 
 Dublin. (Loud applause.) It is not my object to thank 
 you for having buried national hostilities in your gene- 
 rosity to an individual. (Loud and prolonged applause.) 
 The want of a disposition to do this is illiberal, but there 
 is no liberality in possessing it. I have too much respect 
 for those whom I have the honor to address, to incur the 
 risk of offending them by offering thanks for so negative 
 a kindness. But permit the wanderer, who has been 
 warmed by the sunshine of the Emerald Isle, (shouts of 
 bravl^ ! and repeated applause), in the plain sincerity of 
 gratitude, to declare that, in whatever clime or circum- 
 stances accident may place me, it will ever be my glory to 
 
40 Life and Writings of 
 
 hail the Irishman as a brother, (bravo ! loud applause), and 
 to proclaim to my own countrymen and the world, that 
 the stranger may make friends in other lands, but in 
 Erin he shall find a home !" This address was followed 
 by a round of prolonged applause. 
 
 It was on this occasion that the greatest compliment 
 (perhaps a little whimsical in its way) was paid to Mr. 
 Payne that a Dublin audience can pay an actor. After 
 the first piece was over, there was still to be performed a 
 comic song and a farce, but the audience were so well 
 pleased with the young American, that, immediately after 
 Payne had retired from his speech-making, many of the 
 people, on the spur of the moment, cried out " Home ! 
 Home ! Home ! " The hint was taken by the rest of the 
 audience, and in a few moments more the house was closed 
 and in darkness. Siddons, Kean, Kemble and Cooke, met 
 with like compliments on several occasions from the Irish 
 people, but only those received it who gave them the 
 greatest satisfaction by their talents. 
 
 After this engagement, he played with the same success 
 at Waterford ; here the great Miss 0'l!^eil joined in with 
 Payne, and for the first time appeared as a star, he having 
 induced her to leave the stock company for starring pur- 
 poses. This was the starting point of her brilliant fame. 
 She was then quite young and very beautiful. Payne, too, 
 was very handsome, arid, when they appeared as JRomeo and 
 Juliet, they suited the characters so perfectly that they 
 carried the house by storm. They next appeared together 
 at Cork, where Miss O'Neil performed for the last time, 
 prior to her success as a star upon the London stage, and 
 at once seemed to fill, as a tragic actress, the void made by 
 the retirement of Mrs. Siddons. While Mr. Payne was per- 
 forming with Miss O'JSTeil at Cork, he was very handsomely 
 eulogized in a speech, relating to some political row in the 
 theatre, by Mr. O'Connell. On his benefit-night. Miss 
 O'iN'eil performed the part of Ladi/ Randolph and Catherine 
 
John Howard Payne. 41 
 
 to his Norval and Petruchio ; and he spoke an address, 
 written for the occasion by the celebrated Charles Phillips. 
 Here, after extending his engagement by playing for several 
 benefits of the company, which he did gratuitously, Mr. 
 Payne went with O'Connell and Phillips to Killarney, and 
 its neighborhood, and shared the honor every where 
 lavished upon the party. It was on this occasion that 
 they witnessed the stag-hunt upon the lake, described by 
 Phillips in his fine poem of The Emerald Isle, and it was 
 at a dinner on Innisfallen Island, in reply to a toast 
 given with reference to the two strangers, Phillips and 
 Payne, and the countries to which they belonged, that 
 Phillips made his celebrated speech, on Washington and 
 America, which became celebrated on this side of the 
 Atlantic and was spoken in all our colleges and schools. 
 Phillips in his remarks on this occasion said : " To be 
 associated with Mr. Payne, must be to any one who regard 
 private virtue, and personal accomplishments, a source of 
 peculiar pride, and that feeling is not a little enhanced to 
 me by the recollections of the country to which we are 
 indebted for his qualifications." 
 
 On the return of Mr, Payne to London, the war having 
 terminated, every one who could, flocked to Paris, anxious 
 to see and to be in the midst of. the world of fashion, and 
 also to enjoy the acting of the great Talma, and for the 
 last named purpose, especially, Payne went thither. The 
 period proved a most interesting one for Payne. It was that 
 of Bonaparte's return from Elba. Payne was captivated 
 with the brightness, whirl and bustling of the great city, and 
 remained beyond the hundred days. Here Payne met 
 Washington Irving, and for some time they were room- 
 mates. A few days after his arrival, he was introduced to 
 the great actor. His reception by Talma was affectionate 
 in the extreme, and always afterwards Payne and Talma 
 were intimate and personal friends. 
 
 The theatres in France were, and are, under the control 
 6 
 
42 Life and Writings of 
 
 of the government, and all civilities extended from them 
 to strangers, are looked upon as a national compliment. 
 The IsTational Theatre of Paris extended to Payne, through 
 Talma, an invitation to the freedom of the house. Payne 
 returned his thanks, in an elegantly written letter in French 
 which gave so much satisfaction to the committee and 
 Talma that it was published in the papers, with a short 
 biographical sketch of Payne. The following is a transla- 
 tion of Payne's letter. 
 
 " Gentlemen : 
 
 " I certainly would be senseless to the value of the high 
 compliment which you have paid me, by offering me the 
 freedom of your National Theatre, did I not, on the instant, 
 acknowledge the receipt of your communication. I am 
 too conscious of the humbleness of my personal preten- 
 sions, not to esteem the kindness as a tribute paid more to 
 my country than to myself, and the progress of the new 
 world in a branch of the liberal arts of which no repre- 
 sentative but myself has yet appeared on this side of the 
 ocean, and I shall deem it a duty to excite in my native 
 republic, to which the compliment properly belongs, the 
 feelings of respect, gratitude, and admiration toward the 
 elegant hospitality I have had the honor to receive on 
 
 behalf of my native land. t 
 
 ■^ I remain. 
 
 Your obliged and obedient servant, 
 
 Paris, March 27th, 1815. ^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^^- 
 
 This regard on the part of Talma and the committee of 
 the ;N"ational Theatre, presented the subject of our bio- 
 graphy with a fine opportunity to study the best French 
 models both of acting and dramatic writing, and although 
 Mr. Payne was a good French scholar at the time he 
 arrived there, he at once devoted himself to a still further 
 study of the language, and became an almost constant 
 reader of the best French dramatic poets. 
 
John Howard Payne. 43 
 
 By one of John Howard Payne's letters, June 5th, 
 1815, it appears that he had been holding a correspondence 
 with Talma, as to the best school for instruction in acting, 
 to which Talma returned the following answer. 
 
 " Paris, June 7th, 1815. 
 " Ml/ Dear Payne : 
 
 I cannot point out the principles better than Shake- 
 speare has, in a few lines he has laid down as the basis 
 and true standard of our art. Therefore, I refer you to 
 what Hamlet says, (Act HI, Scene H), respecting the means 
 of personating the various characters, which are exhibited 
 in human life. It will unfold to you my own principles, 
 and at the same time my veneration for that most wonder- 
 ful of all dramatic writers and instructors." 
 
 In another letter to Payne, he remarks : " If you take 
 any lessons from the gentleman you speak of, they should 
 be given upon the stage, and not in the room, that you may 
 give a full scope to your steps, and to your motions, but, 
 my dear friend, the first rule is to be deeply impressed 
 with the character and the situation of your personage, 
 and all his surroundings, until your imagination is fully 
 imbued with the character, and your nerves agitated, to a 
 proper condition, the rest will follow ; your arms and legs 
 will properly do their business. The graces of the danseuse 
 are not requisite in tragedy ; choose rather to have a noble 
 elegance in your gait, and, if it is a historical character you 
 propose to represent, know well the history of the man, 
 and the events of the times he lived in, even before and 
 beyond the period of the dramatic action of which he is 
 one of the figures. It is only by this thorough acquaintance 
 with your subject, that you can gain an over-confidence, as 
 it were, which enables us to paint with a bolder brush and 
 give that broad and grand effect necessary to impress the 
 mind ftnd captivate your hearers. ****** 
 " Believe me ever, 
 
 " Your true and aft'ectionate friend, 
 
 " Talma." 
 
44 Life and Writings of 
 
 This advice, from one of the greatest artists of the stage 
 should be of inestimable value to those gentlemen of the 
 dramatic profession, who too frequently think that the 
 mere committing of the words of the author is all that is 
 required to make an actor, while, in fact, there is no profes- 
 sion that requires more culture and careful study than that 
 of the actor. 
 
 It is not always possible to keep strictly in the path of 
 biographical incidents, and especially so in a biography of 
 such a man as Mr. Payne, who, all through his life, was 
 deviating from one thing to another; a more unsettled man 
 never lived, like a bee that seems to care not as to which 
 flower it alights upon, so long as it extracts a sweet from 
 each. The man of genius may do several things well, but, 
 if he gives his entire attention and industry to some one 
 thing, he is sure to excel, and such would have been the 
 case with Mr. Payne, either as an actor or dramatic writer. 
 Mr. Payne would also have excelled as a critic ; the evi- 
 dence of this will at once be perceived in the following 
 remarks of Mr. Payne's which we extract from a letter of 
 his, written to his sister. She had written a letter to him in 
 which she requested that he would send his opinion as to 
 how Kemble and Kean compared with her great favorite. 
 Cooper. 
 
 To us Leigh Hunt is the best of all dramatic critics. 
 Any one who has read his critical essays on the great actors 
 of his day, enumerating Kemble, Siddons, Pope, Ray- 
 mond, Bannister, Mundon, Fawcett, Liston, Mathews, 
 Powell, Jordan, Mattocks, and hosts of others, can not 
 fail to be impressed with his sound judgment, fairness and 
 honesty of purpose ; and we perceive these same qualities 
 in the following extracts from Mr. Payne's letter on the 
 comparative merits of the celebrated actors above-men- 
 tioned. 
 
John Howard Payne. 45 
 
 London^ June 19th, 1817. 
 Dearest Eloise : 
 
 " A letter which I send to brother Thatcher, by the same 
 opportunity which carries this, will fully explain the causes 
 of my silence, and the nature of my pursuits, for the last 
 two years. Upon the future I cannot speak distinctly, 
 because the necessity for daily labor to produce daily 
 resources, greatly impedes the soarings of ambition, and 
 prevents one from doing many grand things, merely be- 
 cause nature forces us to follow the fashion of eating and 
 drinking, and both cost money. As soon as I can recon- 
 cile my plans to my means, you shall know what I propose, 
 but were I to tell you all the schemes which have crossed 
 my mind, so different are they, you would at once say my 
 madness lacked a method. Something, however, shall 
 shortly be decided to regulate the movements of my future 
 life — some goal — some point for the attainment of which 
 my efibrts shall be concentrated ; ' but of this more anon.' 
 "Why should we strive to see disagreeable things in the 
 past, through a sacrifice of precious moments which might 
 be devoted to fine fancies of a bright and pleasant future. 
 
 " You ask me for my opinion of Siddons and others of 
 the British stage, and how Cooper, your favorite actor, 
 compares with Kemble and Kean. 
 
 " I have seen Kean in several of his characters, but oftener 
 in Shylock and Richard than in any other of his representa- 
 tions, and in these always with increased delight. If I 
 may use comparison, he does not seem to me calculated to 
 produce, like Kemble, a powerful first impression ; there is 
 nothing in him to dazzle the senses ; but he steals upon 
 the judgment, captivates and satisfies it. The recollec- 
 tion of Cooke was vivid in my mind, when Kean appeared 
 in London. K Kean never saw Cooke, and he tells me he 
 never did, the similitude in certain parts of their acting, as 
 well as the conception of the true character, seems to me to be 
 still more wonderful. Their leading features of resemblance 
 
46 Life and Writings of 
 
 in Shylock and Richard exhibit so marked a correspondence 
 in their genius that it almost proves that both modelled 
 themselves upon similar views of nature. I say, ' similar 
 views of nature' for this reason. Two persons of equal 
 talents may see the same thing in very different lights. 
 Hence spring the innumerable varieties -of judgment. 
 Kemble is a profound investigator, yet Kemble takes a 
 view of Richard, totally unlike Kean's, and Kemble's Rich- 
 ard to me appears radically false in design, and in execu- 
 tion stupifying and tedious. Yet even Kemble's Richard 
 has its admirers in opposition to that of Kean's. But I 
 look upon Richard as Kemble's worst effort, and I conceive 
 it to be rather unfair to institute a comparison between the 
 worst productions of one rival, and the best of another. 
 The anxious labor and the long-suffering, by which Mr. 
 Kemble has won his laurels, deserve a better reward than he 
 now receives from the ingratitude of a nation, of whose 
 fame, in one branch of the fine arts, he has so many years 
 been a principal and an illustrious supporter. Mr. Kean 
 has often failed of obtaining that power over my feelings 
 with which Mr. Kemble almost invariably held them 
 captive. Compare Kemble and Kean in those charac- 
 ters, of which each gentleman is admitted by the whole 
 world of criticism to be a master. Is Mr. Kean's Richard 
 or his Shylock, equal, on the whole, to Mr. Kemble's Cato, 
 Coriolanus, Hamlet, Anthony, or Macbeth ? Or is there any 
 individual excellence in either of the efforts of Mr. Kean, 
 which is not superseded by some individual excellence in 
 each one of the efforts of his competitor? Is Kean's 
 ' What do they i'th north ' — ' Off with his head ! ' — 
 ' I'll not trust thee,' with the residue of that scene which 
 chiefly delighted me, equal, in the electricity of their effects 
 to 'By Jupiter, forgot,' 'Alone I did it,' or the whole 
 of any one impassioned scene of Coriolanus ? I think, 
 my dear sister, that, when you ask me to tell you which is 
 the greatest actor, the only way to get at it, is by a 
 
John Howard Payne. 47 
 
 liberal mode of comparison. Give full scope to each man's 
 genius, and comparison of each man's mind, when each is 
 in his glory. Deciding by such a system, I am inclined 
 toward Kemble. The latter gentleman is more even 
 through his whole performance of a character, and for the 
 study thereof, the evidence of the patient, hard-working 
 student, is decidedly with Kemble. He, in every scene of 
 the play, sends out a steady, burning light, that fascinates 
 you from the moment he appears before you. Kean, 
 by flashes, like Etna, always is emitting the evidence of a 
 hidden fire, one which at times flashes forth to astonish 
 you. With Kemble, the eye and the intellect are both 
 filled and satisfied: the ear wishes for something with 
 Kean, the eye and the ear is pleased, but the intellect is 
 not satisfied. I can never forget Kemble's Coriolanus, his 
 entree was the most brilliant I ever witnessed. His person 
 derived a majesty from a scarlet robe which he managed 
 with inimitable dignity. The Roman energy of his deport- 
 ment, the seraphic grace of his gesture and the movements 
 of his perfect self-possession, displayed the great mind, 
 daring to command, and disdaining to solicit, admiration. 
 His form derived an additional elevation, of perhaps two 
 inches, from his sandals. In every part of the house the 
 audience rose, waved their hats, and huzzaed, and the 
 cheering must have lasted more than five minutes ; and at 
 the same time, a crown of laurels was thrown before him 
 from one of the private boxes, and he wore the laurel in 
 the following triumphal procession, while the house shook 
 with the thunder of the populace. A similar enthusiasm 
 was manifested in all his future touches, throughout the 
 play, but most emphatically in two clauses, the first, where 
 Coriolanus is made welcome, the audience instantly made it 
 a personal application : 
 
 ' A hundred thousand welcomes ! I could weep, 
 And I could laugh : I am light and heavy. — Welcome ! 
 
48 Life and Writings op 
 
 A curse begin at every root of s heart, 
 That is not glad to see thee !' 
 
 Here was a general huzza ! bravo ! and loud and long 
 clapping. The end of the speech 
 
 'Yet, by the faith of man, 
 We have some old crab-trees here at home 
 That will not 
 Be grafted to your relish.' 
 
 produced a loud laugh, huzza and applause. At the fall 
 of the curtain, there seemed to be but one mind that 
 actuated the whole house ; it was as if the audience had 
 been tranced by the effect. They all at once got up and 
 cheered until the actor came before them ; another huzzah, 
 and so ended Kemble's triumph, every night he performed. 
 " Mrs. Siddons, unfortunately, did not burst upon me, 
 when she first came upon the stage, as Kemble did. I was 
 present the first night of her return to the stage, when she 
 acted for the benefit of the theatrical fund. I risked my 
 limbs to see her, as the rush and the crowd was so great ; 
 but got a most excellent place. She acted Mrs. Beverley, 
 and I was not only charmed and every way interested, but 
 at times astonished. The grace of her person, the beauty 
 of her arms, the mental beauty of her face, the tragic ex- 
 pression of her voice, and the perfect identification with 
 the character, left nothing for me to wish for. In these 
 she was so great, that even her unwieldy figure, which at 
 first somewhat annoyed me, was soon forgotten. I never 
 saw, nor could have conceived, an efiect so sublimely 
 agonizing as her attitude; the rapid glancing of her eyes 
 for nearly a minute, then their sudden stop, and the rivet- 
 ing of them upon her insulter, Stukely, when he first shocked 
 her with dishonorable advances. I cannot tell you in this 
 letter all I saw and all I felt, in this one performance of 
 Siddons. If, at her present time of life, she could so affect 
 
John Howard Payne. 49 
 
 us, what would she have done, and what did she do with 
 her hearers, when her figure and her voice were in the 
 full vigor and freshness of her perfect womanhood. 
 
 " When she left the stage this night with the understand- 
 ing, that, more than likely, she would never again appear 
 before the public, a feeling of great sadness came over me, 
 which took hours for me to shake off; the melancholy 
 thought that she should ever disappear from the public, 
 before the whole world had seen her, and felt her great power, 
 still lasts with me, and I have no doubt always will, when- 
 ever I think of her. I fear, dear sister, that she has spoiled 
 me for the enjoyment of all other actresses, in the future. 
 
 " As regards Cooke, I was at the first performance of 
 Cooke in America. He made a different impression upon 
 me from any other actor I have ever seen ; there was some- 
 thing so exclusively unique and original in his dramatic 
 genius. He always presented himself to me in the light 
 of a discoverer, one with whom it seemed that every action 
 and every look emanated entirely from himself; one who 
 appeared never to have had a model, and who depended 
 entirely upon himself for everything he did in the cha- 
 racter he represented. Cooke reminds me of no one but 
 himself, and I have never been able to recognize the real 
 Richard in any other actor than Cooke. Kean reminds 
 me of Cooke, and Booth of Kean. The two seem to have 
 absorbed something from the great former, but Kean 
 more from Cooke, and Booth from Kean. Besides, Cooke's 
 genius covers a broader field. He was just as great in dia- 
 lect-parts as he was in the English heroic. His Scotch 
 parts were wonderful. Indeed I think Cooke (if there is 
 anything in orginality)the genius of the English stage, but 
 why ask me about Cooke ? You saw him when I had the 
 honor of playing Edgar to his Lear. I deem it a glory 
 for mf country to have his remains resting in its soil. 
 
 " I have mentioned the name of Booth, and, in my last 
 letter to you, stated that there was a little man of that name 
 7 
 
60 Life and Writings of 
 
 to appear at the Covent Garden. When I described him 
 to you, as standing upon the steps of the Theatre, awaiting 
 the event of his first appearance in the city of London, 
 little, indeed, did I then imagine that the little man would 
 drive great London mad before I should communicate to 
 you again. Such, however, is the truth, and, as far as the 
 history of his career has yet transpired, I will make it 
 known to you. 
 
 " On Wednesday, Feb. 12, Mr. Booth, ' of the Brighton 
 and Worthing Theatres,' was announced to play Richard the 
 Third, at the Covent Garden. ]N^othing was known of 
 Mr. Booth, but that he had performed the last season at 
 the Covent Garden in the humble capacity of message- 
 carrier, and had subsequently distinguished himself at 
 Brussells, Brighton, Cheltenham and elsewhere, in all 
 Kean's characters. When he appeared, the house, I think, 
 was thinner than I ever saw it. He was greeted with an 
 enthusiastic welcome by the few that were present. His 
 figure was more petite than Kean's and thinner ; his voice, 
 manner, everything, are of the most perfect and extraordi- 
 nary imitations that can be conceived. You would have 
 declared it was Kean playing the part, so faithful was the 
 resemblance throughout, far closer, as a copy, than Van- 
 denhoff's, and copied with better taste. Opposition showed 
 itself early, but so evidentl}^ it was opposition for opposi- 
 tion's sake, that the honest good sense of John Bull was 
 roused to take the young man's part, and every attempt at 
 hissing called forth unprecedented applause and shouting, 
 so that the intervals between the acts were filled up with 
 acclamations. When the curtain fell, the applause was 
 beyond all parallel. Abbott came on to announce Mid- 
 summer Nighfs Dream for Thursday night, but there was 
 a general cry : ' N'o ! ISTo ! ! Richard the Third, Booth as 
 Richard F to which the managers were not reluctant to 
 accede, and of course Abbott, after walking to the stage- 
 door for orders, came back and said : ' Ladies and gentle- 
 
John Howard Payne. 51 
 
 men, by your desire, Mr. Booth will repeat Richard 
 to-morrow evening.' This satisfied the ladies and gentle- 
 men, who blistered their hands for a few minutes longer. 
 The next night the house was far better, and Booth re- 
 ceived even a greater applause than on the night before, and 
 the curtain fell amid loud cries of ' Repeat Itichardj' but Mr. 
 Booth was stated to be too unwell to repeat it the next night, 
 and it was consequently announced for Monday. On 
 Saturday, however, Mr. Booth called on Mr. Harris, and 
 had a long conversation as to terms. Booth had been 
 getting in the towns a little over two pounds a week. The 
 managers thought that he would measure his salary in 
 London, by what he had been getting in these small places ; 
 to this Mr. Booth would not agree. He knew his price 
 better. The Drury Lane management, hearing of this 
 disagreement, laid a plan to bring Booth over to their 
 house, and Kean was appointed to carry the project into 
 effect, and the result is that Kean and Booth have per- 
 formed together at Drury Lane. I saw Booth in the part 
 of logo to Kean's Othello. The house was packed from pit 
 to gallery; it was a great performance and a grand sight. 
 The new little man behaved himself like a great hero. 
 Kean seemed to feel the force of the new comer and per- 
 formed up to the full height of his wonderful powers. In 
 the jealous scene, their acting appeared like a set trial of 
 skill, and the applause that followed the end of each of 
 their speeches, swept over the house like a tornado. The 
 effect was almost bewildering. At the end of the play, 
 both of the actors appeared to be exhausted from the extra- 
 ordinary effort they had made. Kean appeared to take 
 much delight in bringing Booth before the curtain. He 
 seemed to enjoy Booth's success just as much as the audi- 
 ence did, and as he brought him through the proscenium 
 door,^'ou could see, by the intelligent glitter of his piercing 
 eyes, and the smile through the copper color of the Moor's 
 face, a sort of fatherly feeling, as if dragging an over-raodes< 
 
52 Life and Writings of 
 
 son to receive the honors of his success. The whole house 
 seemed to feel it in this spirit, and, when Kean conducted 
 Booth back to the door, and then made one step forward 
 to acknowledge the compliment offered to himself, I thought 
 the applause would never stop. ' This much of the new 
 actor can I tell thee, and nothing more.' I think, however, 
 that he is destined to fill a large place in the future history 
 of the English stage. 
 
 " As regards Cooper in comparison to Kemble, Cooke or 
 Kean, he is not so great an actor as either of the three, 
 and must take his position as fourth on the roll. But in 
 placing him there, he must not be taken from among 
 the first-class stars. Cooper is of the Kemble school, not 
 that he is a copy of Kemble, as Booth is of Kean, but is of 
 the heroic style, and becomes such a part as Othello better 
 than that of lago. He resorts, too, to less tricks of the stage 
 than Kemble, who enlarges his legs and arms by pads, and 
 consults pictures and artists, to produce personal effects. 
 I don't object to this on the part of Kemble or any actor, 
 when he produces the desired result. What I mean is, 
 you see nothing but what belongs to Cooper ; he is more 
 natural while Kemble is more artistic. In natural grace 
 (hooper is far beyond any actor I have ever seen, and he is, 
 too, the best Hamlet on the stage, he is even more scholarly 
 than Kemble, and, if not so startling as Kean, or so grand 
 as Kemble in the part, he is certainly far less rude than 
 the former, and more natural than the latter. Cooper was 
 the first actor of note I ever saw. It was in Boston on the 
 11th of March, 1805, eleven years ago, when I was a mere 
 boy. The circumstances of his debut were peculiar. After 
 his return from England, he, on his starring expedition, 
 came to Boston in the middle of the season, without invi- 
 tation or engagement. The performers combined to pre- 
 vent his appearance, assigning as a reason that their benefits 
 were just about to commence, and that his strong attraction 
 would, to a great extent, interfere with their success. But 
 
John Howard Payne. 53 
 
 jealousy was doubtless at the bottom of it. The beavx 
 esprits of the town embodied in a phalanx, and threatened 
 the banishment of the company unless Cooper was brought 
 forward. The manager immediately closed the theatre. 
 A compromise ensued at once. Cooper engaged to act 
 alternately for the house and the benefits. The theatre 
 reopened with Cooper in Hamlet after a week's interregnum, 
 and Cooper cleared, by the arrangement, three thousand 
 five hundred dollars, in thirteen nights. His reception 
 was very ardent. My young mind was enraptured; he 
 enchanted me, though at the time I could not tell why. 
 His deportment to me is always full of natural dignity ; his 
 action and whole manner is chaste, vigorous, and charac- 
 teristic, and his enunciation always fine. I shall never 
 forget his finished style of bowing to +he audience. It 
 acted like a mysterious magic over all, and at once made 
 the audience his personal friends.'* 
 
64 Life and Writings of 
 
 CHAPTEE m. 
 
 " There's a divinity that shapes our ends." 
 Payne as a Dramatist. 
 
 JDUREN'G Mr. Payne's visit to Paris, he became particu- 
 larly acquainted with Sir John Cain Hobhouse, the cele- 
 brated friend of Lord Byron. The suicide of Mr. Whitbread 
 had made a change of the directory of Drury Lane Theatre. 
 Some of Sir John's most intimate friends had got into 
 power there. The Hon. Douglass Kennaird was chairman 
 of the managing committee, and Byron was one of the 
 leading and most influential members. Payne was already 
 acquainted with Byron, and Sir John gave our country- 
 man a very earnest introduction to Mr. Kennaird. It hap- 
 pened that, during Payne's abode in Paris, the well known 
 melodrama of the Maid and Magpie appeared there. As 
 an exercise in his study of the French language, and with- 
 out dreaming of ever turning his attention to dramatic 
 writing, Payne made a free version of the piece in question. 
 He took it with him to London, and by the merest acci- 
 dent, while in a conversation with Mr. Kennaird, he men- 
 tioned that he had been making a translation of the Maid 
 and Magpie. Mr. Kennaird was delighted with the idea, 
 looked it over, and regretted that they had one made 
 which was far inferior. Mr. Kennaird also congratulated 
 Mr. Payne on the hopes of his reappearance at Drury 
 Lane. The chairman decided, however, that it was expe- 
 dient to secure the advantage of a more favorable moment 
 than that selected on the former. In the course of the 
 conversation, the general interests of the theatre were dis- 
 cussed, questions were asked about Parisian novelties. 
 The Maid and the Magpie was naturally a subject of very 
 
John Howard Payne. 55 
 
 anxious inquiry, especially as Drury Lane had obtained a 
 translation, and meant to bring it out almost immediately. 
 Mr. Kennaird was so much enlightened by Mr. Payne's 
 knowledge of the French stage, that he told Mr. Payne 
 that he might be of great advantage both to the theatre 
 and himself, by returning to France and remaining there, 
 with an eye to Parisian novelties for Drury Lane, until 
 there should be an opening to bring him out as an actor 
 in a way that might do him justice, and advantage to the 
 object. Under a promise to Kennaird, in the name of the 
 committee, Mr. Payne agreed to return to Paris, and send 
 over French pieces for Drury Lane till its directors could 
 promote his interest as an actor, with the same zeal they 
 promised to exercise towards him as an author. Mean- 
 while Mr. Harris, of Covent Garden, having heard of Mr. 
 Payne's version of the Maid and Magpie^ called upon him, 
 and offered a hundred pounds for it, with leave to make 
 every change in it the theatre might think fit. The bar- 
 gain was struck, and Mr. Payne now went back to 
 France upon the affairs of Drury Lane. From this time 
 his career as a dramatic author commenced. That the 
 theatre might receive every possible advantage from his 
 exertions, Mr. Payne was so thoughtless as to listen to one 
 of those literary adventurers who are ever on the look out 
 for prey in crowded cities. This person had introduced 
 himself to Mr. Payne, who was touched by the picture he 
 drew of his wretched fortunes, and gratified with a talent 
 he displayed for music. He thought he might at the same 
 time serve a neglected genius, and benefit the establish- 
 ment which seemed to be so warmly espousing his own 
 interests. Indeed he spared no trouble or expense for the 
 purpose of gaining advantage to Drury Lane, over the 
 rival house. The first play he sent over was Accusation, a 
 melo€rama in three acts ; in the manuscript of which the 
 stage business was so thoroughly defined, that, notwith- 
 standing its complexity, the drama was produced in the 
 
56 Life and Writings op 
 
 unprecedentedly short time of ten days following its ar- 
 rival in London. The circumstance is mentioned as a 
 remarkable one in the reminiscences of Dibdin, who was 
 then stage manager. But he does not state whence the 
 celerity arose, and takes the credit of it to himself. In- 
 deed a system was organized by our new-fledged dramatic 
 author, through which any w^ork might be transferred 
 to London, with all its original beauty and finish, as 
 soon as the news could arrive there of its first performance 
 in the city of Paris." 
 
 In the meantime the Maid and Magpie had been pro- 
 duced by Mr. Harris, and had proved a great success. 
 
 The drama of Accusation was produced for the first 
 time, at theDrury Lane Theatre, February 1st, 1816. We 
 have taken the following remarks on its first production 
 and its plot from The European Magazine. The story of 
 the drama is a pretty one and will interest our readers. 
 
 " Feb. 1. Accusation ; or, the Familg of Anglade. This 
 drama is an historical tale of domestic suflering, recorded 
 in a French work entitled Causes Celebres." It abounds in 
 the pathetic ; and is dramatized with considerable ingenuity 
 of plot, as well as scenic illusion. Valmore (Wallack) is 
 the impetuous representation of a guilty passion which he 
 desperately cherishes for Madame d' Anglade (Miss Kelly), 
 upon whose spirited rejection of his infamous suit, he 
 resolves on the destruction of her husband (Rae). To this 
 end he employs the agency of Hubert (S. Penley) who is 
 his valet, and a most ready scoundrel. The plans of his 
 confidant are materially assisted by his accidentally disco- 
 vering an old friend in iniquity (Barnard) disguised as an 
 Italian strolling musician ; who, at his instigation, meditates 
 a political robbery on Madam.e Serval (Mrs. Glover), the 
 aunt of Valmore, resident in the same hotel with the 
 d'Anglades. It happens, meanwhile, that a mysterious 
 stranger (Bartley) obtrudes unceremoniously into the pre- 
 sence of M. d' Anglade, avowing himself to be the rightful 
 
John Howard Payne. 57 
 
 heir of certain estates inherited by M. d'Anglade under 
 the supposition of his decease. The demands of this stern 
 visitor are peremptory: he not only claims restitution ol 
 his lands, but insists on instantly receiving their past 
 revenues. M. d'Anglade, the soul of honor, had devoted 
 much of his income to the claims of humanity ; whence he 
 is compelled to yield, under his ill fortune, to the endear- 
 ing solicitations of his beloved wife, who urges him to sell 
 her jewels, and satisfy his unexpected creditor. This cir- 
 cumstance coming to the knowledge of Hubert, he com- 
 mits the preconcerted robbery that night, and his associate, 
 the following morning, personates the jeweler who was 
 expected to purchase the d'Avglade diamonds. The transfer 
 having taken place, M. d'Anglade unconsciously becomes 
 possessed of 4,500^. of stolen notes ; and the jewels, together 
 with the pocket book of Madame Serval containing the 
 remainder of the robbery, excepting 500^. are insidiously 
 placed beneath a sofa pillow in the study. The police 
 almost immediately enter to search the house ; and having 
 made the arranged discovery, M. d'Anglade is torn from the 
 embraces of his distracted wife, and committed to the city 
 prison. Previously, however, to this latter event, the 
 stranger reappears, professes himself the friend and advo- 
 cate of his injured kinsman ; manfully denies the possi- 
 bility of M. d'Anglade's guilt ; and oifers to purchase his 
 release to the extent of his immense fortune. Madame 
 Serval, with equal magnanimity, releases her claims ; but 
 the law will be obeyed. At length, through the villany of 
 the confederates, who are desirous each to cheat the other 
 of the secreted 500^., notes to that amount are found upon 
 Hubert. Suspicion likewise attached to a sailor ; he is 
 taken up, and recognized as the pretended jeweler. While 
 in separate custody, these wretches are lured into mutual 
 recrinfination, and the whole secret is disclosed. Valmore, 
 to avoid an ignominious death, becomes a suicide ; and 
 oppressed virtue gloriously triumphs in revealed inno- 
 
58 Life and Writings of 
 
 cence. The performers all excelled in their respective 
 parts ; insomuch that it would be difficult to point indivi- 
 dual merit. There are, however, two scenes, of which we 
 must particularly speak. The first relates to the introduc- 
 tion of the police to M. d'Anglade's study. At this 
 moment we lost all recollection of the public theatre. 
 Our feelings domesticated with the agonized family, we 
 participated in the fulness of their distress; reverencing 
 the calm dignity with which the devoted d'Anglade sus- 
 tained his conscious integrity, and repelled the vile sus- 
 picion levelled at his honor; but, above all, we hailed 
 the animated tenderness with which he repaid the conjugal 
 aiSection so exquisitely expressed by Miss Kelly ; because 
 we have been accustomed to see unmanly suffering superior 
 to the claims of female attraction. This scene cannot be 
 called acting; it is a natural unfolding of the human 
 heart, free from assumption, and spontaneously eloquent. 
 The other is the scene in which Madame Serval, reluctantly 
 convinced of her nephew's guilt, undertakes to probe his 
 conscience, and to urge him, as he values her peace and his 
 own honor, to a vindication of her injured friend. Mrs. 
 Glover gave consummate pathos to this high-wrought pas- 
 sage, and Mr. Wallack's agonies were finely descriptive of 
 a mind tortured by the conflicting emotions of remorse 
 and personal safety. This is the finest acting we have ever 
 seen this gentleman do. When we consider that this play 
 was publicly exhibited on the tenth night after its transla- 
 tion was received from the author at Paris, we are at a loss 
 to comprehend the elegance of the new scenery, classically 
 adapted to its representation. The gradual decline of even- 
 ing, with advancing clouds to usher in the night, was admi- 
 rably executed, and the returning gondolas with Chinese 
 lanterns were beautifully effective. M. d'Anglade' s study 
 was in the true spirit of French decoration ; and the open- 
 ing of his window to gardens illuminated by the effects of 
 a meridian sun, was a novelty deservedly approved. If La 
 
John Howard Payne. 69 
 
 Pic Voleuse had never been represented in this country, we 
 are ready to believe that La Famille d'Anglade, would have 
 excited unmixed and universal sympathy; unfortunately, 
 they produce similar interests, although the latter confes- 
 sedly claims priority. Let not cavillers sneer at a casual in- 
 troduction of foreign imagery to our would-be classic boards. 
 
 "Be it remembered, that Attic salt seasoned the banquet 
 at the Roman schools ; and although French sentiment may 
 not irradiate to the splendor of our native muse, we see 
 no good reason why it should not be permitted to dazzle, 
 without prejudice to the greatness of our native drama." 
 
 The drama was so successful that it had a run of many 
 consecutive nights during its first season, and for several 
 seasons afterwards it was frequently repeated. !N"otwith- 
 standing all Mr. Payne's devotion to the interest of Drury 
 Lane theatre, an unlooked-for and strange difficulty started 
 up in his path. He had warmly praised to the committee 
 the manner in which his associate's share of an opera had 
 been executed. Mr. Kennaird echoed the praise, and 
 accepted the opera. The man's vanity was now excited 
 to supplant the master. It happened, unfortunately, that 
 the theatre was getting into embarrassment. No offer of 
 indemnity for the vast expense Mr. Payne had incurred, 
 had been tendered. He sent a sketch of his outlay. An 
 eclaircissement followed, which hurried Mr. Payne forthwith 
 to London again. The instant remuneration was asked, 
 numerous works which had been eagerly accepted, were 
 sent back. An opposition to Mr. Kennaird in the com- 
 mittee endeavored to shift entirely upon his shoulders the 
 engagement of Mr. Payne. Mr. Kennaird, at the same 
 time, as far as possible to get rid of the consequences, 
 and keep our countryman in check, encouraged the faith- 
 less agent we have mentioned, who, wishing to get the 
 employment into his own hand, had inveighed, not only 
 against his employer's talent, but his industry and his de- 
 mands. Even the pledge to produce him us an actor was 
 
60 Life and Writings of 
 
 subtly shunned, by the specious offer of a line of characters 
 it was privately known he would not accept. The result 
 was, a loss of not only his time but of upwards of two thou- 
 sand dollars expended for the interest of Drury Lane 
 theatre. For all the labor he had done, he received about 
 two hundred guineas sterling (one thousand dollars). 
 That amount, having been the sum regularly accruing from 
 the performances of Accusation, could not be avoided. 
 Further compensation would have been awarded had there 
 been an appeal to the law ; but Payne was too much dis- 
 gusted and annoyed at this tissue of sordid and paltry in- 
 trigues, not to be glad that the affair should drop. Indeed, 
 he felt himself too unfriended and alone even to dream of 
 further struggling ; and it so happened that another open- 
 ing immediately arose, which withdrew his attention from 
 the ill treatment of old Drury and her myrmidons. 
 
 In the midst of this dilemma, Howard Payne had a 
 visit from Mr. Harris of the Covent Garden theatre ; that 
 gentleman expressed his regret at the conduct of the 
 rival house, and offered him an engagement at Covent 
 Garden, both literary and theatrical, and said that he 
 would put it in so specific a form as to render disappoint- 
 ment impossible. For these services he offered three 
 hundred guineas for the general attention of Mr. Payne to 
 the benefit of the establishment during the season, and 
 stipulated to bring him out as an actor, with further and 
 independent compensation, and allowing him also to select 
 his own plays and characters." This was satisfactory to 
 Mr. Payne, and he was secured. For his literary aid there 
 was a still further provision. He was to acquaint the 
 management with all the novelties which might appear 
 abroad. Should a free translation be required, he was to 
 make it asd receive fifty pounds, and should the manage- 
 ment then have him make an ada{)tation of it, he was to 
 obtain a further recompense to the full extent regularly 
 paid to authors, viz : about the rate of one thousand dollars 
 
John Howard Payne. 61 
 
 a play. This engagement, which could not have been 
 dictated by any but a liberal spirit, was forthwith accepted, 
 and it led to great intimacy between the manager and Mr. 
 Payne. Unfortunately, however, they were known to be 
 daily closeted upon the affairs of the theatre. The nature 
 of the engagement was not understood, but Payne was 
 suspected of havijig great influence and to be dangerous. 
 Favorites have no friends. The first discontentedness was 
 brought about by the interference of the hack writers about 
 the establishment with a right implied in the literary 
 clause of his contraxit. Versions of his were given to 
 others to work up. Some of his pieces, thus obtained, 
 became stock plays. A second source of disquietude ori- 
 ginated in the postponement of his announcement to act. 
 It chanced unluckily that Macready had been engaged 
 just before hira. To Payne was intrusted much of the 
 machinery of this actor's success, at the time. That being 
 secured, the manager was reminded that the season was 
 wearing away. Mr. Harris, at length, determined to keep 
 his word. Adelgitha was the play fixed for his debut. We 
 have now before us the bills of Covent Garden, in which 
 the play altered by our author is cast as follows : 
 
 Guiscard, . . . Mr. Young. 
 
 Michael Ducas, - - Mr. Macready. 
 
 Adelgitha, - . - Miss O^l^eil. 
 
 Lothair, . - . John Howard Payne. 
 
 This announcement was on the bills of the 20th, 22d, 23d, 
 and 24th of February, 1817, and the bills of the 25th, 26th, 
 27th, and 28th; it is promised to be positively performed 
 on the following Tuesday, but, on Saturday, March 1st, 
 and Monday, 3d, it is changed again to the Saturday fol- 
 lowing, and then never mentioned more. How, it may be 
 asked, did this happen ? Those who are versed in green- 
 room mysteries, can perhaps answer. There are no lead- 
 ing men of any profession who like to be leading objects 
 more than actors. It is a great fault in the profession 
 
62 Life and Writings of 
 
 everywhere. In Payne's case with Adelgitha, every time 
 the tragedy was announced for performance some one 
 of the three leading actors named in the cast was sud- 
 denly taken sick. In the interim, Passion week put in 
 its appearance. On that occasion the London theatres 
 were usually closed, but those elsewhere continued open. 
 Payne was now invited to perform daring the week at 
 Bath, where he was received with great enthusiasm, and 
 could have played another week with equally great success, 
 but other engagements of stars in the theatre prevented 
 him. On his return to London, unluckily, in springing 
 from the coach, he sprained his ancle which laid him up for 
 several weeks. ]N"ow that he was unable to appear, all 
 the other actors announced that they were ready for Adel- 
 githa. Too plainly was advantage taken of his accident. 
 Besides, the envious about the theatre, during Payne's con- 
 finement, embraced the opportunity to cool the manager 
 against him, by persuading the withdrawal of Adelgitha on 
 the sole ground of ridiculous superstition. 
 
 Mr. Harris then offered to bring out Mr. Payne in all of 
 Mr. Charles Kemble's parts, with whom at the time Mr. 
 Harris was at variance. But then to oppose an actor so 
 well liked and upheld by the public, would have been an 
 act of madness on the part of Payne, and he therefore, in 
 the most manly manner, refused to do anything of the sort. 
 Angry communications followed in which Mr. Harris up- 
 braided Payne for complaining of his treatment as an actor, 
 when, as an author, he had received from the theatre that 
 season more than he had brought to it. Mr. Payne protested 
 against the unfairness of the charge, because he had been 
 bound down to act under the dictations of the manager. 
 " Shall Mr. Harris blame the instrument because he did 
 not know how to work it, and would not be instructed? " 
 Of this it was not long before Payne convinced Mr. Harris. 
 
 At this time, Payne observed that the great Kean was 
 somewhat languishing in public favor from more than one 
 
John Howard Payne. 63 
 
 cause, and that the Drury Lane required some new attrac- 
 tion to lift up its then declining fortunes. The idea struck 
 Payne that a new five-act play, suiting the peculiar powers 
 of Mr. Kean, would revive the business of DruryLane, and 
 the fortunes of the tragedian. He had read several plays on 
 the subject of Brutus in as many languages, and concluded 
 that it was just the subject. He at once constructed his 
 new tragedy, and concluding that it was in good shape, 
 although not finished to his perfect liking, he took it to the 
 chairman of the Drury Lane management, by whom it was 
 read, he in turn immediately sent for Mr. Kean, and he at 
 once took hold of it with avidity, and said that he did not 
 conceive it capable of improvement. It was decided to 
 produce it. Mr. Payne was sent for, he declined producing 
 it without a little more polishing, which he did in a few 
 days. It was accepted, and the production of the tragedy 
 was placed in his hands. He made all the plans for the 
 scenery and stage sets, overlooked the making of the pro- 
 perties, and costumes and placed the piece upon the stage 
 with such historical accuracy as had very seldom been 
 seen upon the English stage. The tragedy was produced 
 for the first time on Thursday evening, December 3d, 1818. 
 The play at once met with the most marked success, and 
 was performed to crowded houses for twenty-three con- 
 secutive nights, and would have continued without abate- 
 ment, had it not been for other arrangements of the 
 management, and the holidays, stepping in for the purpose 
 of pantomime and such other performances as were impera- 
 tive with all theatres at such seasons. However, the holiday 
 season over, Brutus was reproduced on January 13th, and 
 was that season continued up to fifty -three nights. The cast 
 of the play, the costumes, and the scenery were spoken of 
 by the press in the highest terms. As we have in our pos- 
 session an original play-bill of the eighteenth night, we 
 here insert a/ac simile, which is worthy of preservation. 
 
64 Life and Writings of 
 
 Last Night of the Company's performing till the Holidays 
 Eighteenth Night of the New Tragedy. 
 
 THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY-IiANE. 
 
 This Evening, WEDNESDAY, December 23, 1818, 
 
 Hia Majesty's Servants will perform, (18<A time) a New Historical Tragedy entitled 
 
 BRUTUS; 
 
 Or, The Fall of Tarquin. 
 
 With new Scenery, Machinery, Dresses and Decorations. 
 The SCENERY by Mr. GREENWOOD, and Assistants. 
 
 The MACHINEKY by Mr. LETHBKIDGE, and the DECOKATIONS executed under his direction, 
 by Messrs. Murphy, Morris, and Assistants. 
 
 The DRESSES by Mr. BANKS and Miss SMITH . DECORATRICE. Miss ROBINSON. 
 
 The MUSICK, incidental to the Piece, by Mr. T. COOKE. 
 Lucius Junius, Mr. K E A N, 
 
 Titus, Mr. D. FISHER. Sextus Tarquin, Mr. H. KEMBLE, 
 
 Aruns, Mr. PENLEY, Claudius, Mr. COVENEY, 
 
 Collatinus, Mr. BENGOUGII, Valerius, Mr. HOLLAND, 
 
 Lucretius, Mr. POWELL, Horatius, Mr. Y ARNOLD, 
 
 Tnllia, Mrs. GLOVE K, Tarquinia, Mrs. W. WEST, 
 
 Lucretia, Mrs. ROBINSON, Priestess of Rhea's Temple, Mrs. BRERETON. 
 In Act the First, 
 
 The Procession of Tarquinia to the Temple of Fortune. 
 
 In the course of the Tragedy, the following NEW SCENES, designed by Mr. GREENWOOD, 
 and painted by him and Assistants, will be exhibited. 
 
 A STREET IN ANCIENT ROME. 
 
 Roman, Encampment before Jlrdea* 
 
 The TENT of SEXTUS, with distant View of the CAMP before ARDEA. 
 
 The Equestrian Statue of Tarquinius Superbus. 
 
 The For urn. 
 
 The Court Yard and Palace of Tarquinius Superhus. 
 
 RUINS IN ANCIENT ROxME. 
 
 Ternple of lihea ^ Monumental IStalae of iServius Tuilius. 
 
 APARTMi]NT IN THE HOUSE OF BRUTUS. 
 
 VIEW inROME token from La Thierre's celebrated Picture of 
 
 The JIJDGMEIVT of BRVTUS. 
 
 t+tThe Romance of BARMECIDE, as it is performed, may be had in the Theatre : and of 
 
 R. WHITE, 11, Brydges Street. 
 
 After which, (10th time) a new Dramatick Romance, in 3 Acts, calkd 
 
 BARMECIDE . 
 
 Principal characters by 
 
 Mr. H. JOHNSTON, Mr. H. KEMBLE, Mr. WATKINSON. 
 
 Mr. COWELL, Mr. BENGOUGH, Mr. SMITH, Mr. COVENEY. 
 
 Mrs. ORGER. 
 
 In Act I. (incidental to the Piece). 
 
 A PAS DEUX, by Miss VALANCY and Miss J, SCOTT; 
 
 And a PAS SEUL, liy Miss TREE. 
 
 Vivatliex! No Money to be returned, liodwell. Printer, Theatre Royal. Drury Lane. 
 
 The New Historical Tragedy of 
 
 BRVTVS, or The Fail of Tarquin, 
 
 Having now attained the utmost hMght of popularity and universal approbation, producing on every 
 Evening of performance a vast overtTow from all parts of the Theatre very shortly after the doors are 
 opened ; — its representation being nightly accompanied by torrents of the most loud and rapturous 
 applause, and its announcement for repetition constantly bailed by the unanimous cheers and acclama- 
 tions of the whole House, will be acted this Evening ; after which, its performance must be 
 suspended on account of Mr. KEAN's absence from London, to fulfill a provincial engagement, 
 but on Mr. K'.s return, the representations of that unprecedentedji' successful and popular Tragedy 
 will be immediately resumed. 
 
 ;^~ NO ORDERS CAN POSSIBLY BE ADMITTED. _ 
 
 Mr. KEAJy 
 
 Whose representation of Lucius Junius, in the New Tragedy, has been productive of the most powerful 
 
 ettect on the feelings of delighted and admiring audiences, will repeat that character this Evening. 
 
 On Saturday, (December 2«j Lillo's Tragedy of GEOliGE BARNWELL. 
 George Barnwell, (1st time) Mr. H. KEMBLE, Trueman, Mr HAMBLIN, (Ms first appearance) 
 Millwood, Ifirsttime) Mrs. W. WEST 
 With (never actedi A new CUMICK PANTOMIME, called 
 
 HARLEQUIN and the DAJSDY CLUB 
 
John Howard Payne. 65 
 
 It was originally intended that Mr. Payne himself should 
 perform the part of Titus, but this was opposed by Stephen 
 Kemble at the time, on the ground of his thinking it indeli- 
 cate for the author to appear in his own play. Kemble 
 was the stage manager of the theatre, and Mr. Payne, in 
 his good nature, gave way to Mr. Kemble's idea. This 
 was a great mistake on the part of Mr. Payne, as the long 
 run which the tragedy had, would have been the means of 
 introducing Mr. Payne more frequently to the public as 
 an actor, and thereby giving him an opportunity to become 
 a favorite as such with the public. 
 
 The tragedy was a wonderful success; Kean made a 
 great hit in the part of Brutus. The fortunes of the theatre 
 and the actor were redeemed, the great theatre was packed 
 every night, while Covent Garden was nightly performing 
 to almost empty benches. Harris now fully discovered 
 that he had not valued Payne as highly as he deserved, 
 and regretted that he allowed himself to be prejudiced 
 against him, and did not make better use of the materials 
 he had placed in his hands. The tragedy was spoken of 
 by the press in very high terms, with the exception of one 
 or two papers, which, not able to find fault with the construc- 
 tion of the tragedy, etc., set up a plea that Mr. Payne had 
 made a very large use of materials belonging to other 
 dramatists. The person who started this assault upon the 
 originality of the tragedy, is the same elsewhere alluded 
 to in former parts of this work. The first accusation was, 
 that Mr. Payne had taken the most of his plot and lan- 
 guage from a manuscript play by the then late Mr. Cum- 
 berland. But the London Literary Journal, in which this 
 ridiculous statement first appeared, on the week following 
 the first production of the play, contradicts the whole 
 matter by the following statement. 
 9 
 
66 Life and Writings of 
 
 {Literary Journal, Saturday, December 12th, 1S18, page 602.) 
 
 " The tragedy oi Brutus was repeated on Wednesday even- 
 ing for the sixth time, before a crowded audience and with 
 great applause. We have great pleasure in finding our- 
 selves authorized to contradict the statement to which we 
 referred last week, and in which the late Mr. Cumberland 
 was represented to have been the real author of this play. 
 Brutus is undoubtedly the production of Mr. John Howard 
 Payne. The construction of the subject differs thoroughly 
 from any former treatment of the story, and the present 
 production is exceedingly creditable to the poet." 
 
 The European Magazine and London Review, one of the 
 best critical authorities of the day, remarked thus, " The 
 new tragedy of Brutus attracts nightly such audiences as it 
 so well merits. It is from the pen of Mr. John Howard 
 Payne, a young gentleman of much actual merit, and 
 of great future promise. He has followed the story 
 in the Roman history with a judicious softening of the 
 more austere features of the monstrous act. The play 
 opens at the camp of Ardea, near Rome, after the return 
 of Brutus from Delphia, still wearing his idiot's guise. 
 Tullia, the tyrant's wife, who drove her chariot over the 
 dead body of her father, is disturbed by dreams and pre- 
 dictions. ' The fall of Tarquin shall be effected by a fool,' 
 such was the prophecy that roused her fears, of which the 
 object is Lucius Junius Brutus. She sends for him, but is 
 quieted by his seeming imbecility. The memorable wager 
 is now made at the camp, and CoUaiinus and the younger 
 Tarquin set out instantly for Rome, to make trial of the 
 excellence of their wives. They visit Lucretia ; Sextus Tar- 
 quinius becomes enamored, returns the next night alone 
 and by the infamy of his crime provokes the genius of 
 Roman liberty and justice. Sextus on hia return meets 
 Brutus, relates to him his infamous adventure. The latter 
 throws off the mask, starts forth into his real character. 
 
John Howard Payne. 67 
 
 and assails the wretch with indignant curses. Brutus 
 swears upon the reeking dagger to revenge her, and give 
 Rome freedom. The people join him; shut the gates 
 against the tyrant, and tear down the palace. TalUa is 
 condemned by Brutus to be imprisoned in Rhea's Temple 
 which contained her father's tomb. She is brought there, 
 horror-struck, and dies, at the side of the monumental 
 statue of her father, which in her frenzy she fancied was his 
 spectre. The consular government is now formed, and the 
 conspiracy of the young nobles of Rome is discovered. 
 The son of Brutus {Titus) is among them. He had been 
 won by his love for Tarquinia, the tyrant's daughter who 
 had saved his life. Now comes the trial of the soul of 
 Brutus. The consulate condemn to death all of the young 
 nobles, but Titus, whom, out of respect for the deliverer of 
 Rome, they place in his hands for judgment. Brutus could 
 not fail in the cause of justice, and is therefore forced by the 
 example of the consulate to mete out the same punish- 
 ment to his own son as had been given to others. He 
 judges and condemns his own child to death, gives the 
 signal for his execution, sees it done behind the scenes, 
 loses the Roman in the father, when the axe gives the 
 fatal blow, falls into the arms of his brother-consul when 
 the curtain falls. 
 
 " The unity of time, it will be observed, is wholly disre- 
 garded by the author of the play, but Shakespeare has done 
 the same thing in all of his historical plays. Mr. Payne, 
 however, has observed the simplicity of the action, and 
 even the unity of place is not very palpably violated by the 
 change of scene between Rome and Ardea and Collatinus. 
 The author of the play has taken some advantage of Lee's 
 play on this subject, and is somewhat indebted to Voltaire. 
 The traces of Lee may be observed in the early scenes 
 whicfi are made use of more in the light of suggestion than 
 literally. There are several plays on this subject; but 
 the structure of the tragedy before us has not been taken 
 
68 Life and Writings of 
 
 from any of them. We should judge, on the contrary, 
 that the author took the subject as he found it in Livy, 
 one of the most eloquent, and decidedly the most dramatic, 
 of historians, that he sketched out his play on his own 
 views, and, in completing his work, has given us a suc- 
 cessful tragedy on the subject of Brutus, which none of 
 the other dramatists have done with the same subject. 
 The character of Brutus was performed with great ability 
 and effect by Mr. Kean. The transitions from seeming 
 idiocy to intellectual and moral elevation, were power- 
 ful, natural, and un exaggerated. There was, perhaps, 
 some want of the antique classic grandeur which we 
 associate with the elder Brutus, but on the other hand, there 
 were fine touches of energy and pathos. All the other 
 characters were subordinate. Titus, the son of Brutus, and 
 Sextus were respectably played by Mr. Fisher, and Mr. H. 
 Kemble. Mrs. Glover represented the remorse and frenzy 
 of Tullia, with great force, and Mrs. West produced some 
 fine effects in Tarquinia." 
 
 It might have been supposed that the overwhelming 
 success of Brutus would have turned the tide of fortune in 
 Mr. Payne's favor, for as his career had been a baffled one, 
 a little bit of sunshine here might have been looked for, 
 but, alas! it was not his fate, and, however gratifying its 
 numerous performances may have been to the author, still 
 the fact of having been accused of appropriating the ideas 
 of others without acknowledgment, was like a wreath of 
 thorns to his over sensitive mind, which no manner of suc- 
 cess could relieve of the sting. ISTo man was ever more 
 honest in whatever he did than Mr. Payne, and, on every 
 occasion when Mr. Payne made even the slightest use of 
 other authors, he always mentioned the facts in the preface 
 in the printed editions of his dramas, and such was the 
 case with the tragedy of Brutus, which was placed before 
 the public in printed form in ten days after its first per- 
 formance. In this preface, he says : " There are seven plays 
 
John Howard Payne. 69 
 
 upon the subject of Brutus, which are before the public, 
 only two have been thought capable of representation, and 
 those two did not long hold possession of the stage. In 
 the present play, I have had no hesitation in adopting the 
 conceptions and, in some slight instances, the language of 
 my predecessors, whenever they seemed likely to strengthen 
 the plan I had prescribed. Such obligations, to be culpa- 
 ble, must be secret." 
 
 At last, however, all admitted that Mr. Payne had large 
 claims on tbe public for having wrought and combined 
 into a fine tragedy a Eoman story over which all pre- 
 vious dramatists had failed in producing a successful result. 
 "We maintain," says a London reviewer, "that old and 
 new parts combined constitute a new whole. If new parts 
 are added to an old machine and thereby cause it to pro- 
 duce new results, the whole machine is a new one." 
 
 The attack on the score of want of due acknowledgment, 
 soon died away. It was discovered to have originated 
 with the person who had taken the place of Mr. Payne at 
 Covent Garden, and the reason of its being so pertinaciously 
 urged, no longer ceased to be a wonder. It is said that 
 Thomas Moore asked Washington Irving, what all this 
 bustle was, about Payne and Brutus. 
 
 " Why" replied Irving, " Payne has given credit for his 
 play to six authors from whom he has taken hints ; but, 
 because he has included a seventh, from whom he has 
 borrowed nothing, they have raised against him a hue and 
 cry for plagiarism." A London paper answered the cen- 
 sors in an epigram. Its substance, was " That the ancients 
 leagued with Brutus to turn out oppressors, but the moderns 
 now turned out to oppress Brutus." 
 
 The attacks, however, were not made to be refuted. 
 The object was, if possible, to destroy Mr. Payne's standing 
 with the committee, one of whom testily told him that the 
 lord chancellor would be applied to for an injunction to 
 prevent the performance of Brutus, which it was feared 
 
70 Life and Writings of 
 
 would be granted, and when he inquired into the origin 
 of the impression, it was answered that the Right Hon. 
 Sir William Scott (afterwards Lord Stowell) had com- 
 plained to his brother, the lord high chancellor (Lord 
 Eldon), that the play of Brutus was unconstitutional and 
 ought to be suppressed ; upon which the chancellor, it was 
 said, promised to read it and decide, and was expected 
 to decide unfavorably, upon which Mr. Payne immediately 
 wrote to that learned jurist, and obtained the following 
 candid and circumstantial reply in explanation. 
 
 " To John Howard Pagne, Esq. 
 
 " Sir : I have no right whatever to complain of the mode 
 in which you attempt to do yourself justice; and I shall 
 be truly sorry if I have unintentionally done you auy in- 
 justice. It was far from any purpose of mine, in a conver- 
 sation to which you allude, the whole of which I most 
 unreservedly submit to you, as far as I recollect it. 
 
 " Living upon terms of the most unguarded familiarity 
 with my brother, I certainly did mention to him accidentally 
 what I had heard in several companies, that the play of 
 Brutus did contain passages calculated to produce demo- 
 cratic impressions ; but I added, that I had neither seen 
 nor read the play, and therefore could say nothing of it, 
 but what was conveyed to me in common report. I was 
 not at that time talking to the chancellor, in his official 
 capacity, or in the way of complaint, but to my brother, 
 in the idle style of private gossip, meaning neither to ex- 
 press any opinion of my own, nor that what I said should 
 go beyond himself and some other person who happened 
 to be in the room. The subject was not started by me, 
 nor pursued by me any further. I think my brother 
 said, he had heard similar reports of strong passages in 
 the play. The matter dropped there entirely, and I am 
 grieved that any such consequences as you describe have 
 resulted from it. It never could have occurred to my 
 
John Howard Payne. 71 
 
 thoughts, that such a conversation so qualified could have 
 produced them. K any such use has been made of it, it is 
 a very unjust one, and for which I cannot consider myself 
 as at all morally answerable, though I regret very much the 
 having accidentally given the slightest and remotest occa- 
 sion for it. I am, sir, your most obedient servant." 
 
 (Signed), Wm. Scott. 
 " Grafton street, Jan. 22, 1819." 
 
 A copy of this letter was laid before the sub-committee, 
 who generally expressed their satisfaction at the course 
 adopted, but the particular member whose remonstrance 
 had led to the appeal, spoke of it with much chagrin. It 
 then came out that it was with that member himself Sir 
 William had conversed. By Mm the subject had been 
 started. So much for the intrigues even of the wealthy 
 and the wise when they get into a green-room. The com- 
 mittee, however, loved the author none the better for 
 showing them that he had been wronged among them. 
 The proof soon appeared. Brutus was bringing thousands 
 to the treasury. Even Kean was gaining fifty pounds a 
 week extra for performing in it. But the author had been 
 lured into an improvident bargain. He had consented to 
 be paid by benefits. But he consented upon an over- 
 statement of the average of the season and an extravagant 
 estimate of charges. It chanced, too, that the weather and 
 other drawbacks, rendered the houses on his nights thinner 
 than on any other. There were four : the first Dec. 5, 
 yielding a profit of 48?. 25. 6rf. ; the second Dec. 5, lU. lis. 
 Qd. ; the third Dec. 12, mi 2s. U. ; the fourth, Jan. 15, Ul. 
 95. Qd. ; in all 183?. Qd. : being twenty pounds less than the 
 established recompense for a successful afterpiece. This 
 was 80 utterly inadequate, that Payne was advised to 
 apply to the committee for a reconsideration of the agree- 
 ment. Whereon Mr. Payne sent the following communi- 
 cation. 
 
72 Life and Writings of 
 
 To the Committee in management of 
 
 the Theatre Royal Drury Lane. 
 " Gentlemen : It has been stated to me in knowing quar- 
 ters, as coming from a member of your committee, that I 
 had gained a thousand pounds by the tragedy of Brutus. This 
 is a very wide and injurious mistake, and I beg leave to state 
 (which you must know as well as I do,) that the full amount 
 I have received is one hundred and eighty-three pounds, 
 six shillings. There was an agreement that I should have 
 the surplus of four nights' benefits, as the amount to be 
 paid for the tragedy. This agreement I acknowledge has 
 been faithfully fulfilled. It was not my wish to have given 
 the play on such terms. My own proposals in writing 
 are in Mr. Kemble's hands. But I was led to understand 
 that no other terms would be accepted. 
 
 " I am aware that all theatrical speculation is peculiarly 
 uncertain; still, from the beginning, I indulged an expec- 
 tation that, even if my benefits failed, I should not be suf- 
 fered to lose. I was impelled to this belief by knowing 
 that there is no recorded case of great success which has 
 not met with a corresponding consideration from the 
 theatre, whether previously agreed upon, or not. Perform- 
 ers are always paid in some proportion to the increased 
 profits arising to the house from their engagement, and 
 authors are rewarded for extraordinary attraction upon the 
 same principle. Though four hundred guineas is the esta- 
 blished sum for a five-act play which runs twenty nights, 
 yet it is an equally established custom to present any per- 
 son who furnishes the theatre with a play which produces 
 great advantages, an additional remuneration, which has 
 varied, in different cases, from one to five hundred guineas. 
 A farce is usually rated at two hundred guineas for twenty 
 nights. Hence it appears that Brutus, which has now 
 reached its forty-first representation, has brought me 
 
John Howard Payne. 73 
 
 twenty pounds less than the regular recompense for a suc- 
 cessful after-piece. 
 
 "It is an object of some consequence to me, to ascertain 
 what chances of emolument I may find, to fix my atten- 
 tion upon dramatic authorship. The present play has 
 enjoyed a popularity as great as can be wished for any like 
 production, and allow me to refer you to your own bills for 
 your own impression of its attractions. The mind is un- 
 nerved for further great exertions, when it is not suffered 
 to derive adequate advantages from present success. If the 
 greatest good fortune to the theatre confers no encouraging 
 reward on him who causes it, even hope itself is deprived 
 of incentive. Payment by benefits is, at best, precarious. 
 When the result to the one party proves of such high im- 
 portance, something further is naturally to be expected by 
 the author. 
 
 " K I advert to the copyright of Brutus, it can only be 
 to say that it did not bring me a sum by any means com- 
 mensurate with its acknowledged popularity. Mr. Kem- 
 ble has undoubtedly apprised you, gentlemen, that the 
 most indefatigable attention was paid by me to the getting 
 up of this tragedy. I spared neither pains nor expense. 
 I may safely say, that it cost me, in various ways, far be- 
 yond one-third of the sum received for it from the theatre. 
 In the arrangement of the costumes, the scenery, the pro- 
 cessions, all of the stage business, you will discover upon 
 inquiry from the directors of every department, that I was 
 active and unceasing in my exertions, these labors absorbed 
 the whole of my time while the tragedy was in preparation, 
 and their effect is obvious in the unqualified approbation 
 with which they are honored nightly. Even the con- 
 struction of the play-bills, and most of the preparatory 
 paragraphs for the newspapers, were referred to my care. 
 These circumstances will prove that I have not been want- 
 ing in ardor to the cause. 
 10 
 
74 Life and Writings of 
 
 " Having now fully submitted the case to your consider- 
 ation, I beg leave to sum it up in a few words : 1 have 
 received from your treasury one hundred and eighty-three 
 POUNDS, SIX shillings for the tragedy of Brutus. Permit 
 me gentlemen to ask you, if this sum in your opinion is a 
 sufficient recompense for my exertions and the service, 
 which the tragedy of Brutus has rendered your theatre. 
 " I have the honor with the highest respect to be 
 
 "Your very obedient servant, 
 " John Howard Payne." 
 
 The committee admitted that the return was not liberal 
 enough, and the manager was authorized to offer Mr. 
 Payne another benefit, but the terms were fixed so high 
 and the season so far gone, that Mr. Payne was forced to 
 decline it, as the result would most assuredly bring him 
 into debt. Mr. Payne understood the small practice of 
 managers in putting up the expenses so high that it forbid 
 the possibility of the beneficiary receiving one cent. The 
 tricks of the green-room and the box-office had before 
 given him a sad experience. Thus, instead of being bettered 
 by his success as a dramatic author, he was made the vic- 
 tim of every sort of dirty animosity. The very manage- 
 ment was stirred up against him by a report that he was 
 intriguing for the pasteboard crown. Kean, whom he had 
 so largely served, treated him with marked neglect, and, to 
 the astonishment of all the performers, publicly presented 
 Mr. Stephen Kemble, the stage manager, with a gold snuff- 
 box, bearing the last scene of Brutus engraved upon its 
 lid, but took no notice of the author, notwithstanding the 
 author had previously presented Mr. Kean with the very 
 toga he wore, and showed him how its folds should be 
 adjusted to the true Roman style. Kean carried his cold- 
 ness still further. He had induced Payne to prepare a play 
 on the subject of Virginius, which, when finished, and after 
 much labor and loss of time, he cast aside. Meanwhile 
 
John Howard Payne. 75 
 
 the subject of his new tragedy got abroad among the 
 members of the different theatres, and the first thing that 
 Mr. Payne knew was, that the same subject had been 
 worked into a five-act play by a particular friend of Mr. 
 Kean's, which was accepted and handsomely paid for, but it 
 had a run of only thirteen nights, and then was lost sight of 
 forever. The subject of Virginius being a first-rate one, 
 James Sheridan Knowles took hold of it and produced a 
 fine play, which, although it did not have a long run at 
 the time, still holds possession of the stage. It is fortun- 
 ate for the stage that Mr. Knowles was encouraged and 
 treated with more kindness than Mr. Payne, for it has 
 been the means of producing one of the greatest English 
 dramatists. 
 
 The Virginius of Payne never appeared ; parts of it, how- 
 ever, were quoted in the London Magazine and highly com- 
 mended. IsTo further transactions occurred between him 
 and the Drury Lane theatre that season, except the fol- 
 lowing, which is scarcely less singular than the rest that 
 has gone before. A piece upon a French basis was sent 
 to the committee and returned as " being admirable for 
 its incident, but deficient in its dialogue." Payne took it 
 back, rewrote the dialogue in the inflated style then current 
 and returned it to the committee, before whom it was read 
 by the celebrated Mr. Oxberry. The decision now was 
 " That its dialogue was admirable, but it was deficient in 
 incident." The French drama which had supplied the 
 story for this twice-returned drama, was almost imme- 
 diately afterwards brought out both at Drury Lane and 
 Covent Garden theatres, and was successful. As he 
 found that so much advantage was being derived to others 
 by his hints and works, he began to think that the only 
 way was for him to turn manager himself and produce his 
 own pieces upon his own stage. lie saw the Birmingham 
 theatre advertised to lot, and at once made application for 
 it. The proprietors caught at his proposals and desired 
 
76 Life and Writings of 
 
 him to call instantly, but circumstances which he could 
 not control, forced him to delay his visit for over a week, 
 and, when he did call, he was informed that the house had 
 been leased to the person who had so attacked his Brutus. 
 But, though circumvented Mr. Payne did not give up 
 his purpose. Ere long, " The oldest and most respectable 
 minor theatre in London" was to let. The proprietors at 
 once closed with Mr. Payne. He entered upon a hazardous 
 speculation, without fully knowing the ground upon which 
 he ventured. Sadler's Wells Theatre had always been a 
 summer play-house ; regular acting was never thought of 
 there, indeed never permitted by law, but Mr. Payne 
 thought a new interest could be given to it by changing its 
 character, and, although the idea was a good one, still it 
 required more money than Mr. Payne had, to carry it 
 through. It turned out, too, to be a bad time, as there 
 was a great excitement concerning the queen of George 
 IV. The play-goers remained at home to avoid the mobs ; 
 this and death in the royal family subjected him to fur- 
 ther loss, as the London theatres on such occasions are 
 always closed for several days. He incurred still greater 
 disadvantages for disobliging the court party by uphold- 
 ing her majesty's cause in allusive plays. Even the pro- 
 prietors of the house became alarmed, and remonstrated 
 with him for endangering their license. The success of the 
 house afterwards was all the better by the boldness of Mr. 
 Payne. The next season the queen rewarded the atten- 
 tion her interest had received by commending a certain 
 play, but her highness did not know that the management 
 of the house had changed hands. By similar good luck 
 the new management received from the royal treasury for 
 openingthe house gratis on the coronation-night, more than 
 Payne lost by closing it for the royal death. The new 
 management, by the seed Payne had sown, the season before, 
 reaped a fortune, while our adventurous author was brought 
 to great wretchedness by his losses of over seven thousand 
 
John Howard Payne. 77 
 
 dollars, and was besides lodged in a debtor's jail. While 
 here, in this wretched plight and pondering over his hard 
 situation, one morning he received a parcel sealed in black 
 and inscribed Octavius. He opened it and found it to con- 
 tain two French pamphlets, the first of which was a play 
 that had been translated and acted on the opening of his 
 late theatre. He thought that the parcel was meant as an ill- 
 intended banter, and flung the pamphlets aside. But in 
 an hour or so afterwards, wanting something to interest 
 his mind, he picked one of them up again, and on reading 
 a page or two, he became interested and ran it through. 
 He saw at once that it had material for a most admi- 
 rable drama and would just suit the wants of Drury Lane, 
 which had now been abandoned by the old Brutus com- 
 mittee, and was under the direction of Mr. Elliston. In 
 three days, the new play was finished and presented to 
 Elliston, who read it and immediately accepted it, and in 
 ten days afterwards it was acted upon Drury Lane stage ; 
 when the bills and the press pronounced it the best and 
 most successful melodrama that had ever been produced 
 at Drury Lane. The drama in question was TherSse, The 
 Orphan of Geneva. His success even here, however, was 
 destined to be made a source of opposition. The mana- 
 gers of the minor theatres caused the piece to be taken 
 down in short-hand from the pit, and it was brought out 
 at one of the other houses, but was forced from the stage 
 by an injunction from the chancellor. Covent Garden 
 also produced a rival version and with great pomp of 
 scenery and other effects, but was not successful, it being 
 performed for only a few nights, while the people rushed 
 to see Payne's drama at Drury Lane. Miss Kelly made a 
 great hit in the part of ThSrise, while J. W. Wallack, added 
 fresh leaves to his dramatic laurel in the part of Carwin. 
 Payne, while the piece was in rehearsal, managed by some 
 influence to obtain leave to go from his temporary con- 
 finement to the theatre for the purpose of directing its pro- 
 
78 Life and Writings of 
 
 duction. He disguised himself as best he could and by 
 the assistance of a friend, a coach and the by-streets, he 
 not only produced the piece but attended the theatre on the 
 first night of its performance. We extract the following 
 from Mr. Payne's own journal which lies before us, to 
 show the difficulties under which he produced the drama. 
 
 " On Tuesday, January 16th, a parcel was brought to me 
 without a letter or explanation. On it was written Havre, 
 January 18th, and bearing a black seal inscribed Oetavius. 
 The parcel contained two productions of M. Victor, Galas 
 and TMrhe. The uncommon merit of Colas, the British 
 public had already been made familiar with. I at once 
 read Therese, the new production of its ingenious author, 
 and could not hesitate a moment in fitting it for the Eng- 
 lish stage. I went to work, and on Thursday night, 
 January 18th, the adaptation was finished, on the Monday 
 following it was placed in Mr. Elliston's hands, he accepted 
 it on Friday, January 27th, and produced it on Thursday 
 evening, 2d of February, 1821. 
 
 " I am indebted to M. Victor for the compliment which 
 he paid me in so mysterious a manner. I beg to return 
 my thanks for it, and at the same time ask his indulgence 
 towards some alterations in the construction of the drama, 
 especially so, in the third act. 
 
 " Tuesday, February 1st. I could not attend rehearsal of 
 Therese, Purification Day no court sits, and a pass must be 
 signed by the court every morning. 
 
 "Thursday, February 2d, a scampering rehearsal, and 
 Miss Kelly wanted to be excused from attending on account 
 of illness, but was persuaded by a note from me. Heaven 
 
 help Therese ! every body in a bad humor ; EUiston 
 
 and the Pavilion scene not finished. In the third act. Miss 
 Kelly got out of temper and told the management that it 
 was shameful in undertaking to produce a piece, without 
 giving time to the performers to learn the words in a 
 drama; that, if proper time were given, fine effects could be 
 
John Howard Payne. 79 
 
 produced; that it was trifling with the dramatists and 
 the little reputation she had acquired, and, that both were 
 to be sacrificed to an unnecessary precipitation. We got 
 through the rehearsal late in the afternoon. All the com- 
 pany parted with little or no hope for the success of the 
 piece. Distracted myself, I was too sick and prostrated to 
 leave the theatre, was invited to dine in Elliston's room 
 where I remained 'till 'twas time for the theatre to open ; 
 increased headache. At the performance, I got into the 
 upper private box with Mrs. Edwin, Georgina, and Phillis. 
 There was evidently an unfriendly feeling before the cur- 
 tain drew up; the overture (one of Mozart's, which had 
 been mistaken by the audience as something new), was 
 hissed. The setting of the first scene was applauded, and 
 the interest of the audience soon began to be excited. The 
 applause was frequent and increased at every step; 'till, 
 when the act-drops fell, it became tumultuous and was 
 repeated in three or four rounds. 
 
 "There was along pause before the next act began. 
 The people got impatient; I ran down to the stage, 
 alarmed for the consequences. To this act there was not so 
 much applause as might have been, until the close. 
 
 "The third act, especially the scene between Fontain 
 and Therhe was tremendously applauded. Miss Kelly's 
 acting in that scene was one of the most impressive pieces 
 of acting I have ever seen. The play went ofi" to my 
 utter astonishment. The third act was the triumph. I 
 was congratulated by the performers, and the performers 
 congratulated each other. The Hon. George Lamb came 
 up, shook hands with me and expressed his pleasure at 
 the great success of the piece ; he also congratulated Miss 
 Kelly for her fine acting. 
 
 " Before the piece began, I stopped for a moment or two 
 in the green room. They all asked me how I felt. On my 
 asking Wallack the time, he answered, ' Don't be afraid, 
 Payne (laughing), I shall be dressed in time and things wnll 
 
80 Life and Writings of 
 
 go well.' His ease of manner gave me some hope, for Wal- 
 lack was always honest in his opinions and would never 
 give encouragement, unless he had just cause. 
 
 " February 3d. Well, Theresehae succeeded triumphantly, 
 and splendidly, and I am enjoying my triumph with a box 
 of pills before me, a bowl of gruel, my feet in hot water, 
 no fire, and a terrific head-ache. Yet I cannot help remark- 
 ing the contrast in the manner of my reception by the 
 actors and others upon the stage last evening, to the dread- 
 ful coldness with which I was treated on the same stage 
 when Brutus was produced. Miss Kelly thanked me for 
 the little stage-business I showed her, and Wallack thanked 
 me heartily for naming him for the part of Curwin.'' 
 
 This interesting drama of Therese, was, shortly after 
 its production at Drury Lane, published, and its first edi- 
 tion of one thousand copies, the usual number for thea- 
 trical purposes at that time, was consumed, by the general 
 public, in less than one month, 
 
 Mr. Payne, in his preface to his first edition, after 
 complimenting the ladies and gentlemen of the company 
 who first acted in the drama, says : ' One word to my friends 
 the critics, and I have done. They have honored me with 
 more attention than I ever coveted, but I wish them to 
 understand, that this, like former publications of mine, is a 
 work planned for stage effects, exclusively, and printed for 
 managers and actors only. It is so necessary in the pro- 
 duction of the modern drama to consult the peculiarities of 
 leading performers, and not ofiend the restive spirit by 
 means of situation almost pantomimic and too impatient 
 to pause for poetical beauty ; thus it seems almost hope- 
 less to look to the stage of the present days for a perma- 
 nent literary distinction. An actable play seems to derive 
 its value from what is done, more than from what is said, 
 but the great power of a literary work consists in what is 
 said, and the manner of saying it. He, therefore, who best 
 knows the stage, can best tell why, in the present temper 
 
John Howard Payne. 81 
 
 of the audience good poets should so often make bad dra- 
 matists. Should my better stars ever give me leisure or 
 independence, to devote myself to literary work, which I 
 may hope to render worthy of being recollected, I shall 
 select something in which the imagination may be less 
 fettered than it must be by the necessities of the stage. 
 I am not, nor ever have been, so unprincipled as to claim 
 what does not belong to me, and I have only to desire, as 
 a point of common courtesy, that if my excellent good 
 friends should ever do me the honor to censure, or to 
 quote, any of the trifling remarks I have ventured to offer 
 upon the present occasion, they will enhance the obliga- 
 tion by first reading them. 
 
 "J. H. P. 
 
 "London, February 11th, 1821." 
 
 The clouds sometimes gather around us so thickly that 
 we become hopeless as to their ever clearing away. Such 
 was the case with Mr. Payne at the crisis when the mys- 
 terious parcel was sent to him by M. Victor. At no 
 period in the whole of Mr. Payne's life, was he more seri- 
 ously situated, than immediately after his management of 
 Sadler's Wells Theatre, and when he wrote Therese. The 
 sunshine came when least expected. It came, too, in the 
 hours of his deepest gloom, and he was lifted out of his dark- 
 ness. The profits of Therese soon brought him enough to 
 relieve his personal want and satisfy his creditors. ]^o one 
 disliked debt more than Mr. Payne, and no one was more 
 prompt to pay when he had the means to do it with. His 
 affairs were quickly adjusted, and in less than one month 
 after the first production of TMrese, Mr. Payne was in a 
 situation to be asked by Elliston to return to France, and 
 there watch for the interests of Drury Lane Theatre. The 
 new lessee assured him that he would now find different 
 persons to deal with from those who managed the theatre 
 when his tragedy of Brutus was brought out. On these assur- 
 11 
 
82 Life and Writings op 
 
 ances, he returned to Paris and watched for the announce- 
 ments of all new plays. When a new piece was mentioned, 
 he at once sought and became acquainted with the author, 
 and frequently obtained the privilege of reading the manu- 
 script drama before it was produced upon the stage. This 
 done, he would immediately notify Elliston of the fact, and 
 send him a full description of the plot, scenery, dresses, etc., 
 and then anxiously await Elliston's answer, as to whether he 
 should go on with the translation and adaptation. To this 
 effect some of Mr. Payne's letters are highly interesting, 
 containing as they do several pages, showing in every 
 sense, his industry and devotion to his employer. But 
 Elliston was too slow, he was not the man to be associated 
 with such a quick mind as Payne's. He had neither dis- 
 cernment nor determination — he hesitated too long, and 
 lost the golden opportunity of transplanting some of the 
 finest and most successful Parisian novelties. During all 
 this delay on the part of Elliston, Payne's expenses were 
 going on. 
 
 Meanwhile a person by the name of Burroughs, who had 
 been in this country, took the Surrey Theatre, a large minor 
 house in London, and immediately on securing it, he 
 packed off to Paris to obtain the services of Mr. Payne to 
 supply him largely with manuscripts ; but Burroughs was 
 not a man of means, nor prompt when he had them, nor 
 decided in the production of the dramas that Payne would 
 send him, sometimes holding the new piece for three or 
 four months before he would produce it, while he was 
 losing his valuable time by reproducing old hackneyed 
 pieces, that cost him quite as much for new scenery, dresses, 
 etc., as it would have done for Payne's novelty of the 
 French stage. Payne did a great deal of hard work for 
 both him and Elliston. But both concerns, through bad 
 management, were hanging on the ragged verge of bank- 
 ruptcy, while Payne received little or nothing for his hard 
 work and large outlay. 
 
John Howard Payne. 83 
 
 The amount of correspondence that Payne did with 
 Elliston to induce him to produce certain pieces, is remark- 
 able, and especially so on one piece, which he saw per- 
 formed at the Panorama Dramatique, which struck Payne 
 as just the thing for the Drury Lane stage, and a London 
 audience, but Elliston could not be convinced as to what 
 was best. In this case Payne invited Washington Irving 
 and Thomas Moore, who were at that time in Paris, to go 
 and see the performance. Irving could not attend, but Moore 
 and others did, all of whom were delighted with the play, 
 and predicted for it a great run if placed upon the Drury 
 Lane stage. Mr. Irving sent the following letter on the 
 subject to Payne, and Payne in turn sent it to Elliston, 
 hoping that it would induce the tardy manager to a speedy 
 conclusion. 
 
 " Paris, May 1st, 1821. 
 " R. W. Elliston, Esq. : 
 
 " Mr. Irving has this moment sent me a note on the sub- 
 ject of the play which I so much desire you shall produce 
 upon the Drury Lane stage. I hope his letter, which I 
 here transcribe, will induce you to say ' Go on with the 
 work.' I have every faith in the success of the piece if pro- 
 perly done. J. H. P." 
 
 " Dear Payne, 
 
 " I did not get to the Panorama Dramaiique on Saturday 
 evening, as I expected, but I have seen Mr. Moore and 
 others of the party who express themselves highly pleased. 
 Moore seems to have been quite struck with the piece. He 
 thinks the story very interesting and affecting, and the get- 
 ting up of the piece quite ingenious and picturesque. He 
 thinks that it would appear to even greater advantage on 
 the l#rge stage of the Drury Lane Theatre, where the 
 machinery, decorations and properties are superior. He was 
 very much delighted with the last scene (the apotheosis), 
 though it seemed to have shocked one of the ladies a little. 
 
84 Life and Writings of 
 
 That scene, it appears to me, will be a critical one : it may 
 mar the piece, or it may give it an extraordinary attraction. 
 Moore says the scene was rather defective. ' It seemed to 
 be beyond the scope of their art ; excepting the represent- 
 ation of the atmosphere.' I presume the whole scene 
 could be managed better upon the London stage, and from 
 the good report of Moore and others, I would advise you to 
 do the work, whether Elliston desires it or not. Perhaps 
 some other theatre, at some future time, may take a fancy 
 
 to it. 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 " Washington Irving. 
 " Kue Mont Thabor, No. 4. 
 
 April 30th, 1821." 
 
 The communication did no good. Elliston still hnng fire, 
 and likely lost a great success. The capricious notions of 
 Elliston, the delay of Burroughs in producing what Payne 
 had sent him, and the receiving of little or no money from 
 either of them, now placed our dramatist in an unpleasant 
 position. We feel it of sufficient value to relate here, an 
 interesting anecdote which transpired between Payne and 
 Elliston. It was shortly after Payne's arrival in England, 
 and during EUiston's last season at Birmingham, that he 
 met John Howard Payne, the American Roscius, as he 
 was then called, and with whom he had some intimacy. 
 Elliston, at this time greatly pressed by a variety of under- 
 takings, was advertised to play the part of Richard III, 
 on a certain ensuing evening, and was on his way to the 
 rehearsal, when he encountered his friend Payne. 
 
 " My dear Payne," said Elliston, " I well know your 
 readiness in conferring favors, and in the present instance, 
 you can oblige me much. I am on my way to the theatre. 
 We have a rehearsal — Richard III. A rehearsal must be 
 had for the sake of the company, who are a little wild in the 
 play. You know not, ray dear fellow, the whirl I am in at 
 
John Howard Payne. 85 
 
 this present moment. Country theatres in a state of in- 
 surrection, and no solid loyalty at home. Oblige me — 
 run to the theatre — go through the rehearsal with my 
 people — you know the business — put them to their work, 
 and relieve me from this morning's annoyance." 
 
 " Why, 'tis so long since I played the part," replied Payne, 
 " that really" — " lS[o man living could have presented him- 
 self more capable of serving me than you — only put 'em 
 right for Wednesday night, show them how they flog us at 
 I^ew York," added he with one of his slyest twinkles. 
 
 After a little farther expostulation on the one hand, and 
 amicable contention on the other, Howard Payne consented. 
 On entering the stage, Elliston introduced his friend to the 
 principals in attendance, and bidding the prompter imme- 
 diately call the rehearsal, once again whispered "ISTew 
 York ! " into Howard's ear, and vanished. 
 
 The manager now took the opportunity of gliding into an 
 obscure corner. He noticed all that was in progress on the 
 stage. Having witnessed the very able manner in which his 
 friend was conducting the rehearsal in one or two scenes, 
 he left the house with extreme precipitation, and, making 
 the best of his way to his printers, set the compositors 
 at work in striking off two or three hundred bills, of an 
 extraordinary size, announcing, " The arrival of the cele- 
 brated American Roscius, Mr. Howard Payne, who would 
 have the honor of appearing on Wednesday evening next 
 in the part of Richard III.'' 
 
 The bills were printed and nearly posted, in various parts 
 of the town, before the termination of said rehearsal, and 
 when at three o'clock the actors were returning from 
 their morning task, and with them, of course, Howard 
 Payne himself, their eyes were saluted at the corner of 
 almost every street with the " American Roscius for Wed- 
 nesday evening !" Payne was thunder struck and became 
 furious ; refusing, of course, to play a part into which he 
 had been so thoroughly entrapped, and went in search of 
 
86 Life and Writings of 
 
 the manager. Arriving at EUiston's lodgings, he there 
 learnt that unexpected business had called the manager 
 suddenly away to Leicester. 
 
 Poor Payne now retraced his way to the theatre where 
 at every step, " The American Roscius " in Niagara type, 
 assailed his gaze. The actors here gathered about him, 
 for, should Payne still refuse to act, the theatre on Wednes- 
 day night would be closed. Payne, who had but lately 
 arrived in England, knew that he had the public to 
 conciliate; and it was now forcibly represented to him 
 that, should he fail to perform, the Birmingham people 
 would naturally enough suspect Payne of some breach of 
 contract withElliston, and thus look coldly on him for the 
 future. The whole company with one common effort 
 entreated him to play. Their prayers and other consi- 
 derations finally prevailed. Payne consented ; Wednes- 
 day arrived. " The American Roscius" was flattered by 
 crowded boxes and pit, the actor was highly applauded, 
 the receipts great, and EUiston, true to the Wednesday, 
 returned to Birmingham before the first act was over, 
 when all grievances were forgotten in the triumphant re- 
 sult of Richard III. But, better than this for Payne, at 
 the end of the play Payne was loudly called before the 
 curtain, and a repeat demanded by the whole house, which 
 Elliston had to assent to; Payne consenting, performed 
 three nights, and received ten pounds per night. 
 
 But to return to Payne at Paris. After Elliston and 
 Burroughs had placed our dramatist in an unpleasant posi- 
 tion by their delays, he did not have to wait long before 
 he received the news that a change had taken place in the 
 management at Covent Garden Theatre. Mr. Charles 
 Kemble now succeeded Mr. Harris. This gentleman had 
 scarcely assumed the management before he sent to secure 
 the services of Payne. His means being exhausted, no 
 time was to be lost, and he at once put together a batch of 
 manuscript plays, sent them to Kemble, setting the price 
 
John Howard Payne. 87 
 
 of two hundred and fifty pounds upon the whole. Among 
 this collection of plays was one which afterwards appeared 
 under the name of Clari. This drama had long previously 
 been sent to Burroughs under a different name, but he, 
 failing to see its merits, did not produce it. Payne got 
 it back from Burroughs through the instrumentality of 
 his old friend Sir Henry Bishop, the composer, who had 
 hitherto arranged all the music for Mr. Payne's pieces. 
 Payne, in his communication to Mr. Kemble, stated that 
 it would make a good opera, and if he would accept it at 
 once for the sum of fifty pounds, he would make the ne- 
 cessary alterations and get Bishop to arrange the music 
 for it. Kemble instantly accepted the proposal and sent 
 Payne fifty pounds on account of the two hundred and 
 fifty pounds for the batch of plays, of which the drama of 
 Angioleita, now changed to the name of Clari, was one. At 
 this very juncture, however, Burroughs, hearing of what 
 Payne intended to do, produced Angioletta at the Surrey, 
 without the least intimation to Mr. Payne, but withdrew 
 it on the third night at the requisition of the author. 
 
 Mr. Payne changed the plot somewhat and introduced 
 several songs and duets, after which it was immediately 
 brought out as an opera at Covent Garden with prodigious 
 success. Miss M. Tree (the sister of Miss Ellen Tree, after- 
 wards Mrs. Charles Kean) performed the part of Clari to 
 crowded houses for the larger part of the season. It is 
 said that her exquisite performance and singing of the part 
 won for her a husband, the wealthy Mr. Bradshaw. It is 
 in this opera that Mr. Payne introduced his immortal 
 song of Home, Sweet Home ! This song has had a more 
 universal circulation than any other song written before or 
 since. It is a fact that upwards of one hundred thousand 
 copies were issued by its publisher in London in less than 
 one y^ar after its first publication. The profit yielded 
 over two thousand guineas. It at once became so popular 
 that it was heard everywhere. Whether in the streets or 
 
88 Life and Writings op 
 
 the concert or the theatre, it was always welcome to the ear. 
 It has been heard in the cottage and the palace, it has 
 been sung constantly by the humblest peasantry, and sanc- 
 tified by the sweet warblings of a Pasta and a Malibran. 
 "It has been quoted in sermons, and sung with slight 
 alterations, in places of divine worship. It is a favorite 
 song of the exile, and is not unfamiliar in the desert wilds 
 of Africa." This one eifort has so much of the " touch of 
 nature" in it, that the whole world becomes akin in ac- 
 knowledgments and love for its author. 
 
 Still, with all the success of the opera, and the publica- 
 tion of the song, Mr. Payne was the least benefited of all 
 concerned. The publisher of the song did not even place 
 Mr. Payne's name on the title page as the author of the 
 words, or compliment him with a presentation-copy of 
 the music. 
 
 Of late years, there has been some doubt expressed as to 
 who was the composer of the music of Home, Sweet Home ! 
 But the title-page of the original and earlier edition of the 
 sheet music, expresses the matter so clearly, that further 
 cavil on the subject is in every sense unnecessary, and, as 
 we have now before us one of the editions published while 
 the opera of Clari was performing, we copy the title-page 
 below. 
 
 (Fourth Edition.) 
 
 HOME ! SWEET HOME ! 
 
 SUNG BY 
 
 MISS M. TREE, 
 
 IN 
 
 CLARI 
 
 THE MAID OF MILAN, 
 
 COMPOSED AND PARTLY FOUNDED ON A SICILIAN AIR ' 
 BT 
 
 HENRY R. BISHOP. 
 
 Composer and director of the music to the Theatre Royal Covent Garden. 
 
 London, puljlished by Goulding, D'Almaine, Potter &, Co., 20 Soho square, and to be 
 had at 7 Westmoreland St., Dublin. 
 
 1 The Air alluded to is from Mr. Bishop's collection of Melodies of Various Nations. 
 
John Howard Payne. 89 
 
 On the fourth page of this same publication, is the ori- 
 ginal Sicilian melody from which Bishop arranged the music 
 of Home, Sweet Home ! This fourth page also has a title as 
 follows : 
 
 "'MID PLEASURES AND PALACES!" 
 The additional stanza, sung by 
 
 Miss Beaumont in the Episode." 
 
 The additional stanza is identical with the first verse 
 of the song, commencing with the words of" 'Mid pleasures 
 and palaces," with a more frequent repetition of " There's 
 no place like home." The change in the melody from the 
 original Sicilian air is but slight, and the writer regrets that 
 he has been unable to discover the name of the composer 
 of the original Sicilian air. Donnizetti wanted an English 
 air for the last scene in his opera of Anna Bolena, and 
 selected for this purpose, Home, Sweet Home ! thereby un- 
 knowingly returning the air to its native language. 
 
 We have elsewhere stated that the publisher of the music 
 of Home, Sweet Home, did not on the title-page credit the 
 words to Mr. Payne ; this is. accounted for in the fact that 
 Goulding & Co., the publishers, very seldom in those days 
 placed the name of the poet on the title-page. 
 
 Mr. Payne on one occasion in 1835, while at !N'ew Orleans, 
 when questioned on the subject of the music of the song of 
 Home, Sweet Home! told his personal friend Mr. James 
 Rees of Philadelphia, that the air was not wholly original 
 with Mr. Bishop, and related the following pleasant anec- 
 dote concerning it. He said : " I first heard the air in Italy. 
 One beautiful morning as I was strolling alone amid some 
 delightful scenery, my attention was arrested by the sweet 
 voice of a peasant girl who was carrying a basket, laden 
 with flowers and vegetables. This plaintive air she trilled 
 out with so much sweetness and simplicity, that the melody 
 at once caught my fiincy. I accosted her, and after a few 
 12 
 
90 Life and Writings of 
 
 moments' conversation, I asked for the name of the song, 
 which she could not give me, but having a slight know- 
 ledge of music myself, barely enough for the purpose, I 
 requested her to repeat the air, which she did while I dotted 
 down the notes as best I could. It was this air, that sug- 
 gested the words of Home, Sweet Home, both of which I 
 sent to Bishop, at the time I was preparing the opera of 
 Clari for Mr. Kemble. Bishop happened to know the air 
 perfectly well, and adapted the music to the words." This 
 statement is fully sustained in the following letters of Mr. 
 Payne to Mr. Bishop, which we here introduce for the 
 sake of historical accuracy, and also to prove that the 
 words of the song were written in Paris, and not in London, 
 as has been frequently stated. The opera of Clari was first 
 produced May 8th, 1823, at the Covent Garden Theatre. 
 
 "Paris, February 12th, 1823. 
 *' Henry R. Bishop, 
 
 " My Dear Friend : " I sent oflf Clari by the diligence 
 on Sunday morning. You will find I have done what I 
 could to improve it by your suggestions. The hint about 
 the melody I sent you, is so vague that I can only give you 
 something approaching the measure of the Banz des Vaches 
 without much reference to the air, which of course you 
 desire to make as near original as you can. Besides the 
 duets, I have given the Brince three songs, and do not see 
 where more music can be introduced, without overloading 
 the piece. In the songs I have endeavored to give as much 
 variety as possible. There was not time to have polished 
 them as I wished. Home, Sweet Home ! as a refrain will come 
 in nicely. I think that in the duet between Bose and Nim- 
 pedo it would be well to introduce some playful business, 
 which the little laugh I have inserted evidently requires. 
 I have written very largely about the business of the piece 
 and the acting of Clari, and hope Miss Tree will not deem 
 it impertinent. 
 
John Howard Payne. 91 
 
 " I am indebted to you for the prompt interest you have 
 taken in my affairs with Mr. Kemble, and desire, that you 
 will express to him my thanks for the thirty pounds I re- 
 ceived yesterday, making, in all, eighty pounds of the two 
 hundred and fifty for the three dramas. 
 
 " Your ever obedient friend, 
 
 " John Howard Payne." 
 
 There have been many ridiculous statements made as to 
 the circumstances under which Mr. Payne wrote the words 
 of his celebrated song. Some have stated that he was resid- 
 ing in London at the time, without a shilling in his pocket ; 
 others have stated that, " on one stormy night, beneath the 
 dim flickering of a London street-lamp, gaunt and hungry, 
 and without a place to shelter his poor shivering body, he 
 wrote his inspired song upon a piece of ragged paper, 
 picked from the side-walk." This was not so. The letter 
 of Mr. Payne above quoted proves directly to the contrary. 
 We see by his acknowledgment to Bishop of the receipt 
 of eighty pounds, that he was comfortably situated when 
 preparing Clari for the stage. We admit that Mr. Payne 
 never, at any period of his eventful life, accumulated any 
 considerable amount of wealth, but those who knew the 
 state of his circumstances, knew that he never was a street- 
 pauper. In a still later communication to Bishop, is another 
 acknowledgment for fifty pounds on the sum of two hun- 
 dred and fifty, which he was to receive for the three dramas, 
 entitled, All Pacha, The Two Galley Slaves, and Clari, all of 
 which were produced at the Covent Garden theatre, under 
 the management of Mr. Charles Kemble. 
 
 Mr. Payne has never been " let alone;" almost everything 
 he ever did has been doubted, and it is somewhat surprising 
 that his consulship at Tunis has not been denied him, but 
 what of that? fools have been found who doubted that Shake- 
 speare wrote his own plays, and that Poe was the author 
 of the Raven, and, with all their mooting of the question, they 
 
92 Life and Writings op 
 
 never could find any one else who did perform the works. 
 At one time it was stated that Mr. Payne did not write the 
 words of Home, Sweet Home ! the assertion called forth in- 
 quiry. "Washington Irving was applied to on the subject, 
 and his reply was, that he " had been unable to discover 
 who else did, and he could see no reason for doubting the 
 authorship." The Hon. W. B. Maclay, of New York, who 
 was an old and personal friend of Mr. Payne's, took a great 
 interest in this question, and addressed a letter on the sub- 
 ject to Mr. Amos Perry, consul at Tunis, who knew some- 
 thing about Payne, and who, at the time Mr. Maclay wrote 
 to him, was on a visit to the city of London, where he 
 could thoroughly investigate the subject; he did so, and 
 could not find the slightest cause for attributing the author- 
 ship to any other than Payne. On the receipt of Mr. 
 Maclay's letter, Mr. Perry called on Mr. Miller, the pub- 
 lisher, who knew Mr. Payne perfectly well, and who pur- 
 chased the copyright of the opera of Clari, and published 
 its several first editions. Anxious to learn what Mr. Ma- 
 clay could say on the subject, we sent a letter asking for 
 the information in his possession, to which inquiry he sent 
 the following interesting letter. 
 
 " New York, Oct. 2d, 1873. 
 " Gabriel Harrison, Esq. 
 
 " Dear Sir ;****! was first introduced to Mr. Payne in 
 Washington, many years before his death. His name hav- 
 ing been familiar to me from boyhood as the author of 
 Home, Sweet Home! awakened my particular attention 
 toward him, and led me to observe him closely. In stature, 
 he was below the ordinary size. He was quite bald. His 
 complexion was florid. His e3^es blue and large, and full 
 of expression. There was something extremely winning 
 in his manner, an air of refinement, more easily recognized 
 than described. He always possessed an ease of manner, 
 a collectedness, a certain quality of propriety of bearing, 
 
John Howard Payne. 93 
 
 hitting the just medium between reserve and familiarity, 
 apparently spontaneous, but in reality the fruit of culture, 
 and a varied intercourse with many of the finest minds of 
 his time both in Europe and America. Payne afforded the 
 social circle in which I often met him, no little amuse- 
 ment by the stories of his experience as an actor in England, 
 and the rich collection of anecdotes he had stored away in 
 memory's safe keeping. * * * * in answer to the doubts 
 that have sometimes been expressed, whether he was the 
 author of the popular song of Homey Sweet Home ! attri- 
 buted to him, I send you an extract from Mr. Perry's 
 letter on the subject." 
 
 " London, Sept. 19th, 1865. 
 " My Dear Mr. Maclay : * * * * y^^. Miller has done 
 me the kindness to show me the first printed edition of 
 the opera of Clari^ with the song of Home, Sweet Home ! 
 interwoven with the play. In reply to my remark that 
 the authorship had been called in question, Mr. Miller 
 stated that he entertained not the slighest grounds for 
 doubt, that Payne was introduced to him by Washington 
 Irving, and knew Mr. Payne intimately well ; that he pur- 
 chased the copyright of the opera, and that Payne read 
 the proof sheets at the time of its publication.* * * * 
 
 " Very truly yours, 
 
 "Amos Perry." 
 
 As will be seen by the reader, we have introduced no 
 less than three different arrangements of the words of Home, 
 Sweet Home! which are copied from Mr. Payne's own 
 manuscript journal in possession of the writer at this pre- 
 sent moment. His first arrangement of the words will be 
 found among the poems of " his later days," and identi- 
 fied by the words "as originally written." It was this 
 version that Mr. Payne altered to suit the music of the 
 natural Sicilian air. The third Home, Sweet Home I with 
 the two additional verses he wrote for Mrs. Joshua Bates, 
 
94 Life and Writings of 
 
 of London, England, are still somewhere extant in the 
 music-sheet which Mr. Payne presented to Mrs. Bates, 
 who was a distant relative of his, and whose fortunes, while 
 abroad in Europe, were widely difierent from Mr. Payne's, 
 which fact is the burden of his poetic strain and is as beauti- 
 fully expressed as the accepted words which are set to the 
 music of the song. We deem it unnecessary to say anything 
 further as to the true authorship of Home, Sweet Home ! 
 
 Mr. Payne, in all of his dramatic writings, shows a 
 superior knowledge of the human passions. He knew 
 how to color and present them to his audience without 
 the wild bombast of words so frequently used in dramatic 
 productions. His situations, his entrances, and exits, are 
 always admirable, and at the same time perfectly natural. 
 His characters never lose much time by reviewing the past, 
 or talking about what is to happen in the future of the play. 
 The action is there and then. The passions are immediately 
 presented to intensify the situation, which afibrds the actor a 
 full opportunity to express his dramatic power, and thereby 
 to grasp the sympathy and attention of his audience. 
 
 The pathos of his characters comes from the heart, and 
 the reader or listener is often excited to tears. The scene 
 in Clari, between Rolamo, Clari, and the mother, is truly 
 fine. The same thing may be said of the scene in Therese, 
 where she relates the story of her persecution to Fontain. 
 
 In the language of his more classic and heroic characters, 
 such as Brutus, Virginias, Romulus, Richelieu and the Italian 
 Bride, there is a dignified simplicity that is seldom met 
 with in pieces of like character. The Dramatis PersoncB 
 are cut oft' from strut and bluster. They are forced down 
 to the fact of nature, and look and speak and walk like 
 human beings. There is perhaps nothing in the whole 
 range of the English classic drama that is superior for in- 
 tensity, to the situation between Brutus and his son Titus, 
 where the father, through the crushing force of circum- 
 stances, is compelled to condemn his own son to death, and 
 
John Howard Payne. 95 
 
 particularly the words of Brutus in his reply to the reproach 
 of Titus. The language seems singularly appropriate, 
 listen ! — 
 
 Ti. The axe ! — Oh heaven ! — Then must I fall so basely ? 
 What, shall I perish like a common felon ? 
 
 Br. How else do traitors suffer ? — Nay, Titus, more — 
 I must myself ascend yon sad tribunal — 
 And there behold thee meet this shame of death — 
 With all thy hopes and all thy youth upon thee. — 
 See thy head taken by the common axe — 
 All — if the gods can hold me to my purpose — 
 Without one groan, without one pitying tear. 
 
 [ Turns up, as if in agony. 
 
 Ti. Die like a felon ? — Ha ! a common felon ! — 
 But I deserve it all : — yet here I fail : — 
 This ignominy quite unmans me ! 
 
 Oh, Brutus, Brutus ! Must I call you father, \^Kneels. 
 
 Yet have no token of your tenderness, 
 No sign of mercy ? Not even leave to fall, 
 As noble Romans fall, by my own sword ? 
 Father, why should you make my heart suspect 
 That all your late compassion was dissembled ? 
 How can I think that you did ever love me ? 
 
 Br. Think that I love thee by my present passion, 
 By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here, 
 These sighs that strain the very strings of life — 
 Let these convince you that no other cause 
 Could force a father thus to wrong his nature. 
 
 Ti. Oh, hold, thou violated majesty : [Rises. 
 
 I now submit with calmness to my fate. 
 Come forth, ye executioners of justice — 
 Come, take my life — and give it to my country ! 
 
 Br. Embrace thy wretched father. May the gods 
 Arm thee with patience in this awful hour. 
 The sov'reign magistrate of injur'd Rome 
 Condemns a crime 
 
 Thy father's bleeding heart forgives. 
 Go — meet thy death with a more manly courage 
 f ban grief now suffers me to show in parting ; 
 And, while she punishes, let Rome admire thee! 
 Farewell ! Eternally farewell ! — 
 
96 Life and Writings of 
 
 However great Kean may have been in the part o^ Brutus, 
 and however much " his great acting may have helped the 
 success of the tragedy," still it was these masterly touches 
 of Payne that gave the actor the opportunity to express 
 himself, and it was by these natural and deeply pathetic 
 touches that the story of the Stoic was made acceptable to 
 an audience. This was accomplished by Mr. Payne in so 
 high a degree, that the audience like Titu^, offered no fur- 
 ther opposition to the dreadful act of a father condemning 
 his own child to death, but left the theatre with all their 
 sympathy for the father and with but little compassion for 
 the son. 
 
 The tragedy of Brutus has stood the test of fifty years, 
 and has been performed by all of the greatest actors that 
 have adorned the stage since it was written. We can 
 never forget the wonderful and perfect picture Edwin 
 Forrest made of the part, and especially so with the whole 
 of the last act. His personification of the fool in the early 
 part of the tragedy was, perhaps, a little heavy. The pecu- 
 liar physical character of the great tragedian did not seem 
 to suit the portraiture of a fool. But, where he threw off 
 the disguise of the fool, and revealed himself as the sane 
 man, the picture was perfect. In the second scene of the 
 play, (before the camp of Ardea) after the exeunt of 
 Claudius and Aruns, the look that followed them and the 
 stress of contempt Forrest placed upon the words of 
 
 '■ Yet; 'tis not that which rufl3es me, the gibes 
 And scornful mockeries of ill-govern'd youth — 
 Or flouts of dastard sycophants and jesters, 
 Reptiles who lay their bellies on the dust, 
 Before the frown of majesty I All this 
 I but expect, nor grudge to bear ; — the face 
 I carry, courts it ! " 
 
 was masterly in the extreme, and then the change that fol- 
 lowed immediately after in the towering up of his manly 
 
John Howard Payne. 97 
 
 figure, seeming in an instant to grow to an additional height 
 of several inches when he exclaimed 
 
 " Son of Marcus Junius ! 
 When will the tedious gods permit thy soul 
 To walk abroad in her own majesty, 
 And throw this vizor of thy madness from thee ? 
 To avenge my father's and my brother's murder ! " 
 * * * * Grant but the moment, gods ! If I am wanting, 
 May I drag out this idiot-feigned life 
 To late old age, and may posterity 
 Ne'er hear of Junius but as Tarquin's fool !" 
 
 His majesty and his fervency here, and the perfect tones 
 of his voice, presented a piece of declamation which left an 
 impression upon the mind, like to that, after looking upon 
 a mighty figure by Angelo. And then again, in Act HI, 
 scene 1, where the statue of Tarquinius Superbus is struck 
 by lightning, and he launches his curse on Sextus, after 
 disclosing his atrocious act with Lucretia. The intense 
 listening of Bynitus, the inward struggle pictured upon the 
 actor's face, to keep down the passion within him till Sextus 
 revealed the result, the blood almost bursting from every 
 pore in his face, and the swollen veins about his neck and 
 temples, in his interrogation of 
 
 " And — and ■■ — the matron ?" — 
 Sextus. " Was mine ! " 
 
 And then the frenzy that followed in the speech of 
 
 " The furies curse you then ! — Lash you with snakes I 
 When forth you walk, may the red, flaming sun 
 Strike you with livid plagues ! 
 Vipers that die but slowly, gnaw your heart ! 
 May earth be to you but one wilderness ! 
 May mankind shun you — may you hate yourself — 
 For death pray hourly, yet be in tortures, 
 • Millions of years expiring !" 
 
 At the end of this speech, amazement seemed to sit upon 
 every face in the house, electrical chills crept over all, and 
 13 
 
98 Life and Writings of 
 
 so affected the audience, that they deemed their applause 
 could not express their admiration for the actor, and gave 
 their expression of approval hy turning to each other and 
 remarking, " wonderful" ! But, however great Mr. Forrest 
 was in his passionate scenes, he was equally fine in pathos. 
 As an elocutionist, we doubt that he has ever had his equal. 
 !N'ature had lavished on him every requisite for an actor. 
 She had endowed him with a voice remarkable for sweet- 
 ness and sonorousness, and a mouth so perfectly formed 
 for speech, that articulation with him was as perfect as it 
 would be, expressed by the finest intonations of the violin. 
 His whisper was remarkable, it mattered not how large or 
 how crowded the house might be, it could be heard in 
 every part. The sobbing and choking sounds he pro- 
 duced in sorrowful passages were irresistible in their sym- 
 pathetic effect, and this was especially so in his last act of 
 Brutus, when with an apparent heart-breaking, he sentences 
 his son I^tus to death. 
 
 " Think that I love thee by my present passion, 
 By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here. 
 These sighs, that strain the very strings of life, — 
 Let these convince you that no other cause 
 Could force a father thus to wrong his nature." 
 
 At the close, of these words, the whole audience could be 
 seen wiping the trickling tears from their faces, and sob- 
 bing was audibly heard coming from several parts of the 
 house, and finally, when he ascends the steps of the tribunal, 
 after the lictors have conducted Titus off the stage, and it 
 becomes his sad duty to wave his hand as the signal for 
 his son's head to fall from the excutioner's block, the 
 pallor that came over his face, the struggle to lift his arm, 
 and then, when the trumpet's sound proclaims it done, the 
 wrapping up of his head in his toga, as it were to shut out 
 the horrid sound — the sudden relaxing of his whole 
 figure and its heavy fall upon the stage, made the acme of 
 
John Howard Payne. 99 
 
 dramatic effect, and oue we have no hopes of ever seeing 
 equaled again. 
 
 Mr. Payne seemed always to select for his dramas 
 subjects which the mind of sensibility delighted to con- 
 template. In Clariy for instance, the subject is Home, 
 where the earliest delights of childhood and the attach- 
 ment of manhood cling with an increasing fondness. 
 The educated and the uneducated, are captured by the 
 memories of " Sweet Home." The rough sailor, amid the 
 storm and in the calm alike, turns his thoughts homeward. 
 The soldier, when at night he throws himself upon the 
 tented field, enwreathes his thoughts of home with a long 
 sigh, and after his eye-lids have shut out the starry canopy 
 that hangs over his earthly couch, the spirit of dreams 
 paints her vivid pictures of home " however so humble," 
 and he awakes with the exclamation ; " There's no place 
 like home ! " 
 
 In the first edition of Clari, the editor thus described 
 the plot of the opera, and as it is not our intention to in- 
 clude the piece in this work, and it is more than likely that 
 all of Mr. Payne's plays will never be collected and pub- 
 lished in a compact form, we presume that the plot of this 
 beautiful drama will be acceptable to the reader. 
 
 " The opera of Clari, at first sight, exhibits Ctari, the 
 daughter of an Italian farmer, in rather a questionable state. 
 She is enamored of the Duke Varaldi, who comes by chance 
 to the cottage of her parents. His grace tells her the usual 
 tale of flatterers, promises marriage, and hints at an elope- 
 ment; a fainting fit comes to his aid; she sees nothing but 
 the smoke curling over the trees, not even the post-horses, 
 that are ready to gallop off with her to the casino ! Her 
 village dress is now exchanged for court finery ; she is mag- 
 nificently boarded and lodged, and subjected to just as much 
 of her lover's company as is agreeable to her. In addition 
 to this state of fear and hope, of uncertainty and apprehen- 
 sion, the thought of the home she had left; the parents 
 
100 Life and Writings op 
 
 she had deserted crosses her mind, and, like Alibeg, the 
 Persian shepherd, she surveys her rustic garb, " the sad 
 memorials of her happier state," with the fond enthusiasm 
 of one who had discovered how much she had lost by the 
 exchange. 
 
 " The piece opens with Clary's birthday, and preparations 
 for rejoicing. Paris has been laid under contribution to 
 ornament her person, while a troop of itinerant actors are 
 engaged to perform a play for her special entertainment, of 
 which Jocoso, the Duke's valet, is appointed manager. The 
 plot of the piece exactly tallies with the story of Clari. 
 Her agitation increases as the scene proceeds — 'When a 
 father, being about to call down the vengeance of heaven 
 upon his undutiful child, she starts from her seat, inter- 
 poses between the actors, and implores the parent to sus- 
 pend his curse ! The Duke, enraged at this public exposure 
 of his villany, throws off the mask ; and, to the remon- 
 strances of Clari, M^ho reminds him of his oath, returns an- 
 swers no longer equivocal. She now awakes to the full 
 sense of her delusion and danger ; and, having dispelled 
 the one, secretly resolves to fly the other. Her female sen- 
 tinel, Vespina, who is engaged in a love-afikir with Jocoso, 
 chancing to slumber at her post, affords the desired oppor- 
 tunity. She ties her scarf to the balcony, offers a prayer 
 to heaven, and, by way of climax, blows out the candles ! 
 Her descent — the moonlight scene — the alternate dark- 
 ness and light, are very skillfully and beautifully managed. 
 Clari reaches her native village in safety ; it is on the eve 
 of a wedding between Ninetta, the companion of her youth, 
 and a chosen swain, Nimpedo. She appears before her 
 friend, andis received with affection and joy. A well-known 
 air, sacred to home, strikes upon her ear, and seems to 
 welcome the returning wanderer. An interview subse- 
 quently takes place between Clari and her parents. The 
 mother, assured of her daughter's innocence, is soon ap- 
 peased ; not so the father, who refuses to receive her, until 
 
John Howard Payne. 101 
 
 the entrance of the Duke himself, who confesses his crime, 
 implores pardon, demands the hand of Clari in marriage, 
 and clears up every doubt. It is not often that the im- 
 prudent rambles of a cottage-maid meet with so happy a 
 termination. As we began with a moral, so will we end ; 
 and what one can be more appropriate, than the following 
 just, beautiful, and aftecting picture ? — 
 
 " Ah, turn thine eyes, 
 Where the poor, houseless, shiv'ring, female lies ! 
 She once, perhaps, in village plenty bless'd, 
 Has wept at tales of innocence, distress'd. 
 Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 
 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 
 Now lost to all — her friends, her virtue fled. 
 Near her betrayer's door she lays her head ; 
 And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, 
 With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, 
 When, idly first, ambitious of the town. 
 She left her wheel, and robes of country brown." 
 
 In the opera, Mr. Payne has most happily and feelingly 
 introduced his song of Home, Sweet Home ! He has done 
 it at the moment when Cfori first begins to realize her situa- 
 tion, and the terrible truth that she had deserted her 
 home. She awakens to this fact one morning, when leav- 
 ing her toilet-chamber and entering her new and splendid 
 apartments. The gayeties of the place, the heavy rich 
 draperies at the windows, with their gilded mouldings, the 
 carved furniture, the harp in one corner of the room, the 
 thick Turkish floor-covering and other embellishments of 
 the palatial parlor, at once thrust upon her the contrasts of 
 the lowly thatched cottage, and all she had left behind, 
 and^n this spasm of melancholy, she introduces herself 
 to the audience by singing the song of Home, Sweet Home ! 
 
 It is very seldom that we see the words of this song 
 correctly printed, and we embrace this opportunity of pre- 
 
102 Life and Writings of 
 
 senting them here as taken from Mr. Payne's original 
 manuscript, and with his own precise punctuation. 
 
 Home, Sweet Home ! 
 
 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, 
 
 Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ! 
 A charm from the sky seems to hallow us there, 
 
 Which seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere ! 
 Home, Home, Sweet, Sweet, Home ! 
 There's no place like Home ! 
 There's no place like Home ! 
 
 An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain ! 
 
 0, give me my lowly thatched cottage again ! 
 The birds, singing gayly, that came at my call — 
 
 Give me them ! — and the peace of mind, dearer than all ! 
 Home, Home, Sweet, Sweet Home ! 
 There's no place like Home ! 
 There's no place like Home ! 
 
 Although this opera was entirely original with Mr. 
 Payne, yet he was accused by some of the English critics, 
 o^ plagiarism. This was done at a time when he was out of 
 the country, and was residing in Paris. There were enough 
 in London who knew of the originality of the play, but 
 none had the firmness to defend the dramatist. " Once, 
 when he saw the piece announced at a minor theatre as 
 a "translation from the French," he wrote to the manager 
 and explained that it was not a translation. That there 
 was a ballet-pantomine only, upon the same story, which 
 had been performed at one of the opera-houses in Paris, 
 and, had not the story of the ballet been essentially varied, 
 the feet of the dancers could scarcely supply sentences so 
 as to justify the epithet "translation." The manager 
 assured Mr. Payne that he was aware that the drama was 
 original with him, but it was a rule at all minor theatres 
 to endeavor to evade the law, by assuming that works were 
 translated, and the drama was too valuable to him to be lost 
 
John Howard Payne. 103 
 
 through any delicacy. He therefore declined to withdraw 
 the assertion, and invited Mr. Payne to stop in at his 
 theatre, and see how much better it was placed upon his 
 stage at Tottenham Court road, than at Covent Garden 
 or at Drury Lane. 
 
 Payne's next success was with the comedy of Charles the 
 Second. This comedy Payne dedicated to Mr. Charles 
 Kerable. It was sold to Covent Garden theatre for fifty 
 pounds, one-fourth of the price usually paid for a suc- 
 cessful farce. He accepted this paltry amount, because the 
 management was too poor at the time to pay more, and he 
 was too hard pressed to wait for a better opportunity to sell 
 it. The comedy was extremely popular at the time, and 
 is yet frequently performed. "Its incidents and situations 
 are almost identical with those of La Jeunesse de Henri V. 
 But the dialogue differs widely, aud especially so with the 
 role of Captain Copp, a character original with Mr. Payne, 
 and the best part in the piece. This excellent comedy was 
 first produced' upon the stage of Covent Garden in 1824. 
 The following was the original cast of characters. 
 
 King Charles II, - - . - Mr. Charles Kemble. 
 
 Rochester, . . . . Mr. Jones. 
 Edioard {page), . . - Mr. Duruset. 
 
 Captain Copp, . . . Mr. Fawcett. 
 Ladg Clari, - - - - Mrs. Faucit. 
 
 Marg, - - - . - Miss M. Tree. 
 
 Mr. Payne, in his preface to the first edition of Charles 
 the II, remarks : " I understand that the authorship of this 
 comedy has been claimed by different persons, in the public 
 papers, on the ground of their having produced translations 
 of the French original, which have been performed at the 
 minor theatres. In reply to this, I would observe that I 
 have never seen any of those translations. My play was 
 written last autumn at Paris. It was founded on a printed 
 
104 Life and Whitings of 
 
 copy of La Jeunesse de Henri F, of which a number of 
 editions have appeared. The incidents and situations are 
 nearly the same, but the dialogue differs essentially through- 
 out, especially in the part of Captain Copp." 
 
 Mr. Charles Kemble made a great hit in the part of 
 Charles II. Prince Puckler-muskau, in his book on Eng- 
 land, sketches his performance of the character, in con- 
 trast with what he had seen at Drury Lane. " Far better," 
 observes the prince, "was the play at Covent Garden, 
 where Charles Kemble, one of the best English actors, 
 gave an admirable representation of the part of Charles the 
 II. Kemble is a man of the best education, and has always 
 lived in good society ; he is therefore qualified to repre- 
 sent a king royally, with the aisance that is proper to 
 all exalted persons. He very skilfully gave an amiable 
 coloring to the levity of Charles the Second, without ever, 
 even in moments of the greatest abandon, losing the type 
 of that inborn, conscious dignity, so difficult to imitate. 
 The costumes, too, were as if cut out of the frames of old 
 pictures, down to the veriest trifle." "So very eminent 
 was Charles the Second, especially among the higher class, 
 that George the IV commanded it to be acted before him. 
 On that occasion, he even departed from his usual etiquette. 
 He made his first visit of the season to Covent Garden, 
 instead of at the Drury Lane, which was exclusively the 
 ' Royal Theatre', and where alone performers were dis- 
 tinguished by the title of ' His majesty's servants.' Charles 
 the Second is distinguished for another marked incident in 
 dramatic history. It was in this piece that the celebrated 
 Fawcett, whose performance of Copp was so inimitable, took 
 his leave of the stage." 
 
 " The history of Mr. Payne's career in England is only 
 a history of struggles for petty advantages ; often, for the 
 reverse. There was much excitement about a tragedy 
 of his, Richelieu, which followed Charles II. The descend- 
 ant of Richelieu chanced to be the French minister at 
 
John Howard Payne. 105 
 
 the Court of St. James. He did not wish his profligate 
 ancestor to face him upon the stage. The Lord Chamberlain 
 was applied to, and, but for firm remonstrances, the work 
 would have been altogether suppressed. On condition, how- 
 ever, of the name being changed and certain mutilations, 
 it was allowed to appear. As might have been expected, 
 however, the strong arm of power being against it, it had 
 the abuse of the papers as immoral, was caballed against 
 in the theatre, and after five night's performances was with- 
 drawn. This tragedy was dedicated by Mr. Payne to his 
 dear friend Washington Irving. It was first produced at 
 the Drury Lane. This play was altered by Mrs. Catherine 
 Farren, and was frequently played in this country as the 
 Bankrupt's Wife." 
 
 Soon a,fter Bichelieu, followed the opera of the White Lady. 
 The success of this piece was somewhat impeded by the 
 jealousy of Miss Paton, who at the last moment gave up 
 her part, apprehensive of being eclipsed by Madame Yes- 
 tris in George Brown. A paper war ensued and parties 
 were the consequence. The piece was imperfectly done, 
 but well received throughout and announced, amid loud 
 cheers, for repetition. It ran about twenty nights. 
 
 " About this time Mr. Payne made a new venture, and 
 established a new critical paper entitled the Opera Glass, 
 one of the most popular periodicals of the day. But the 
 fatigue of attending exclusively to such a work, and the 
 annoyances and vexations from the way in which he was 
 treated about his theatrical and literary enterprises, threw 
 him into an illness, during which his life was despaired of. 
 All communications upon business of any description were 
 interdicted; an unlucky event, on one account, for at 
 that period he was offered the management of a theatre 
 in London, and one in Paris, which he could not accept. 
 After his recovery he produced plays of various descrip- 
 tions at various theatres. Those most noted were the co- 
 medy of Procrastination, the farce of Fricandeau, at the Hay- 
 market theatre ; the interlude of The Lancers, the opera 
 U 
 
106 Life and Writings of 
 
 of the Tyrolese Peasant, and the play of the Spanish 
 Husband, were brought out at Drury Lane. The one-act 
 comedy of Woman's Revenge, which was first produced 
 at Madame Yestris's theatre, had a most brilliant recep- 
 tion." This, we believe, was the last piece that Mr. Payne 
 wrote while in Europe, and the last of his dramatic produc- 
 tions produced upon any stage, although Mr. Payne 
 wrote several other pieces after he returned to this country 
 in 1832. One in particular we here allude to, called the 
 Italian Bride, a play in four acts, two manuscript copies 
 of which now exist, one in the hands of Mr. James Rees of 
 Philadelphia, and the other in the hands of the writer of 
 this book. From a letter in our possession we are in- 
 clined to think that Mr. Payne wrote this play for Miss 
 Cushman. The lady had it to read, but returned it to Mr. 
 Payne with many compliments, and declining to accept the 
 play on the grounds that her many engagements would not 
 allow her time to study the leading part. The play is very 
 interesting in plot, and has in it some of the best dramatic 
 passages written by Mr. Payne. Mr. Payne, after his re- 
 turn to this country, made an effort to get Mr. Forrest to 
 produce his Romulus and his Virginius. Mr. Forrest was 
 much pleased with Romulus, and requested some altera- 
 tions, but as to Mr. Payne's making these alterations, no 
 proofs appear. 
 
 In reviewing Mr. Payne as a dramatist, we should keep 
 in sight the history of his life while in England, and the 
 character of the productions he was forced to make, so as 
 to please the notions of the several managers, who seemed 
 to desire " Parisian novelties" only. Those who have looked 
 upon him in the spirit of detraction, and have insisted ear- 
 nestly upon his having been so largely indebted to the 
 French stage, should not have lost sight of the above fact. 
 When Terence was accused of such a thing, he replied in 
 the prologue to his famous self-tormentor : 
 
 " As to reports, which envious men have spread, 
 That he has ransacked many Grecian plays. 
 
John Howard Payne. 107 
 
 While he composes some few Latin ones, 
 
 That he denies not he has done ; nor does 
 
 Repent he did it ; means to do it still ; 
 
 Safe in the warrant and authority 
 
 Of greater bards, who did long since the same." 
 
 And Mr. Payne might quote the mighty example of 
 Shakespeare himself, as Terence has done that of his own 
 exalted predecessors; but our countryman had motives 
 more imperative than either Terence or Shakespeare. It 
 was expressly for the purpose of transferring foreign works 
 that he was first lured from acting to authorship. At the 
 time he began this career, it was the greatest recommenda- 
 tion of a piece that it was the first English version of the 
 last French success. This is even yet in some degree the 
 case, though not so much as it was before the minor thea- 
 tres took so many liberties. To comprehend how it hap- 
 pened, the diiference between the regulations of the drama 
 in France and England must be understood. In Paris there 
 is a theatre set apart for each particular species of drama, 
 of which new specimens must continually be produced ; and 
 each, of course, brings out its own in the greatest perfec- 
 tion, and pays for it the best price. For many years there 
 was no winter mart in London for the numerous novelties 
 of these various theatres, but the two great houses of Drury 
 Lane and Covent Garden. If a hit appeared in Paris, it 
 was important to each not to be anticipated by the other ; 
 and the immense advantages of the immediate transfer of 
 a Parisian novelty, rendered it of the first consequence to 
 seize upon it and be earliest in the field. From the neces- 
 sity of dispatch, original works, not being likely to create 
 the same sort of competition, were invariably postponed 
 whenever a foreign novelty appeared, sanctioned by a for- 
 eign triumph ; and he who could prepare such best and 
 quickest, was the best patronized by managers. Mr. 
 Howard Payne had the reputation of being able to accom- 
 plish these transfers with unmatchable celerity. Though 
 his plays from foreign sources have always been sufficiently 
 
108 Life and Writings of 
 
 varied to have justified a larger claim than has ever been 
 made for them on his account by his best friends, it is not 
 to that fact that he owes his standing. It is for having done 
 subjects which other dramatists and experienced ones, have 
 tried in and failed (although aided by the identical foreign 
 originals), so well as to secure to his works a permanent 
 standing upon the stage. This was the case with his first 
 attempt in Accusation. Mr. Kenney, one of the best 
 then living authors, was paid liberally for a piece on the 
 same subject at the rival theatre. Mr. Kenney himself con- 
 curred with the public and the papers, and owned that his 
 effort was a failure but the other triumphant. Mr. Poole 
 also tried the Two Galley-Slaves at Drury Lane, against 
 that of Mr. Payne at Covent Garden. Poole's was damned 
 while Payne's still continues to be acted. The rival Thirese 
 we have already mentioned as having failed at Covent 
 Garden in the hands of Mr. Beazely, also an author of emi- 
 nence. Other examples might be adduced, but these are 
 enough to prove that what our countryman undertook to 
 do, he achieved ; and that to its fullest extent. Upon the 
 subject how far be deserves praise upon that score, we will 
 take the following opinion of a London monthly reviewer 
 of one of his adaptations. " The author of an original play, 
 has, no doubt, a sufficient and allowed claim on public 
 praise ; but no estimate seems to have been formed of the 
 merits or of the difficulties of transferring the chefs d'oeuvre 
 of the foreign stage to our own. The facility of translat- 
 ing French seems to put this operation in the power of 
 every aspirant, and where all may gather the laurel, it is 
 not unnatural that the wreath should be little worth the 
 wearing. But, in full contradiction to this easy fame, may 
 be placed that of the able adapter, who, coming to his work 
 with a perfect knowledge of the demands of his national 
 theatre, lays upon himself the task of moulding the incon- 
 gruous and the foreign, of invigorating the feeble, and in- 
 spiriting the dull, into the shape and interest that attractthe 
 tastes of England. The praise is higher, if over this there 
 
John Howard Payne. 109 
 
 is thrown the living hue of genius, and the understanding 
 raised and charmed by beauties unsought for by the ori- 
 ginal author. Mr. Payne, a writer already known to the 
 public by some excellent productions, has in the present 
 instance increased his literary distinction. He has had all 
 the difficulties of stage-translation to encounter, and has 
 overcome them with singular skill. His arrangement of 
 the scene is admirably theatric, his additions happy, and 
 his language of a rank entirely above the usual vulgar 
 tongue of translation ; it is at once forcible and refined ; 
 expressive and elegant." 
 
 It would occupy more space than we have a right to en- 
 gross, to go much more largely into his merits. To this 
 praise, however, he has an unquestionable right. He is 
 the first native American who, either as an actor or a dra- 
 matic writer, ever attracted attention, and secured a firm 
 stand, on the other side of the ocean. He has not lost that 
 stand either there or here. The liberal spirit of the " old 
 country" has unhesitatingly acknowledged, even though 
 he was known to be a wanderer from the new, — that, as 
 he was the first American actor " qui ait vu sa reputation 
 franchir le vaste ocean," so is he the first American author 
 whose plays have been known on the British stage, and 
 adopted there as the stock pieces of the national theatres. 
 Among upwards of half a hundred of these, it is owned that 
 he has given to England and to America, the most popular 
 tragedy {Brutus), comedy (Charles the Second), melo-drama 
 [Thirese), opera (Clari) and song (Sweet Home), of the day 
 in which they respectively appeared ; and, " when," said a 
 London paper, " the Lord Chancellor Brougham, asked in 
 a discussion concerning the patents some time ago, who in 
 the present day had produced plays, which might be con- 
 sidered as established, and deserving to be so, the name of 
 Mr. Howard Payne was one of the first quoted in the High 
 Court of Chancery, and several of his works were enumer- 
 ated as part of the stock dramas which did the most credit 
 to England. 
 
110 Life and Writings of 
 
 It was these considerations, which induced some friends 
 who had become well acquainted with his annoyances 
 abroad, to urge Mr. Payne's return to America. They re- 
 minded him that his plays had been acted for many years 
 in his own country, and at a great profit to our theatres and 
 actors, without any recompense to him in any shape. As 
 compensation had been often volunteered to foreign writers, 
 for the advantage derived from their productions, he was 
 assured he would not be forgotten where Bulwer, Mrs. 
 Hemans, and others, had been so profitably remembered. 
 He was promised that, if he came, he should find the neces- 
 sity for such struggles as had embittered his life for years, no 
 longer pressing on him. But reports had reached him 
 abroad of unkind things which had been said of him at 
 home. He doubted if the zeal of those who wrote to him 
 had not blinded them as to his being recollected so gene- 
 rally ; but especially as to his being recollected with so 
 much good will. He thought, if he lingered awhile longer, 
 he might return more independent ; and he was reluctant to 
 show himself, after so many years, not quite so well off" as 
 when he went away. 
 
 But the thought of home and the love of country pre- 
 vailed over all his distrust. About two years subsequently 
 to the first invitations which had been sent to him from 
 Kew York, he landed in that city on the 25th of July, 1832. 
 Yet here his evil star seemed still predominant. He found 
 no one to receive him. His first intelligence was that 
 there was cholera raging and an Indian war. No sooner, 
 however, did the alarm subside, and the city fill, than plans 
 were laid to bid him welcome. A meeting was imme- 
 diately called for the purpose by the following gentlemen : 
 James Lawson, Duncan C. Pell, Samuel Swartwout, Henry 
 Ogden, J. J. Bailey, Prosper M. Wetmore, Isaac S. Hone, 
 Theodore S. Fay, and George P. Morris. It was publicly 
 resolved, that, as his native country had so many years en- 
 joyed the advantage of his productions, without any com- 
 pensation to him, it was proper she should make some 
 
John Howard Payne. Ill 
 
 acknowledgment, and that in a form the most compliment- 
 ary. It was determined to offer him a benefit " in the 
 name of his native city New York." To give the greatest 
 iclat to the festival, the military officers resolved, on the 
 motion of the venerable and public-spirited Major General 
 Morton, to attend in full uniform. The ladies of fashion 
 determined to sit in the pit (in those days exclusively for 
 men), which was opened to the boxes and decorated for the 
 occasion. The price of every part of the house was raised 
 to five dollars, excepting the gallery, which was fixed at 
 one dollar, the then usual box-price. The following ad- 
 dress was spoken by Mrs. Sharp, written by Mr. Theodore 
 S. Fay, one of the editors of the New York Mirror, whose 
 father wrote the address for the occasion of Master Payne's 
 first appearance on the same stage in 1809. 
 
 Address. 
 
 "One snowy, winter night, in times of yore, 
 At least some twenty years ago — or more, 
 Within these very walls, where now you sit, 
 A radiant crowd of fashion, beauty, wit, 
 Together came, like that which greets me now, 
 Youth's summer head, and age's frosted brow. 
 Full many a belle was here — and many a beau 
 Who've flirted — flourished — faded — long ago ; 
 And children, too, perchance — the little elves, 
 Who now are here, sweet belles and beaux themselves 
 Upon the stage, a glowing boy appeared 
 Whom heavenly smiles and grateful thunders cheered • 
 Then, through the throng, delighted murmurs ran, 
 The boy " enacts more wonders than a man." 
 Each word — each look — his loftier nature proved ; 
 The men admired him — and the women — loved. 
 Not fairer Phaon in the forest stood 
 And graceful turned, when lovely Sappho wooed. 
 Rotind his young brow, the beams of genius shone ; 
 Columbia smiled and claimed him for her own. 
 Changed was the scene — the boy was here no more — 
 His footsteps wandered on a foreign shore. 
 Not here again his boyish beauties played 
 
112 John Howard Payne. 
 
 Not here his voice was heard — his glances strayed : 
 
 Yet oft his spirit spoke, and all obeyed. 
 
 Oft has the listening crowd been hushed to hear 
 
 The Maid of Milan's song enchant the ear. 
 
 In beauty's eyes tears oft have quenched the blaze, 
 
 Mourning the sorrow of the sweet Thirese, 
 
 Till Charles, mad son of an unhappy sire — 
 
 To the soft orbs recalled the dangerous fire. 
 
 Rome's reverend patriot, too, appears in sight, — 
 
 Let traitors shrink — (were traitors here to-night,) 
 
 To view him, summoned by the poet's art. 
 
 On freedom's altar lay his mighty heart, 
 
 Bleeding and torn — fit oflFering to the laws. 
 
 Who drew the picture, — merits your applause. 
 
 Again the scene is changed : the poet boy 
 
 Pines for his native land with trembling joy ; 
 
 And, like his Clari, ceased at length to roam, 
 
 His graver footsteps lead to Home, Sweet Home ! 
 
 But who shall tell what wonders meet his view ? 
 
 Himself is changed, and all around him, too, 
 
 The swelling mound and broken marble tell 
 
 Where lie the hands that pressed his last farewell, 
 
 And friends around him throng, so diflFerent grown, 
 
 Scarcely his eyes receive them for his own. 
 
 Oh ! let him find, whatever change appears. 
 
 Our hearts unaltered with the lapse of years. 
 
 Though frequent orbs of foreign genius rise, 
 
 Kindling and blazing in our western skies, 
 
 And one fair stranger, shining from afar. 
 
 Like Venus burns — a " bright particular star," 
 
 Yet let him meet, where first his breath he drew, 
 
 Firm friends, to him and to their country true. 
 
 So they whom gods in future times inspire 
 
 To wake the music of Columbia's lyre, 
 
 Shall ever find a grateful nation here. 
 
 Their names to cherish, and their toils to cheer ; 
 
 And never know, where'er their steps may roam, 
 
 More dazzling honors than their welcome home." 
 
 The following is a faithful copy of the bill presented on 
 the occasion. 
 
OBEAT DBAXATIO FESTIVAL AT THE PARK THEATRE. 
 
 :e E5 l>ff E3 r' I T7 
 
 Under tlu dinrtion »f th, fri< ikIm "( m. r^il nn ,t„d the driima 
 •••Warf br theVoJunt«-r«l hiH- iBi-i.t ,,f ti,.- :..,uA »,ili tl,.m»;;.- In 
 
 CufUI'illli- u\. fr.lli 11:- '• 
 
 JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 
 
 Oa tut oeCMlmi. in addtthw to tba rttiOmt cimpaor «f the Park Tiieatfe, tiie foUowlog la4tM Mui |«i. 
 
 a— wa, flromTwrtoMyrtoof the Dnttcd guto Ii»t«. In the nmOit* tatA\*w\A»mm* mmam, 
 
 tendered their raloable arrricc* : 
 
 MISS FAJTNY KElCBIiE, 
 HISS HUaHBS, MISS BOCK, 
 
 MH8 BABITBS, MISS WAHINO. 
 
 MB. C. KEMBLE. MB. J. "W. WAIiLAOK, MB. O. BABBE'i^T, 
 MB. T. ▲. COOFEB, MB E. VOBBE8T. MB. C. HOBVE, 
 
 •nd MB. 3. B. SCOTT, 
 or the Arch street theatre, Philadelphia, hi« firMt appearance In this city. 
 
 Thursday Evening, November 20th, 1832, 
 
 Will ix- iH-rtinvoKi itm Bbrtorlcal Tra«nly of 
 
 Or, Hie Fall of TfUfitiin, 
 
 WHITTEN HV .JOH.N MOW 
 
 Locios Jmrraa BBUTCitt. Mk. Fohkbst. 
 
 Titos, .. Mu. KCO'IT. 
 
 CoLLATWt;*, .. Mb. B.MIKKTT. 
 
 8BZTi7fl, .. M«. CLAKK. 
 
 Awry, .. Mk. BAKKY. 
 
 '''Atr)ir> Mk. KEPPLLE, 
 
 Vai.kiim*. MB.BLAKBLEY, 
 
 LttisETii- Mr. XEXSEN. 
 
 IloiiAi! . Mil KM lUNfJS. 
 
 CKLItH. . Mm < '<\\V W 
 
 Ki.AviL-«. Ml:. 11 \i:\ i;v 
 
 C'EXTfKION. ., Ml; I'O'vi.V 
 
 MEiweiieeR, .. . Mn ( OM.KTT, 
 
 latCmzEX, .. . -Mil IIAVJ>«N, 
 
 «d " ,. .Mii. KINfJ. 
 
 3d " .. .Mil. .JOll.NHON. 
 
 „ Senators. Lictors. Ouards, etc.. 
 
 TtTLLiA. .. Miw. BAIt.VKS. 1 \'mmrr.m MiscSMlTH. 
 
 Taaioiitia, .. Mm. SHARP. l Vkwtai., .. MKti. CO-NWAY. 
 
 LucRBTu Mus WAKING. | Lavijiia Mrs. DURIE. 
 
 ATHOL rUK T«AUKI>T 
 
 MB& ROABP. wm apMfc an ADDBEMi written for the oecMion, and MR. JOJIBB wlU aio( the ftOSO of 
 
 HOME, SWEET HOME! 
 
 From Ifx. Pajrac'a opera of Clan : r^.tlow <I in faU cboriu, by the Final* to that pioee. 
 
 WELCOME HOME! 
 
 i//55 HOGHESwiUnnri THE MERMAWS CAVE, 
 
 Kvi.. wnrAn bv MUi 
 
 oil the plaiK/lorte. 
 
 After wUeb Hhakeapaar^'i Comedy of 
 
 KATHEBIXE AND PETBUCHIO 
 
 PrrBCCHio, (1st timeln Am.rlf^>. TAri>OR Mk Kl^URR, 
 
 Mi:. KKMnr^B 
 
 Baptista M i: r. I , \ K KLKY 
 
 HORTBHBIO, ,. Ml! NK.XSK.V. 
 
 OBUiiio. .. Mb. PLACniK. 
 
 Music Master,.. .. Mb. POVEY. 
 
 BiO!irDBL,ix> Mb. RIOHINGS. 
 
 Pkdbo. ., Mb. COLLET. 
 
 XATHAjeiEl., .. Mt: .JOHN'' 
 
 Pktbb, Mi; IIAYKKN. 
 
 i'AtoK, .. Mil <;oN\VAY. 
 
 Katkerixk, n»t time In Amerlcnf. 
 
 Miss KEMBLB. 
 Biaxca, .. Mmi. DURIE. 
 
 Clktw, . Mbs.WHEATLEY. 
 
 MB. COOPEB has oblixingly consented to recite in the coarse of the evening 
 AT.ETATrPEB'S FAUST. 
 
 To ojficliide wi(h X\v. ',v>med3r of 
 
 CHARLES THE SECOND, 
 
 WKITTEN by JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 
 
 Capt. Copp (studied for the occasion). 
 
 Mr. WALLACE. 
 Chablss thb Seoohd. Mb. BARRETT. 
 
 Mb. RICUIXOS. 
 
 Edward (the page, with aongs), 
 
 Mb. JONES. 
 Mabt Copp (with aoogs) Mm* ROCK. 
 LaotClaba Mb*. SHARP- 
 
 I be ctuMd and admUtanecoWabied only 
 
 hatladieaareeowloctcdtoell«it»lc aMto, 
 
 iwfB be adiBtttod than can bceoBreoloitiraccoainwNlated with piaeca^ It to reqaeMed 
 
 * -* -' - • -" ' -• iitmimeA on arrieaL Carrtaffea wU 
 
 be In atleadaace t« tafce ctMiv* of 
 
 MM ao nar^mogHWIB be advttted than can b« eoBreokaitlr accoB 
 ttit carrtaMMppraaeh the theatue from Braadwajr. a«d «bat they be 
 baatttae doorloeoavcy the CMnpaay home. SoltaMa pensoa wU 
 hata^ claafca, etc 
 
 Doors open at ff o'clocit : Performance to commence at half past six. 
 
 PrUe of TiehetB : Boxe» and. Pit, Five DolUtrt) Oaltery , On4e Dollar, 
 
 Majr be had at the Box-ofllce. 
 
 15 
 
114 Life and Writings of 
 
 A stronger cast was never placed on an American play- 
 bill. The house was filled from pit to gallery, and the 
 audience was the most elegant and intellectual ever assem- 
 bled within the walls of Park theatre, " The old Drury 
 of America." The receipts of the night was over seven thou- 
 sand dollars. At the close of the performance there was a 
 loud and general call for Mr. Payne. He responded to the 
 call, the Evening Post says : " he was at first embarrassed 
 but presently recovered, and the grace of his manner, the 
 sweetness of his voice, the clearness of his enunciation 
 affected the audience with a sort of surprise." His speech 
 was frequently interrupted by deafening applause. The 
 Post reported his speech as follows : 
 
 "My honored countrymen, my most valued friends, I 
 thought I should have been better prepared for the emo- 
 tions of this moment ; but it is long, very long, since I 
 stood in person before the public, and so immeasurably is 
 the anticipation from my wildest dream exceeded by what 
 I now experience, that I am compelled to cast myself upon 
 your indulgence, and shall I not do so, without apprehen- 
 sion, having the " beautiful and the brave," the wise and the 
 wealthy ; clustering in one unequalled galaxy of lofty and 
 of liberal hearts; that, for any thing, depending upon 
 kindness, it is impossible to look to you in vain ? Grant 
 me your pardon, then, if I am incompetent to acknow- 
 ledge that kindness as I ought; for it is your own goodness 
 that paralyzes the power to thank you, and I am dazzled, 
 surprised, overwhelmed. 
 
 " "When I think that, in this place, three and twenty years 
 ago, my youthful steps first ventured before the public, 
 feelings and associations rush through my memory, for 
 which my own sympathies will find a language, that my 
 tongue seeks in vain. The very theatre in which I stood 
 has been leveled to the ground, and, though I am upon the 
 same spot, there remains no vestige of the stage which 
 the fond fancies of a boy arrayed in all the charms and 
 
John Howard Payne. 115 
 
 promises of fairy-land. Since then, the character of my 
 ambition has changed ; yet I remember " Such things were, 
 and were most precious," and the retrospect becomes the 
 more touching to myself, now that I appear on it for the 
 last time, and bid it, formally and eternally, farewell. It 
 is high satisfaction to me that my adieu to the stage, and 
 my return to my home, should be marked by an event, 
 which, to all Americans who devote themselves to litera- 
 ture and the arts, will give a glorious lesson. It will show 
 them that they belong to a country which is incapable of 
 forgetting her sons. Let those sons, whatever their dis- 
 comforts, toil on, and not despair, for the time will come, 
 when they shall be nobly recollected. For myself I do not 
 acquiesce in the testimonial of this night, under any vanity 
 regarding my own claims, which can mislead me as to its 
 real incentive ; but I have a deep sense of the responsi- 
 bility imposed on me by this unprecedented kindness ; 
 and believe me, my excellent friends, believe me, my 
 beloved countrymen, it will be my study and the prayer 
 and the perpetual hope of my future life, to render myself 
 worthy of the present moment and of a country of which 
 I was ever proud, and now, since I have seen other coun- 
 tries, am yet more proud than ever, and of a city in whose 
 far-sighted and graceful and generous and gallant acts, 
 hourly I witness fresh motives for exulting that it is my 
 distinction to have been born her son." 
 
 " On the day following, a card was sent to him for a pub- 
 lic dinner at the City Hotel, from ' a number of his fellow 
 citizens, uniting the feelings of personal friendship with 
 those which had actuated the acknowledgment of his 
 efforts in the cause of literature and the drama,' and who 
 were ' anxious no longer to delay adding their welcome to 
 his native city, to the one already so properly given by its 
 inhabitants at large.' In accepting the invitation, he wrote : 
 ' It is superfluous for me to say, that I am gratified by your 
 attention ; and, although a public dinner is by no means a 
 
116 Life and Writings of 
 
 distinction to which my humble labors can have given me 
 any claims, — as the one to which you do me the honor of 
 inviting me, is suggested as the welcome of personal friend- 
 ship, I should be sorry to incur the suspicion of careless- 
 ness of your kindness, by not meeting you at the time you 
 mention.' On Saturday Dec. 1st, the dinner took place. It 
 was largely attended by the first literary and professional 
 persons in New York and some from Philadelphia; and 
 spoken of as one of the most entertaining of such assem- 
 blies. On Mr. Payne's entrance into the ante-room, he was 
 presented with a letter from the Benefit Committee, offi- 
 cially acquainting him with the proceedings on that occasion. 
 Isaac S. Hone, Esq., was in the chair. Gen. Prosper M. 
 Wetmore was the first vice-president, and Col. George P. 
 Morris, second. The cloth being removed, Mr. Hone 
 closed a most eloquent speech with the following toast : 
 
 " ' Our distinguished countryman ; John Howard Payne : 
 The family of literature welcomes him to the home whose 
 praises he has so sweetly sung.' 
 
 " As soon as the acclamations with which this toast was 
 received, had subsided, Mr. Payne replied 
 
 " ' Since my arrival in America, I find, Mr. President, that 
 the phrases of gratitude are less various than the forms in 
 which my countrymen display their kindness. Only two 
 evenings since, it became my duty to attempt the acknow- 
 ledgment of an unique attention, unprecedented in its ele- 
 gance and delicacy and munificence; and now a welcome 
 greets me in another shape, yet I can only give utterance 
 to my feelings in the same simple assurance of how deeply 
 I am obliged. Little could I have fancied in the first hour 
 of my return, that I should have had such liberalities to 
 speak of, that I should have been blest with such friends to 
 make my native city more than ever dear to me ! Sir, the 
 omens of that hour, and even of days which followed, would 
 have driven a superstitious man back, and he would have 
 returned no more. After an absence of twenty years — 
 
John Howard Payne. 117 
 
 that little lifetime, twenty years! — when uproused one 
 morning by intelligence that the pilot was on board, and 
 our ship within hail of the shore — I flew on deck. A 
 tempest raged. The angel of death seemed careering in 
 the clouds, and flinging around lightnings which almost 
 made each one of us expect his own last moment in the 
 following flash. But the storm cleared, and I beheld the 
 fair city of my birth enthroned upon her beautiful waters, 
 and I rejoiced in belonging to such a mother, and that my 
 weary pilgrimage had closed at such a home ! But this 
 succession of emotions was but symbolical of deeper ones 
 to which I yet was destined ; for, when my steps sought the 
 spots to which in earlier life they were accustomed, I found 
 a severer darkness frowning over them in the pestilence, 
 and houses untenanted, or most of those which had inhabit- 
 ants, in tears and mourning. When I asked for many a 
 friend of years gone by, I was pointed to the tomb. But 
 presently the streets began to brighten into what they 
 were ; many a warm hand renewed the earnest grasp so 
 long ago remembered ; the welcome of many a departed 
 parent smiled on me in their children : until at length I 
 beheld the memories of a former day gathering the lovely 
 and the gallant, and the intellectual, and the affluent, in one 
 splendid circle, where I could almost fancy the spirits of 
 some of the long-buried dead, who would have united at 
 that moment with the living — hovering o'er a scene which 
 made me forget the humbleness of my own desert in ex- 
 ultation for the glorious privilege of once again exclaiming, 
 as I gazed before me — ' The wanderer has a home, and it 
 is here.' 
 
 " ' You have alluded, Mr. President, to my long residence 
 abroad, and I thank you for the opportunity of mention- 
 ing those whom I have j ust quitted. My career has, indeed, 
 been a very chequered one, but I am not aware that its 
 infelicities have exceeded those inherent in a literary life 
 without advantages. In my earlier ramblings, I am bound 
 
118 Life and Writings of 
 
 to remember France and the revered friendship of Talma; 
 I should also speak of the hospitalities of Liverpool and her 
 lamented Roscoe ; and when in Ireland, welcomed by her 
 O'Connell and her Phillips, and myriads of the warm- 
 hearted and enlightened, I said to the people of Dublin : 
 ' My countrymen shall be told from my experience that an 
 American may make friends in other lands, but in grateful 
 Erin he shall find a home,' and I should be glad to know 
 that there are any present belonging to that country, for 
 they would not let it be forgotten that my word to Dublin 
 eighteen years ago, is now fulfilled with pride and thank- 
 fulness, to my native city of ]S"ew York. In the great 
 metropolis, London, I have endured struggles — bitter, 
 heart-breaking struggles — but it should be understood that 
 in a place overthronged with so much bustling competition, 
 it is hard for any aspirant to escape unbruised. My own 
 country would think me unworthy of her, could I deem it 
 any recommendation to her favor, to suppress the truth 
 that I have found the land of my birth by no means so 
 undervalued as we are taught to fancy, in the land which 
 I, for so many years, have made that of my residence. I 
 have experienced cordial friendship from every rank, and, 
 though sometimes hardly dealt with by little minds from 
 sordid motives, I have been sustained by great ones, from 
 the most disinterested. Nay, I must not except some of 
 the aristocracy itself from especial praise for qualities 
 adapted to make members of that order respected even in 
 America, where we do not value them for their rank. 
 When I have been sinking, the support of such men as the 
 Devonshires, the Seagraves, the Mulgraves, has been ac- 
 corded to me, with an elegance and promptitude, for which 
 I am aware I am less indebted to my own merits than to 
 their honor for a country, which I felt the prouder of, 
 when I found it a passport to the kindness of persons with 
 a nobility beyond their coronets. But, perhaps there 
 would be required no better testimonial of the good will 
 
John Howard Payne. 119 
 
 « of that nation toward ours, in all matters connected with 
 literature and the arts, than the cordial alacrity with which 
 the most distinguished representatives of the British drama 
 last Thursday came forward in support of an American. 
 K I single Mr. Kemble and Mr. Wallack from the rest, it 
 is not because I think the attention of one person on such 
 an occasion less complimentary than that of another; but 
 that it enables me to mention how much my gratification 
 was, under all the circumstances, enhanced, in seeing my 
 reception from my native city graced by those who so many 
 years have been the rival managers of the two great theatres 
 of London with which I have been principally connected. 
 " ' Mr. President, had I not already detained you too long, 
 I might have attempted to say something upon other points 
 of your address, though I should tremble to approach a 
 subject which had been touched by your eloquence. My 
 feelings for the literature of the drama, and my sense of 
 its importance to the community, must be inferred from 
 my past attention to it; and will, I trust, be obvious from 
 my future efforts to desire a place among those of my 
 countrymen, who have shown, and some very recently, 
 the power of achieving great things for our fame to come, 
 in this most difficult pursuit. Though, as I believe, the 
 earliest native adventurer in the representative department 
 of the drama, I myself have voluntarily withdrawn from 
 the course, with my young countryman, who so nobly 
 wears the laurels, I once so longed to win, (need I say 
 Edwin Forrest?) the destinies of native acting where 
 they are sure to be borne up proudly. But it is time I 
 should release you ; and, if I may still be permitted to 
 pursue my strain of egotism, I would ask you to allow me 
 to close with the mention of the three names which are dear 
 to me; two, as my earliest patrons in this my native city, and 
 one, as a warm and most devoted friend ; and I do not know 
 that I ever again shall have so fitting an opportunity of 
 paying them the tribute they deserve from me, as among 
 
120 Life and Writings of 
 
 those who have shown their spirit towards me in later life, 
 though in a different form. I would, therefore, Mr. Presi- 
 dent, beg leave to propose, without further preamble, 
 
 " ' The memories of William Coleman, John E. Seaman, 
 and Joseph D. Fay.' 
 
 " Mr. Payne no sooner resumed his seat, than the follow- 
 ing ode, written for the occasion, by Samuel Woodworth, 
 Esq., was recited by Mr. J. J. Adams, the actor. 
 
 Payne's Welcome. 
 
 TtTNE — '' Scots, who' haey 
 
 Braid the wreath, the chaplet twine, 
 Weave the laurel with the vine, 
 Taste and mirth shall here combine, 
 To grace our revelry. 
 
 Native genius claims our praise, 
 Tell his worth in tuneful lays. 
 Crown him with o'er shadowing bays, 
 Blooming verdantly. 
 
 Freedom's sons who cease to roam, 
 Thus receive a welcome home, 
 Here beneath her temple's dome, 
 
 Where her anthems swell. 
 
 List to him whose magic quill. 
 Moulds our passions to his will, 
 Waking feeling's sweetest thrill, 
 We the tribute pay. 
 
 List to him, whose classic lyre 
 Can the oldest heart inspire. 
 With a glow of patriot fire, 
 
 That can ne'er decay. 
 
 Does he not our hearts appall. 
 In the despot Tar quints fall ? 
 Does not sweet Lucretia call 
 
 Tears of sympathy ? 
 
John Howard Payne. 121 
 
 Does not Richelieu impart 
 Tremors to the " Broken Heart ? " 
 Do not gems of pity start 
 
 For his Oswali f 
 
 Lo ! the magic wand he waves ! 
 Kings and courtiers burst their graves ; 
 Charles^ with all his merry knaves, 
 Joins in revelry. 
 
 Clari and TMr6se are here, 
 See the white maid, too, appear ! 
 " Home, Sweet Home ! " salutes the ear, 
 Dear to memory. 
 
 Hail him welcome to the shores 
 Where bright Freedom's eagle soars, 
 Where her temple's open doors 
 
 Welcome all the free ! 
 
 Where in academic bowers. 
 Shadowed by her loveliest flowers, 
 Once he passed the sweetest hours 
 Of careless infancy. 
 
 Bard, beloved by all the nine, 
 Minstrel of the lyre divine, 
 Fadeless honors shall be thine, 
 Through futurity. 
 
 Take the wreath from friendship's hand. 
 Woven by this festive band, 
 Welcome to thy native land — 
 Land of Liberty. 
 
 " The toasts and speeches were very numerous ; but the 
 only one we have room to repeat is an exceedingly appro- 
 priate one, which was much admired at the time, and was 
 given bv Mr. Redwood Fisher. 
 
 " * J. philosophy more refined than that of the Stoics — The 
 Pleasure of receiving — Payne." ' 
 16 
 
122 Life and Writings of 
 
 In a few weeks after Mr. Payne's grand receptions at the 
 Park theatre and at the City Hotel, he was invited by 
 some old friends to Boston, where lay the scenes of his 
 childhood. He accepted the invitation and his recep- 
 tion was most flattering. 'No sooner had he arrived than 
 plans were laid for a complimentary benefit at the Tre- 
 mont theatre, to take place on the 3d of April, 1833, and, 
 although the theatre oiSPered no facilities equal to those at 
 the Park theatre, yet the affair went off with eclat The 
 performance consisted of selections from the various pro- 
 ductions of Mr. Payne, viz : the one-act comedietta of Love 
 in Humble Life, the drama of Therese, The Lances, Charles 
 II, and an address by Park Benjamin. 
 
 On this occasion, the box tickets were placed at three 
 dollars each, and the rest of the house at one dollar. By 
 some mismanagement, a portion of the citizens, who felt 
 warmly towards Mr. Payne, were dissatisfied, and only the 
 higher classes in the city attended. The house, though 
 unprecedentedly brilliant, was unexpectedly thin in num- 
 bers ; besides, other things conspired to injure the success 
 of the undertaking. " The Kembles were announced to 
 appear shortly. The night was unpropitious, preceding, 
 as it did, the general fast, when many families leave the 
 city to unite in social gatherings." 
 
 The following address was spoken by Mrs. Barrett : 
 
 Address. 
 
 Could some enchantress, by her magic spell, 
 Fair as Love's Groddess from her ocean-shell, 
 Chase the dim vapors that conceal the past, 
 And o'er Time's sea a tender radiance cast ; 
 What various scenes, to gladden and surprise, 
 Would to your view, in bright succession, rise ! 
 Alas! our age has unromantic grown. 
 And fancy is the sole enchantress known. 
 Invoke her aid, and from her starry bower, 
 She may descend to gild the passing hour. 
 
John Howard Payne. 123 
 
 Through the long vista of departed years, 
 
 What vision first, in Fancy's light, appears ? 
 
 See yonder group of happy playmates stand 
 
 Round one who seems the leader of the band I 
 
 His cheek is blushing with the rose's bloom. 
 
 Why o'er his forehead waves a crimson plume ? 
 
 His form for Cupid's well might be adored. 
 
 Why is it girded with the glittering sword ? 
 
 He speaks — the group disperse — now formed once more, 
 
 Behold on air a silken banner soar. 
 
 In serried ranks, with measured steps, they come. 
 
 Hark ! the shrill fife and spirit-stirring drum. 
 
 What field is this ? Who leads this gallant train ? 
 
 'Tis Boston Common — Captain Howard Payne. 
 
 The scene is changed — lo ! in the still midnight, 
 
 A lonely student, by his lamp's faint light. 
 
 Pale is his cheek — his eye all dim with tears; 
 
 Can such deep grief belong to childhood's years ? 
 
 A son, his tribute of affection pays — 
 
 To her whose smile had blest Life's early days. 
 
 Can this frail student be the radiant boy 
 
 Whose heart so late was redolent of joy? 
 
 Ah, yes ! immured in Learning's cloistered shade, 
 
 Like a caged eagle's, does his spirit fade. 
 
 Once more a change of scene — and such a change ! 
 
 A stage — a theatre — how brightly strange I 
 
 A simple lad, in cap-and-tartan dress. 
 
 Yet proud his bearing and superb his crest — 
 
 " My name is Norval." Norval ! can it be ? 
 
 Transformed so quickly ! that sweet voice — 'tis he ! 
 
 That smile — lip curled in high disdain. 
 
 That graceful form — nine cheers for Master Payne ! 
 
 Let blushing honors gather round his fame — 
 
 This " happy deed shall gild his humble name;" 
 
 For the wide stage his youthful footsteps press, 
 
 To shield a much-loved father from distress : 
 
 And, greeted thus by richly-earned applause, 
 
 " Who shall resist him in a parent's cause ?" 
 
 Loud were the praises that his welcome gave, 
 
 In l^at far land beyond th' Atlantic wave. 
 
 There, like a halo, on his young brow fell 
 
 The laurel-garland he has worn so well ! 
 
124 Life and Writings of 
 
 Another change — within so brief a span, 
 
 Has this fair boy become a serious man ? 
 
 'Tis true — but sacred in his bosom glows 
 
 A fire like that which burns 'mid Alpine snows: 
 
 Though tempests shatter the volcano's throne, 
 
 Though Winter belt him with an icy zone, 
 
 Still do the splendors of his lofty head 
 
 On regions round a sun-like lustre shed. 
 
 So Genius, left to poverty and woe, 
 
 Whose rending thoughts the world can never know, 
 
 In its lone majesty, all coldly shrined, 
 
 Throws its broad gleam along the realms of mind. 
 
 A change of scene — the nearest and the last, 
 
 We need no spirit to reveal the past ; 
 
 For, lo ! 'tis present and before you now. 
 
 The warrior-child, with sword and plumed brow ; 
 
 The student, bending o'er the written page ; 
 
 The actor, proudly marching on the stage ; 
 
 The author, bringing forms to life and light, 
 
 Which, here reflected, you may see to-night — 
 
 At length has come — Heaven grant no more to roam 
 
 To his own native land, his '* Home, sweet home ! " 
 
 At the close of the address, there arose a loud cry for 
 Mr. Payne. He at once appeared, and spoke to the au- 
 dience as follows : " The sound of his well-remembered 
 voice," says the Commercial Advertiser, " was familiar to 
 our ears, and, while all the boyish softness has given place 
 to a more manly tone, it still is as musical as ever." 
 
 " My kind-hearted Friends ! — (You will, I know, for- 
 give my informality in thus addressing you — called to an 
 interview like this, how were it possible I should adopt a 
 phrase more ceremonious ?) — I little expected ever again 
 to hail the intellectual beauties, and the graver worth 
 and talent, of this early-valued city, from the stage; 
 but surely I shall not be regarded as rescinding by it my 
 resignation of a pursuit once so dear to me — for I should 
 indeed be unmeriting the warmth with which you bid me 
 welcome, were I capable of meeting you as an actor now. 
 
John Howard Payne. 125 
 
 " I remember in my rovings among distant lands, to have 
 heard one of the last of the bards, himself in solitude, en- 
 chanting with his harp the picturesque solitudes of his 
 native Wales. ' Three things restored,' exclaimed the 
 minstrel, ' give back to the worn and tired of the world, 
 the hopes and cheeriness of youth : the food with which in 
 childhood we were nourished ; the climate where we were 
 in childhood reared ; the train of thought by which in child- 
 hood we were amused.' When, amid the inconveniences 
 of a struggling and a troubled life abroad, recollections of 
 the land I had quitted were rekindled by our writers, and 
 'the woods where I had dwelt pleasantly rustled their 
 green leaves in the song, and our streams were there with 
 the sound of all their waters,' — even the idea of home — 
 ' fraught with the fragrance of home-dwelling joys, would 
 reanimate the drooping spirit, as the Arabian breeze will 
 sometimes waft the freshness of the distant fields to the 
 weary pilgrim of the desert.' If bare remembrance of such 
 joys could thus charm away discomfort, how must I feel 
 since I have found myself in the actual possession of all 
 concerning which, I, for so many years, have only been 
 permitted to dream ; realizing that the promise of the poet 
 of Wales was not a fiction ! And where can I realize it 
 more touchingly than in that spot, which, if it did not give 
 me birth, inspired my earliest impressions ? where every 
 step reminds me of some sweet hour of infancy ? where I 
 scarcely move without being greeted by the smile of some 
 companion of departed days, or some engaging event of 
 the morning of my existence ? Nay, in glancing around 
 me here, it may be that there can some be found, at this 
 time chieftains of renown, whom, in the mimic grandeur 
 of military pomp as a boy-warrior, I was myself the first to 
 lead to glory over the old Common, with true martial valor, 
 never Pinching even from the squibs by jealous urchins 
 flung at us on election days ; and others, who from the 
 press, the bar or the senate, have won still greater honors 
 
126 Life and Writings of 
 
 than those for which we once contended in the school-room 
 or the college. Indeed, I cannot but exult in the manly 
 and the wholesome feeling, which, during my recent visit, 
 regardless of the differences since created by fortune or 
 position, has animated numbers in extending to the return- 
 ing wanderer the hand of cordial recognition, and of kind- 
 ness even fraternal. Many, long since gone from the earth, 
 would have this night brought hither hearts as warm as 
 the warmest which are now beating here ; and there was 
 one, most nearly and most dearly allied to me, who would 
 not, could his spirit witness what has passed since my ar- 
 rival, be unmoved by the evidence that out of the many, who 
 from him and from some of his family, derived the first 
 impulse to knowledge, there should yet be those remain- 
 ing who affectionately, in me, remember him and them. 
 
 " But I trust it is on higher grounds than any merely per- 
 sonal, that I have acquiesced in this opportunity of express- 
 ing to you my thanks. The awakening of public feeling 
 upon such an occasion, is only of importance as it proves a 
 dawning enthusiasm regarding points of national taste and 
 literature. If, by so humble a pretext as my poor claims, 
 the slightest interest can be excited, the tendency is likely 
 to rise into something which must, ultimately, elicit genius 
 worthy of every honor. To my high-hearted and liberal 
 friends in a neighboring city, I predicted that the disposi- 
 tion which there so splendidly and so spontaneously dis- 
 played itself towards me, would prompt similar encourage- 
 ments to others, and it did ; and, should such a disposition 
 continue, we may ere long expect for every thing intellec- 
 tual the bright day when ' delicate spirits' shall never again, 
 like Ariel in the cloven pine of Bermuda, only be disco- 
 verable among the treasures of the new world, by cries of 
 anguish and by supplications for relief "Would you rival 
 other lands in literature ? Give it advantages. Do not be 
 content with leaving literature, like virtue, to be its own 
 reward. For myself, allow me to repeat my earnest grati- 
 
John Howard Payne. 127 
 
 tude that, in my case, another assurance should have been 
 suggested that my countrymen begin to think upon such 
 matters in a way which will be sure to rivet all hearts which 
 take an interest in them, to our native land. My own, at 
 a distance, has for many years gloried in the majesty of our 
 eagle's flight : but my admiration cannot but deepen into 
 love, the more I feel what warmth and comfort dwell be- 
 neath her wings." 
 
 It seems that, besides the ill-selected night for Mr. 
 Payne's testimonial, and the fact of the Kembles being 
 announced shortly to appear, that some invidious person, 
 one of those who seem to live for no other purpose than 
 to fiud fault, and to stab at the finest feelings and intelli- 
 gence of others, saw fit on this occasion to depreciate, 
 through one of the papers, the efforts of Mr. Payne as a 
 dramatist, and also to stigmatize the testimonial offered to 
 him by the citizens of Boston, as an act of charity. On this 
 conduct, the following remarks were made by the spirited 
 editor of the old New York Mirror. 
 
 Mr. Payne's Benefit at Boston. 
 
 " The complimentary theatrical festival offered to Mr. 
 Howard Payne in Boston, seems to have been less cleverly 
 managed than that given in Kew York. It was attended, 
 however, by a galaxy of beauty and fashion, represented as 
 exceeding any thing of the kind ever before witnessed in 
 that city ; but the time chosen was, from a variety of causes, 
 unfavorable — the bill had little attraction, and the audience 
 was not so crowded as every one anticipated. The papers 
 are warm in their eulogies of Mr. Payne, with the excep- 
 tion, we believe, of one discordant voice, which emits some- 
 thing about charity, very inappropriate to, and quite uncalled 
 for hf the occasion. 
 
 "It is a pity, if the friends of Mr. Payne, as an actor, an 
 author, and a man, and the friends, also, of dramatic litera- 
 
128 Life and Writings of 
 
 ture in general, may not have ttie privilege of awarding to 
 him a compliment on his return to his native country, with- 
 out opposition from people who, if they do not assist, 
 might at least refrain from interfering. In regard to the pe- 
 cuniary profit of the benefits to Mr. Payne, they are just as 
 much charitable donations, as the sums paid to Walter 
 Scott by his publishers ; the subscription-money received 
 by an editor, the fee handed to a lawyer, or the reward 
 allowed to any artisan or artist who receives a quid pro quo. 
 The Boston Evening Gazette says, ' averaging the perform- 
 ance of plays by Mr. Payne at twenty in Boston each sea- 
 son, it would take more than one year, acting every night, 
 Sunday not excepted, to have got through the number of 
 actual representations we have had of his pieces.' 
 
 " For all this, the author had been but inadequately paid 
 abroad, and not at all here. We trust he will not find his 
 praises of " Home, sweet home" overwrought. Is it charity, 
 then, in us to express to him our appreciation of his various 
 and beautiful productions, and to put that expression in a 
 form which will be as useful as it is honorable to him ? A 
 number of physicians rendered services to the people in 
 this and other cities, during the prevalence of the late epi- 
 demic. Some of them have been presented with compli- 
 mentary tokens of regard, and a few with money. Is this 
 charity ? On the death of Dr. Dwight, his works were col- 
 lected and published, and the proceeds of their sale appro- 
 priated to the use of his family. Was this charity ? It 
 must be remarked, also, that Mr. Payne was invited from 
 London, to receive in this, his native country, the identi- 
 cal compliments, the conferring of which is now beheld so 
 enviously by certain individuals." 
 
 It is a relief to know that there was but one paper in 
 Boston that had the littleness to assault Mr. Payne, and to 
 accuse him of having appealed for public charity, while it 
 found fault with him for not having been born in Boston. 
 " He had better go back to London," it said, " where he 
 
JuuN Howard Payne. 129 
 
 has spent so many years of his life, and there seek the com- 
 pensation for his labors, which he now desires to obtain 
 from our fellow citizens." To this gratuitous tirade of the 
 Atlas, the Boston Transcript made the following reply. 
 
 " We may set it down as a general rule that no man can 
 receive notice without provoking enmity; for, as Shake- 
 speare says, ' It is the bright day which brings forth the 
 adder' ; and in reference to our own country, the idea has 
 been amusingly amplified in a manner which may not be 
 inapplicable : ' The same sun whose plastic power decks 
 the blooming temples of Flora with chaplets, and bows the 
 broad shoulders of autumn with luxuriance, quickens from 
 the chrysalis the spleeny race of musquitoes, and operates 
 like galvanism on the torpid venom of the rattlesnake.' 
 For shame ! charity, forsooth ! Here is an early townsman 
 of our own — himself and his family well known and highly 
 respected here for years — and whose youthful connection 
 with Boston, while abroad whenever he was spoken of ad- 
 vantageously there, has uniformly been most pompously 
 paraded. Well, this townsman produces a vast number of 
 plays, which are uniformly successful. These plays are 
 caught at by our managers with avidity. For sixteen years 
 they constitute stock pieces on our stage. Averaging the 
 performance of plays by Mr. Payne at twenty-five in Bos- 
 ton each season, it would take more than one year, acting 
 every night, Sundays not excepted, to have got through the 
 number of actual representations we have had of his pieces. 
 The average is doubtless much beyond our statement ; for, 
 even since his present short visit to Boston, pieces from his 
 pen {not including the three on Wednesday, which would 
 swell the sum to fourteen) have been acted eleven times. 
 To one of these, the White Maid, brought out even 
 under his very eyes, the managers had no right whatever. 
 They acted it against Mr. Payne's wish. It was never pub- 
 lished. The manuscript was clandestinely obtained from 
 London. Mr. Payne might have legally prevented its ap- 
 17 
 
130 Life and Writings of 
 
 pearance or forced the managers to jpay him thrice as much 
 as his benefit has been said to have yielded. But he allowed 
 the Tremont managers to reap the advantage, which they 
 regarded as sufficient to justify them not only in paying 
 three " stars" and extra choristers and musicians, but in 
 complimenting Mr. Sinclair with a magnificent gold watch 
 and chain and other appendages, (costing nearly two-thirds 
 as much as, after the house-expenses of the festival are paid, 
 the benefit will produce), and which Mr. Sinclair displays 
 at parties as the tribute to him from the theatre for the 
 success of his acting the principal character in an opera by 
 Mr. Payne ! What is done for Mr. Payne all this time ? 
 Do the managers show him any attention? They do. 
 They allow his friends to take the theatre on paying a much 
 greater sum than could be brought into it by any other 
 means, at such a time, and to give him a benefit, as some 
 remuneration for what his countrymen have enjoyed in 
 gratification, and the theatre itself in profit, for sixteen 
 years from his labors. The benefit is given. The gentle- 
 men who give it, following the high example of IlTew 
 York, handsomely ofifer any praise to be derived from so 
 proper a tribute, to the city generally. All things, where 
 the many are concerned, must originate with the few ; and 
 in such matters, the few necessarily represent, in the first 
 instance, the many. The elegance and fashion of Boston 
 turn out, but the pecuniary result is unworthy of such a 
 city, unworthy of such an occasion. What follows? Mr. 
 Payne is represented as a supplicator for public charity 
 and an undeserving one ! We have scarcely patience to 
 repeat an imputation so disgraceful to the maker ! At the 
 very moment that we write, we see a man sticking play- 
 bills all over the town for Mr. Pelby's benefit on Monday 
 evening, announcing John Howard Payne's tragedy of 
 Brutus, probably for the hundred and fiftieth time in Bos- 
 ton, as the great attraction, and yet, while this is doing, we 
 have to screen Mr. Payne from the dirt thrown at him in 
 
John Howard Payne. 131 
 
 our *' literary emporium" as accepting a charity in accept- 
 ing a benefit welcome for himself! Had it been a charity, 
 it would have been rather an unchristian thing among a 
 religious people, and rather an ungracious one among a 
 polite people, to have spoken of it as such ; and looking at 
 the amount, it would have been somewhat of a reflection 
 upon a liberal people, to have shown themselves incapa- 
 ble of a better. But being a civility, and a civility not 
 claimed by Mr. Payne, but offered to him by the patrons 
 of the theatre, is it not rather hard that it should be ren- 
 dered only a source of insult and of discomfort to a 
 gentleman whose deportment during between two and three 
 months that he has been among us, has been uniformly 
 such as to secure him not only respect but friendship ? 
 And that, even of many who have been influenced against 
 him by the petty tricks which are always set in motion by 
 the malignant to depress the popular ; and who have been 
 astonished at their prejudices the moment they have been 
 favored with his acquaintance ? Let our countryman be 
 assured that such is not the feeling of our city; nor is there 
 any one among us who enters at all into the paltry slurs 
 attempted to be cast upon him for having remained so 
 long abroad. Let those who go to see his Brutus on 
 Monday evening, say whether, since he has been away, 
 from us his writings have not upheld those principles most 
 dear to us as Americans; and judge whether we ought not 
 to value him even almost as much as we are expected to 
 do some who have remained among us, to display feelings 
 of which we have every reason to be ashamed. No, let 
 our distant friends be certain that Boston people disclaim 
 with indignation such a course of conduct as has been 
 attempted to be ascribed to them on this occasion ; although 
 we are^orry to say there are now and then one or two to 
 be found among us who get something like our east wind 
 in their heads and their hearts, which blows no good to 
 themselves or to any body else. But as to the question 
 
132 Life and Writings of 
 
 whether the leading people of Boston had anything to do 
 with the complimentary part of this affair, that will, we 
 conceive, need no further answer than this; one of its first 
 recoramenders was a Boston representative to the legisla- 
 ture, one of its first committee was another Boston repre- 
 sentative to the legislature, one of its last committee was 
 also a third representative, and one of our wealthiest citi- 
 zens, too, to the Boston legislature ; those present, without 
 an exception (unless perhaps some one who may have 
 taken a gift of two tickets and then set to work abusing it), 
 were persons from our most fashionable and wealthy 
 families, and all long and thoroughly known in Boston. 
 So large an assemblage of persons exclusively of the high 
 fashion of Boston has never before been seen. We state 
 this merely for the information of those at a distance. To 
 all here, it is, of course, known thoroughly. And now, 
 we proceed to the reply of the committee of arrangements, 
 which is copied from the Transcript 
 
 " The committee of arrangements of the Payne festival 
 who have " humbugged" the public, cannot allow the 
 article in the Atlas ■ to pass without a comment. As the 
 friends of Mr. Payne never admitted the word or feeling 
 of charity to enter into their views in the management of 
 the benefit, nor wished aid to it under such impressions, 
 they pass over in silence that part of the article reflecting 
 such an imputation on the true friends of Mr. Payne and 
 dramatic literature. The members of the committee con- 
 cur entirely with the Atlas, that the benefit was not given 
 by the city of Boston, but by the friends of Mr. Payne : 
 it would have been unkind, even to his enemy, if he have 
 any, and we have not yet realized the fact, had the com- 
 mittee prefaced their bill by saying they only expected or 
 invited the particular friends of Mr. Payne to be present. 
 They wished to give the city of Boston the opportunity of 
 proving whether it had any feeling for such an evidence 
 of Mr. Payne's merits or not. The sequel has proved that. 
 
John Howard Payne. 133 
 
 independent of a very attractive bill, it had not the feeling 
 in question. We cannot allow that one solitary paper, 
 among so many, should be an evidence of the feeling of 
 the community at large. We place the matter entirely on 
 the ground that the Atlas has done, so far as regards those 
 who gave the benefit, and we are happy in saying that the 
 Tremout theatre never was more graced than by the bright 
 galaxy of fine faces and intelligent minds that were assem- 
 bled on that occasion. 
 
 " A better representation of the feeling of a community 
 could not have been chosen, and we are confident in saying 
 that, had the theatre had it in its power to afford as attract- 
 ive a bill as was brought forward at New York, that the 
 house would have been filled not only by the personal 
 friends of Mr. Payne, but by the mass of the people." 
 
 Shortly after the Boston fiasco he returned to the city of 
 New York, where he had been so handsomely received, and 
 resided with his brother Thatcher Payne, who then had 
 risen to eminence as a lawyer. Here he constructed the 
 grand work of the Life of our Saviour, which he had prepared 
 in the mannerof a harmony of the four Gospels. It was said 
 to have been beautifully executed, on the common theory 
 of the three years' duration of the ministry of Jesus. But 
 after consulting a friend on the subject of its publication, 
 he concluded not to have it printed, from the fact that a 
 similar work by Mr. Ware had pre-occupied the market. 
 This given up, he soon after issued a prospectus for a 
 weekly periodical, which was to be published in London, 
 and conducted on an international basis, its contributors 
 to be both English and American, The idea was a novel 
 one, and at that time could not have failed to make the 
 English better acquainted with our progress in all things 
 pertaining to a high civilization, as well as to modify a 
 national feeling of conflict between the two people. 
 
 Mr. Payne said in his Prospectus: "Literary labor in 
 America can only be rendered a source of sure and per- 
 
134 Life and "Writings of 
 
 manent benefit to its followers and others through some 
 connection with the periodical press. Even abroad, this 
 is widely, though less exclusively, the case : Byron himself 
 knew it, and was ambitious of establishing a Magazine with 
 Shelley and Hunt. Scott was for a long time at the head 
 of an Annual Register, and to the last was more or less 
 concerned in less ponderous publications of the same class ; 
 and Campbell, Bulwer, Lockhart, and numbers equally 
 eminent in England, besides Jouy, Durval, and others in 
 France, and many who might be quoted in various parts 
 of the world, look for their least precarious resources and 
 means of usefulness, notwithstanding their popularity as 
 makers of books, to their editorships of periodicals. 
 
 " But there is no country where works of that nature 
 form so essential a portion of national literature, as ours ; 
 or where their power of doing good or evil can be so widely 
 and so suddenly diffused. It was, therefore, the first thought 
 of the writer of this, to associate himself with some esta- 
 blishment already in existence here, or to create upon the 
 spot a new one of his own. 
 
 " He has found every place, however, in the enterprises 
 now existing, not only filled, but ably filled. He has 
 found, too, that the country already contains as many 
 dailies, weeklies, monthlies, quarterlies and annuals, upon 
 the established system of such productions, as it appears 
 to require; and no opportunity seems open for a new 
 undertaking of the sort, which might not be an interfer- 
 ence with those already popular. To the enlightened per- 
 son connected with works of this description throughout 
 the United States, the undersigned is indebted for many 
 civilities, and so large and liberal has been the kindness 
 with which they have sustained him, equally through 
 good report and evil, that he would not for a moment en- 
 tertain a thought of any speculation, which could scarcely 
 be successful without disturbing the arrangements of 
 some one, who, though a stranger, may have been a friend. 
 
John Howard Payne. 135 
 
 " But, in the course of his examination, he has remarked 
 how largely some of our papers draw upon materials from 
 abroad, and so prevailing is the desire for European ex- 
 tracts and information, that papers are not only liberally 
 patronized expressly for these alone; but republications 
 made in London Journals as they stand, and even some of 
 the best of our own, establishing a strong claim to patron- 
 age upon the correspondence of agents, whom they employ 
 abroad. Thus, the voice of Europe is heard incessantly in 
 every corner of the North American Republic. 
 
 "In the meantime, who hears of our own Republic in 
 Europe? Who knows any thing of the innumerable im- 
 provements we are hourly making in the application of 
 science to the useful arts, — of the many valuable works 
 which are constantly issuing from our press, — of the num- 
 berless displays of high intellectual power in every depart- 
 ment among us, which, from circumstances, are never 
 wrought into books; — in short, of how much we are labor- 
 ing in the great cause of universal good, which, even when 
 the effect is felt in other climes, is felt without any recog- 
 nition of its source? — And who, in America, is not 
 aware, — even while the press of Europe is so much 
 courted in America, — through what distorted mediums it 
 leads us to look upon productions and events, or how 
 seldom, even when fairly represented, they are exhibited 
 in those points of view, which would be, to us, the most 
 interesting or instructive ? 
 
 " These reflections have suggested to the undersigned a 
 project, which, though venturous, appears to supply the 
 only stand never yet taken for extensive usefulness in 
 periodical literature. It is an enterprise which could only 
 proceed from a country situated like ours ; and it appears 
 to him equally a desideratum for both sides of the Atlantic. 
 The w^rk in question is an original American Journal, to 
 be published every week in London, supported by the 
 united talent of both countries, and containing the most 
 
136 Life and Writings of 
 
 accurate information from both upon every subject, — ex- 
 cepting politics, — which can have interest or importance 
 either in America or Europe. 
 
 " The proposed title of this Journal has been hinted by 
 the story of the magical cup, so much the theme of eastern 
 poetry, and to us rendered peculiarly interesting from the 
 impression among certain of the scripture commentators, 
 that, in the sack of Benjamin, some cup with such a story 
 must have been placed, to have impelled Joseph's servant 
 to ask his brethren, — "Is not this it whereby my Lord 
 divineth?" — It is scarcely necessary to add that the 
 allusion is to that famous cup supposed to possess the 
 strange property of representing in it, the whole world, 
 and all the things which were then doing, — and celebrated 
 as Jami Jamshed, the cup of Jamshed, a very ancient 
 King of Persia, and which is said to have been dis- 
 covered in digging the foundations of Persepolis, filled 
 with the elixir of immortality. The name given to this 
 cup by the poets of Persia, is the one thought of for 
 the present purpose; and if the work in contemplation 
 should be attempted, it will probably bear the eastern title 
 of Jam Jejan Nima, which means in English tbe 
 goblet wherein you may behold the universe. 
 
 " On each side of the Atlantic the intended Journal is 
 expected to aiford distinct advantages, which may unite 
 to assist objects of vast interest to the world at large. 
 
 " To America it can be serviceable thus : 
 
 " I. By providing a depository where original literary pro- 
 ductions from the writers of America and England may 
 appear side by side; a competition may be created tending 
 to most favorable influences upon our literature; while its 
 effects, exhibited before so large a mass of readers on both 
 sides of the ocean, will afford evidences in our favor better 
 than the best of arguments. IS'othing overcomes mere pre- 
 judice more effectually than acquaintanceship ; and there 
 is a sort of remorse mixed up with the sense of having 
 
John Howakd Payne. 137 
 
 been unjust through ignorance, which almost always 
 changes those who were once embittered, by want of know- 
 ledge of each other, into the most earnest friends. The 
 closer intercourse of England with this country, by means 
 of literature and the arts, has done more to wear away a 
 bad spirit than all the negociations of all our political 
 ambassadors. 
 
 " II. It will supply a vehicle in which the intellec- 
 tual interest of America may be upheld. As our poli- 
 tical relations call for a political ambassador, — and our 
 commercial intercourse causes the establishment of houses 
 of commerce, — and our fashionable world keeps up its 
 envoys at the courts and coteries, — is it not equally de- 
 sirable that some mode should be created for extending 
 attention to the moral and mental, as well as to the phy- 
 sical and mercantile, strength of this vast republic ? — for 
 steadily representing the reading and the writing and the 
 thinking portion of the people of America in the great 
 parliament of European letters which taxes them so largely? 
 
 "III. It will give Europe a catalogue raisonnee of all the 
 original books issuing from the American press; and 
 prompt inquiry after, and knowledge of, many of which 
 otherwise nothing might be known beyond the limited 
 sphere of their publication. 
 
 " IV". It will circulate the names and powers of numerous 
 writers of the first-rate merit, whose reputation is now 
 merely local, and who seldom seek an outlet for their pro- 
 ductions of wider range than a magazine or newspaper. 
 Our business habits, and the large influx of English works, 
 concur to check original publications among ourselves; — 
 and while booksellers can supply the market with sufficient 
 novelty from abroad, which, to the advantage of being 
 obtained without cost, adds that of bringing along with it 
 an established fame, many who can write admirably, write 
 only for themselves. A magazine of the sort now de- 
 scribed, would draw them out and circulate their treasures. 
 18 
 
138 Life and Writings of 
 
 It would, at the same time, make foreigners familiar with 
 some now entirely hidden from observation by the very 
 limited number of book-makers compared with the num- 
 ber of those among us capable of making books. 
 
 "V. It will communicate most readily and extensively 
 every discovery we hit upon in science and the mechanical 
 arts. 
 
 " YI. It will enable misrepresentations of our country to 
 be answered ere they have time to take root. 
 
 " The service it can render on the other side of the At- 
 lantic, may be : 
 
 " I, To provide opinions upon productions and events, 
 entirely uninfluenced by party or local prejudice. It has 
 often been remarked that we are with respect to Europe a 
 sort of cotemporary posterity. Towards England our intel- 
 lectual relations are altogether unprecedented in the his- 
 tory of nations. Our mutual influences exceed those 
 of other nations, because we do not only think upon 
 the same topics, but in the same language; and our 
 understanding of each other never sufi'ers through those 
 distortions often inevitable from the different shades of 
 signification growing out even of the clearest communica- 
 tion in any language not our own. As to their earlier master 
 minds, that country is identified with ours; and we have 
 only been rendered a separate nation by having realized 
 the inspirations upon the subject of national liberty for 
 which some of these mighty teachers became immortal. 
 But, though divided from the rest as the peculiar people, 
 who went apart to preserve the right principles of national 
 happiness, we have continued as one and the same people 
 in every thing relating to literature, to science and the 
 arts. The indentity of our interests in these matters is 
 strengthening with time ; and as the vast increase of readers 
 of works from England goes on increasing (as it has done 
 ever since Pope complained that he could only be "read in 
 one island"), the desire to stand well with this new literary 
 
John Howard Payne. 139 
 
 public becomes more vivid witli the British literati. But 
 if we contribute so largely to their fame, we are entitled to 
 a voice in the legislature of their taste; and a work which 
 shall speak the sentiments of a clear headed republic, will 
 not be heard without interest, and probably not without 
 courtesy and profit, by those who are gratified with that 
 great republic's sanction." 
 
 Mr. Payne in his prospectus made several other good 
 points, and, to promote his enterprise, traveled through many 
 of the western and south-western states to obtain subscribers, 
 at ten dollars each, in advance, which appeared at the time 
 to be too large a sum, and the amount of money required 
 to start the enterprise, " fifty thousand dollars" was harder 
 to accomplish than he at first supposed, and after spending 
 more money to obtain subscribers than was subscribed, he 
 quietly abandoned the project. 
 
 In 1835, while on his way through the south he stopped 
 at New Orleans, where he was at once received by the press 
 and the citizens with much consideration, and, shortly 
 after his arrival there, a large number of citizens offered 
 to give him a testimonial at the " Camp street theatre." 
 The event took place on the evening of March 18th, 1835. 
 The bill offered for the occasion consisted of Charles the 
 Second and Thirise. 
 
 The committee who had the matter in hand, offered as 
 a prize for the address a silver cup, which was awarded to 
 Mr. James Reese, of Philadelphia, a gentleman who has 
 written many dramas, and is now better known to the 
 public as a dramatic critic, over the signature of " Colley 
 Gibber." The latter part of the address is the finest of 
 any that has been, on any occasion, offered as a graceful 
 tribute to Mr. Payne. 
 
140 Life and Writings of 
 
 Address. 
 
 When classic Greece first reared the infant stage, 
 
 And to the drama gave her title-page, 
 
 ^schylus caught the all-inspiring flame, 
 
 And sent the volume down to future fame. 
 
 Then Shakespeare, with a radiant beauty bound 
 
 The mighty work, which Genius' self had crown'd, 
 
 Until the world, the sceptic world approved. 
 
 What all admired — what all so fondly loved. 
 
 The volume opens, on whose varied page. 
 
 The spirits shine of a departed age : 
 
 Richard, Macbeth, Othello, glide along, 
 
 Raised by the magic of that prince of song. — 
 
 But, hark ! another sweeps the glowing strings 
 
 Of nature's harp — 'tis our own Payne that sings, 
 
 And see ! stern Brutus panoplied appears : 
 
 Himself all marble ; kindred, friends, all tears. 
 
 Then Carwin, hid beneath his cloak of crime. 
 
 Seems the dread angel of destroying time. 
 
 Again — but lo ! what brighter visions rise^ 
 
 Each sense enthralling in a glad surprise, 
 
 " Whose wings like heaven's vast canopy unfurl'd, 
 
 Spread their broad plumage o'er the subject world," 
 
 Around whose forms young Genius proudly clings, 
 
 And " Jam Jehan JVima," glitters on their wings ! 
 
 'Tis Learning's arch extending o'er the main, 
 
 Raised by the talisman of gifted Payne. 
 
 But what reward for him, whose midnight lamp, 
 
 Emits its ray from chambers cold and damp, 
 
 Whose cheerless looks and dreary aspect seem 
 
 The spectred portrait of some horrid dream, 
 
 Whose mind, replete with lore — profusely gives 
 
 Food for the million — while himself scarce lives. 
 
 Who decks creation with a brighter gem 
 
 Than ever sparkled on a diadem ? 
 
 Thus Genius pines, his stores displays in vain, 
 
 Thus bards have languished, steeped in grief and pain 
 
 No showers of gold, by speculative art, 
 
 Dispel the gloom, or warm the aching heart. 
 
John Howard Payne. 141 
 
 What star is that, whose bright, increasing light 
 Breaks on his soul and cheers the gloom of night ? 
 His country's star ! it comes the bard to cheer ; 
 The exile has a home — He finds it here ! 
 
 Music — " Home, Sweet Home ! '' 
 
 What sounds are these, what pleasing, heavenly strains 
 
 Whose echoing sweetness wanton o'er the plains ? 
 
 Hark ! (Music) now on airy wings they float, 
 
 And angel voices catch the inspiring note, 
 
 'Tis the warm welcome — " Wanderer, cease to roam ; 
 
 Thrice doubly welcome to thy " Home, Sweet, Home!" 
 
 (Curtain fell to music of Home, Sweet Home!) 
 
 Immediately after the benefit, the following correspond- 
 ence occurred between the committee and Mr. Payne. 
 The letter of Mr. Payne is of the most highly interesting 
 character, as it shows him to have been one of the strongest 
 and earliest champions of international copyright law, and 
 the argument is so pertinent that it would be an injustice 
 to the interests of literature to omit it. 
 
 Correspondence. 
 " John Howard Payne, Esq., 
 
 " Dear Sir : Enclosed, we have the pleasure to hand you 
 a check for one thousand and six dollars and fifty cents 
 ($1006.50), being the net proceeds resulting from the 
 performances at the American theatre, for your benefit, 
 on the 18th inst. 
 
 " We regret that the inauspicious state of the weather 
 should have caused the amount of the receipts to be less 
 than was anticipated ; we trust, however, that, viewed as 
 a conipliment to you as an American author, it will be 
 acceptable, and be considered as an evidence of the good 
 wishes of the gentlemen, under whose management the 
 benefit was presented to the notice of the public. 
 
142 Life and Writings of 
 
 " We avail ourselves of the occasion to convey to you the 
 expression of our distinguished consideration, and remain 
 most respectfully, 
 
 " Your obedient servants, 
 
 Jas. Saul, Chairman, 
 "IS'ew Orleans, April 2, 1835. I^ath. Dick, 
 
 J. Foster, Jr. 
 
 " Committee.'' 
 
 " Gentlemen : I am this moment honored with your letter, 
 enclosing the sum of $1006.50, being the amount remain- 
 ing after payment to the playhouse managers, for one 
 evening's performance at the American theatre, volunteered 
 for my advantage, on Wednesday, the 18th of last month, 
 by my countrymen at I^ew Orleans. In return, I beg 
 you to make my grateful acknowledgments to all who 
 have promoted this attention, and to accept for your- 
 selves, and for the other gentlemen composing the various 
 committees, my especial thanks. Apart from any consi- 
 derations personal to myself, I believe the evidence of a 
 disposition for such actions, will inspirit the literary of our 
 land, by showing that neither time nor distance, can cause 
 their labors, however humble, to be forgotten or entirely 
 fruitless. 
 
 "As, however, there may be some who are not altogether 
 apprised of the peculiar position of writers for the stage, 
 and to whom the unique one in which I myself have stood, 
 may not be familiar, I take the liberty of naming my rea- 
 sons for having acquiesced in this and previous civilities of 
 the same nature. I scarcely need mention why I have 
 deferred this representation until now : had it been made 
 earlier — by some it might have been regarded as a sort of 
 electioneering stratagem to promote my pecuniary interests ; 
 but now, I trust, there is no one who will not do me the jus- 
 
John Howard Payne. 143 
 
 tice to take it as it is meant — to understand it as emanating 
 entirely from a wish to make the deplorable state of patron- 
 age to the literary portion of the drama understood among 
 us, that all may see, for the advantage of authors in general, 
 the necessity for a speedy reform. 
 
 " Dramatic authorship in the English language, — although 
 the most vexatious, while it is the most widely influential, 
 branch of literature — has always been the least protected 
 by the laws both of America and England. The authors 
 of France have a permanent interest in every representa- 
 tion of their plays, and this property descends to their 
 families — the law obliges theatres to pay them. In Eng- 
 land, until very lately, dramatic writers were sustained by 
 no law but that of custom, and custom only entitled them 
 to claim the profits of the third, sixth, ninth, twelfth, 
 twentieth, and fortieth, performance of any play, from the 
 theatre in which it first appeared, but from no other; and 
 no sooner had it appeared, than it was at the mercy of the 
 prompters, who made vast perquisites h} supplying early 
 copies to all the provincial theatres of England and by for- 
 warding them to the managers of this country. When 
 published, the author had no power to screen his interest 
 from the cupidity of gain in managers; his play, even 
 against his expressed wish, as in the case of Lord Byron, 
 could be impudently wrested from him before his eyes, 
 and acted without recompense and without even thanks. 
 This enormity was for some years a theme of unregarded 
 remonstrance in the newspapers and magazines. I myself 
 wrote quires to call the attention of the British legislature 
 to the injustice, and to invite them to imitate the law of 
 France. At length the subject was brought before the 
 Parliament of England by Mr. Bulwer. A law was very 
 recently passed, securing to the author (or if the copyright 
 were sold, the proprietor') of any play appearing in the 
 
 ' This was not the original intention of the act. The act meant to secure 
 the rights of authors, exclusively, to a species of profit which can never be 
 
144 Life and Writings of 
 
 English language, whether published or in manuscript, a 
 right to enforce compensation, during some five and 
 twenty years, for every performance of that play, wherever 
 it may appear, within the jurisdiction of the British govern- 
 ment. So impressed was the legislature of England with 
 the inadequacy of theatrical payment as it stood previous 
 to the reform I mention, that they made the new law re- 
 vert to productions which had been brought out within 
 seven years. I myself might have gained largely by this 
 enactment; but, never looking for such a law, I had sold 
 most of my copyrights during the first run of each play, 
 to publishers who are at this moment reaping incomes 
 from them ; and such as remained my property, and are 
 still constantly acted as stock-pieces, were produced on the 
 wrong side of the seven years' limitation. 
 
 " What are our own laws upon this subject? — We have 
 none. Dramatists are at the mercy of managers. The 
 now obsolete law of custom in England still remains 
 feebly imitated with us ; not in four benefits for a success, 
 but in one alone; and even that one is usually proflered 
 under circumstances so hopeless, that authors seldom avail 
 themselves of the opportunity. Present a new play to a 
 
 calculated in the outset ; for nothing is more uncertain than the future for- 
 tunes of a play, and that which has promised the least, and under such a 
 doubt, has often been sacrificed for a trifle to managers or publishers, has 
 very frequently turned out the most lucrative in the end. But, from being 
 loosely worded, the act has since been perverted from its original purpose. 
 Indeed, its fraraers did not see the necessity of providing for the difference 
 between publication by printing, and publication by performance, which 
 has always perplexed the question of dramatic copyright, until it has been 
 recently forced upon them through this perversion of their purposes by the 
 grasping spirit of managing and bookselling speculators. When the deci- 
 sion was pronounced in favor of the latter, and against authors, in the court 
 of King's Bench, the court, though compelled to adopt the literal construc- 
 tion, advised a remodeling of the statute, which had evidently defeated 
 itself by the carelessness of its phraseology, and notice has been given that 
 an explanatory law will be submitted. It was, of course, intended to pre- 
 vent authors from becoming the victims of circumstances, and to insure 
 them all the advantages of greater success with the public than they 
 expected. 
 
John Howard Payne. 145 
 
 manager, and he delays its production till the season ia 
 withering, and then flings it upon the forlorn hope ; or if 
 you ask a certain compensation, he replies: 'We are 
 glutted with plays from England, which we must produce, 
 because they bring with them a fame which will excite 
 curiosity ; and for these we have only to pay the prompt- 
 ers, who are salaried to smuggle over all the novelties.' 
 Within a few years, some opportunities have been afforded 
 to a few, employed by certain popular actors, traveling as 
 stars, to write under their patronage and direction, and for 
 their own personal aggrandizement ; but such a market is 
 very soon supplied, and perhaps not always the most desir- 
 able. To me, it has never been offered. On the contrary, 
 when I was abroad, and new productions have occasionally 
 been wanted from England for any particular purpose in 
 America, I have seen myself passed over, and the com- 
 mission tendered to others, not American; and since I 
 have been in America, play after play have I presented for 
 performance, and have uniformly been answered — 'We 
 can get new plays from England, and for nothing.' 
 
 "It will be unnecessary, after this explanation, to state 
 why the market which pays, must be the one resorted to 
 by the person who is not wealthy enough to labor without 
 pay. It will explain, also, why I have taken my produc- 
 tions to the theatres of England. I had no other means 
 of deriving profit from them. I had no other means of 
 getting them before the public of my own country. In this 
 manner I manoeuvered myself, as it were, into opportuni- 
 ties of being heard, and from the frequency with which 
 my plays were announced all over America, and from the 
 praises of them in the papers, I naturally imagined that I 
 had been heard with favor. To confirm this, invitations 
 were sent to me to return, and to receive from my country- 
 men, ttstimonials, that, if managers would not reward me, 
 the public would; — that many plays of mine which had 
 been acted for some nineteen years, would be acknow- 
 19 
 
146 Life and Writings of 
 
 ledged by a benefit in each town where they had been 
 acted, and that, having thus shown that the past was not 
 forgotten, I should find an equal alacrity to make the 
 future prosperous. It was known that much prejudice 
 had been excited against me by a party in England for 
 having so strongly asserted my American principles, as ^o 
 endanger the license of certain plays, and to bring down 
 the vengeance of certain critics ; and I was promised that 
 my own land would sustain me against what I have suf- 
 fered from the support of sentiments, to which I trust no 
 persecution will ever make a citizen of our country false. 
 It was known, too, that my most fortunate efibrts had 
 been made when the theatres were so much embarrassed 
 that they could never pay me one-fourth of the prices 
 usually paid, although it was publicly stated that these 
 very efforts had averted the bankruptcy, first, of Drury 
 Lane and, afterwards, of Covent Garden ; and many en- 
 thusiasts fancied I should find better opportunities and 
 better rewards at home. 
 
 " My return, however, was delayed by business, till two 
 years subsequently to the invitations of which I speak. I 
 was reluctant to comply with a request which might have 
 exposed me to the imputation of having been brought to 
 America only to court notice and attention. I waited 
 until other matters rendered a visit to my native land de- 
 sirable; but, when I did return, I found the professions 
 which had been made to me from New York were not 
 forgotten. My native city gave me the welcome which had 
 been tendered. 
 
 " From various parts of the United States, I was invited 
 to receive similar testimonials. I never understood these 
 as public honors — of such, I never had the vanity to dream. 
 I considered them as a mere compensation from those who 
 had often expressed approval of my labors, and never 
 before had an opportunity of offering that sort of acknow- 
 ledgment for them which no writer, in any language or in 
 
John Howard Payne. 147 
 
 any nation, ever deemed himself dishonored in receiving ; 
 which your divine receives, your lawyer receives, your 
 doctor receives — and why should not your author? Nor 
 could I feel that an acceptance from any theatre, after the 
 performance in it, times innumerable, of many plays during 
 some nineteen years, — of the profits of one night, under 
 the title of a benefit, could be less a simple recompense, 
 in the straight-forward way of business, than the accept- 
 ance of the profits of one similar night, after merely a 
 couple of performances in such theatre, of any single play. 
 How could I, unless I could be convinced that hundreds of 
 representations degraded that return into the stigma of 
 charity, which only two could elevate into the dignity of 
 compensation ? How could I, unless I could discover that 
 payment long deferred, must necessarily be construed as 
 alms bestowed, merely because the sum total of that pay- 
 ment had dwindled by delay and come without interest? 
 And still less, when not only Mr. Irving, and Mr. Cooper, 
 the novelist, but even writers much their inferiors, can 
 secure, for their publications through the press, an equal 
 property on both sides of the Atlantic, by a protective 
 law,^ still less could I see any impropriety in receiving ad- 
 vantages of correspondent character, though inferior value, 
 from the publication performances of my eftbrts, when 
 my countrymen were disposed to atone for the want of 
 a similar protective law, by what they deemed an act 
 
 ' Col. Hamilton, in lais work on our country, thus alludes to this point : 
 " Copyright, in the United States, is not enjoyable by a foreigner, though 
 an American can hold it in England. The consequence is, that an English 
 author derives no benefit from-the republication of his work in America, 
 while every Englishman who purchases the work of an American, is taxed 
 in order to put money into the pockets of the latter. There is no reciprocity 
 in this ; and it is really not easy to see why Mr. Washington Irving, 
 or Mr. Cooper, should enjoy greater privileges in this country than are 
 accorded to Mr. Bulweror Mr. Theodore Hook in the United States. There 
 is an old [•overb, " Wliat is good for the goose, is good for the gander," which 
 will be found (juite as applicable to the policy of Parliament as the practice 
 of the poultry-yard. It is to be hoped this homely apopthegm will not escape 
 the notice of the government ; and tluit, by an act of sigual justice (the aboli- 
 
148 Life and Writings of 
 
 of voluntary justice — no compassion — no charity — but 
 justice, simple justice, — though a justice deriving pecu- 
 liar elevation from the grace and luster of having been 
 unforced, unasked, unlooked for. !N'or would I insist on 
 limiting this sort of justice to the works of natives of our 
 country ; especially as the law of England involves no ex- 
 clusion to the detriment of Americans, but renders the 
 manager who produces any play in the English language 
 responsible to its author, no matter to what country that 
 author may belong. If we can pay the actors of England 
 for entertaining us, we can pay their authors too ; and, if 
 it were necessary to pay both equally, it would save us 
 from much foreign trash, and force advantages for writers 
 of our own. But their first rate authors ought to be paid. 
 It would make them love our country and respect its lofty 
 principles — and the respect of the intellectual is thought 
 lightly of by none but fools. Our countrymen think en- 
 tirely as I do upon this head ; for we are at this very 
 moment paying one of their most estimable and distin- 
 guished dramatists, Sheridan Knowles, and, by doing so, 
 we do ourselves honor in honoring a great genius. But, if 
 there must be an exclusion, let us not exclude any native 
 of our soil, especially while our literature and arts are yet 
 so much in the difficulties of their dawn that they need extra 
 encouragement from those partialities which have ever 
 
 tion of American copyright in England), it will compel the United States 
 to adopt a wiser and more liberal system." — {Men and Mannersin America, 
 p. 201, Carey & Lea's 8vo edit.) 
 
 What would the Colonel have said, had he been aware that for the par- 
 ticular branch of literature, whose rights I am asserting, even our own 
 countrymen cannot secure the only profitable copyright of their produc- 
 tions, — that of publication by representation, if these productions happen 
 first to have appeared in England, the only country where, under existing 
 circumstances, they can be made first to appear with profit and fame. Per- 
 haps were our theatres in the hands of Americans, the interests of Ameri- 
 cans might suffer less. But they are, almost without exception, under the 
 control of persons who have left the sterile, provincial theatres of Great 
 Britain, to seek their fortunes in this country, and to enrich themselves by 
 the despised authors, and, sometimes, we find, despised audiences of America. 
 
John Howard Payne. 149 
 
 been regarded aa a duty towards the first steps of timid, 
 faltering infancy. But to return to the ease in question — 
 my own case. It is not on the quality' of ray labors that I 
 would expatiate. They were even most of them produced 
 under circumstances which forbade much excellence ; cir- 
 cumstances which might have paralyzed far greater powers 
 than any I can boast of. But it is the principle of deem- 
 ing any work from an American, which has often been 
 thought worth listening to, at least worth once paying for 
 that I would see cherished. Believe me, I do not urge 
 this principle on my own account: — tome its enforce- 
 ment is never likely to render any essential service ; on 
 me its enforcement has already brought misconstruction 
 and discomfort. But let it be cherished. It is of vital 
 import to our future fame and affluence in literature and 
 the arts. It will stimulate minds, whose works will 
 make the world venerate our common country when we 
 are in our graves. Managers of theatres ought not to 
 make it necessary for the public to act for themselves 
 upon such a subject ; but every such act involves a com- 
 ment upon the negligence and short-sightedness of man- 
 agers, not to be misunderstood, and under which it is 
 scarcely to be wondered that they should wince. So 
 strongly am I persuaded that demonstrations like the one 
 which calls forth this letter, are doing a national service, 
 in awakening national attention to a most important sub- 
 ject; that it is my purpose at the first fitting opportunity, 
 to petition congress to compel that justice from managers 
 towards authors, by a public law, which is now only to be 
 looked for in the public feeling. 
 
 " But, I have said, I was invited, on my return to my na- 
 tive land, from various parts of the United States, to receive 
 similar testimonials. I was. To New Orleans, among 
 other places, I was expressly invited, and by Mr. Caldwell, 
 when he was in the management. I did not, however, think 
 it delicate to visit any place expressly for such an object, 
 
150 Life and Writings of 
 
 although I felt no hesitation in acquiescing whenever such 
 an object might be presented. I did not visit ISlew Orleans 
 for the purpose. I did not visit it till I had matured a 
 plan for rendering to my country the greatest service which 
 I supposed that the chances and experience of my life had 
 qualified me for rendering. I had projected a periodical 
 which should supply to the mind of Europe opportunities 
 for appreciating that of America, by showing the energies 
 of both combined in one great work — a periodical which, 
 out of the joint patronage of America and Europe, should 
 create for me the means of paying American talent with 
 a liberality which no support, yet obtained for any work 
 in our own country, has thus far been able to aftbrd; and 
 a periodical which should stand ready, in the very center 
 of those by whom we have so often been misrepresented, 
 to uphold, by the power of the press, my native land against 
 all Europe, should she, in Europe, be defamed. In the 
 pursuit of support for this periodical, I visited ^ew Or- 
 leans ; — not for any theatrical benefit. But I found that 
 Mr. Caldwell had not forgotten his invitation, although 
 the managers to whom, in the interim, he had let his 
 theatre, had forgotten the promise they made him, to give 
 effect to the invitation by coming forward, unsolicited, 
 whenever I might appear; and I found, too, from your- 
 selves, gentlemen, and the gentlemen associated with you 
 in various committees, the same spirit which I had already 
 found elsewhere, and for the results of which I have now 
 to give you thanks. Various arts were put in action by 
 the envious and disaffected, to disgust me from accepting 
 the attention you proffered, and to disgust others with me 
 for not having repelled it; but what you could think fit to 
 offer, it would have been presumption in me to have re- 
 fused; and what I had ever felt justified in receiving from 
 other places, I could not have had the bad taste to have 
 declined from a city like New Orleans. 
 
John Howard Payne. 151 
 
 " The nature of this subject has led me into a much 
 longer letter than I could have desired to trouble you with. 
 But I am a stranger in this city, and would make myself 
 distinctly understood upon a subject which has in some 
 degree engaged public attention, and which involves my 
 own character as a citizen and a gentleman. And, on 
 such an occasion, I consider it especially incumbent on me 
 to press upon my countrymen the propriety of following up 
 the feeling for the rights of the literary department of the 
 drama, which benefits like the one which elicits this letter, 
 prove to be in some degree awakened. The public voice 
 has been uttered; let it still be eloquent, and it will ulti- 
 mately arouse the legislature of the land. 
 
 " Having offered this explanation, once more allow me 
 to thank you and the other committees for the attention 
 with which I have been honored, and to beg that you will 
 convey to the citizens generally, with whom I have been 
 acquainted in l:^ew Orleans, my sincerest acknowledgments 
 for their hospitalities. 
 
 " I have the honor to be, Gentlemen, 
 
 " Your obliged and faithful servant and 
 " Fellow-Countryman, 
 
 " John Howard Payne." 
 
152 Life and Writings of 
 
 CHAPTER TV. 
 
 Payne among the Indians. 
 
 They waste us, — ay, like April snow 
 In the warm noon, we shrink away; 
 
 And fast they follow, as we go 
 Towards the setting day. 
 
 Till they shall fill the land, and we 
 Are driven into the western sea." 
 
 iHE benefit at New Orleans was the last of Mr. Payne's 
 associations with the drama, and we now take him up in 
 an entirely new character. 
 
 As we have once before stated, Mr. Payne traveled 
 through many of the states to obtain subscribers to his 
 new periodical. It was on this occasion that being at- 
 tracted by the difficulties then existing between the United 
 States' government and the Cherokee Indians, he went 
 among them and the wild scenery of Alabama and Georgia 
 for the purpose of obtaining material for his journal. 
 
 Payne was one of those men who was never satisfied by 
 being a mere " looker-on in Denmark." The battle in the 
 distance was nothing to him, he must be in the thick of the 
 fight ; and, therefore, the first thing he did when he got into 
 the wild lands of the Cherokees, was to seek out the great 
 chief himself. We soon find Mr. Payne not only talking 
 with the red man in the depths of the forest, but we find 
 him eating at his table, sleeping in his hut and advising 
 the chief Ross what to do, and how to act with the United 
 States' government in obtaining a treaty that would pro- 
 tect them from the rascalities of the border agents, and 
 secure a proper remuneration for their lands. 
 
John Howard Payne. 153 
 
 "When Mr. Payne first approached Ross, the chief of the 
 Cherokees, he was about to meet in council the agents of the 
 government, which council, Payne attended. Here he at 
 once became a sympathizer with the Indians, and deeply 
 interested in their affairs ; so much so, that he became a 
 sort of adviser to Ross, and for several years was mixed 
 up with the transactions of Ross and the United States 
 government, which resulted in the treaty that finally led 
 to the removal of the tribe to the far west. All of Ross's 
 petitions and statements to the government were drawn 
 up by Payne. There is no doubt but that Mr. Payne 
 upset the treaty that was on the eve of being ratified at the 
 time he arrived among the Cherokees, and was the means 
 of procrastinating a final settlement. In this matter Mr. 
 Payne did not stop to think that by his advice to Ross he 
 was in opposition to his own government. It was a matter 
 only of philanthropy. 
 
 The government agents, after Mr. Payne's connection 
 with Ross and his chiefs, found it far more diflicult to 
 carry out their plans with the red men, and, observing 
 Payne constantly with Ross, they complained of him to the 
 government at Washington. Payne in the meantime be- 
 came more bold, openly advocating their cause, and finally 
 wrote an address in behalf of the Cherokees, dedicated to 
 the American people, which he caused to be published in 
 the KnoxviUe Register, of Dec. 2d, 1835. This was copied 
 extensively throughout the United States, especially so by 
 the papers of the opposition party to the one in power. 
 
 The military that had been placed along the borders 
 of Georgia to keep peace between the Georgia state whites 
 and the Indians, during the negotiations, took it into 
 their heads one night to rush upon the hut of Ross, made 
 the chief and Payne prisoners, and marched them off 
 over twenty miles to their head-quarters. This adventure 
 appears to have been done without orders. Both Col. 
 20 
 
154 Life and Writings op 
 
 Benj. F. Curren, and Mr. Schermerhorn, the principal agent 
 for the government, denied to Lewis Cass, secretary of war, 
 that they had anything to do with it. Payne and Ross 
 •were held as prisoners for several days. The adventure 
 caused considerable excitement among the Cherokees. 
 The press teemed with many exaggerated stories of their 
 arrest. Mr. Schermerhorn, in one of his communications 
 on the subject to the secretary of war, stated, that at the 
 time Mr. Payne was arrested, he was at Tuscaloosa, Ala- 
 bama, and that he at once hastened to the head-quarters 
 of the agency to investigate the matter, but when he 
 reached the spot, he found that Mr. Payne and Ross had 
 been set at liberty several days before. Mr. Payne's 
 brother, as soon as he heard of the affair, wrote the annexed 
 letter to the Secretary of War. 
 
 :N'ew York, :^ovember 27, 1835. 
 " To Hon. Lewis Cass, 
 
 " Sir : I have just received information that my brother, 
 John Howard Payne, on the night of the 10th of ]!^ovember 
 instant, while in company with John Ross, the Cherokee 
 chief, at his dwelling in the Cherokee nation, was seized by 
 a party of about twenty-five of the Georgia guard, and 
 conducted by them to the head-quarters, about twenty 
 miles distant from the place of seizure, where, as I am in- 
 formed, he is now imprisoned. Mr. Payne's general 
 object, in a tour through the western and southern sections 
 of the United States, has been partly to obtain subscribers 
 to a periodical work, in which English and American 
 writers may meet upon equal grounds, and partly to collect 
 such materials for his own contributions to the work as a 
 personal acquaintance with the various peculiarities of our 
 extensive and diversified country may supply. 
 
 " To one acquainted with his pacific disposition and 
 exclusively literary habits, the supposition of his enter- 
 taining any views politically dangerous, either in reference 
 
John Howard Payne. 155 
 
 to the state of Georgia, or the United States, in their re- 
 spective relations to the Cherokees, if it were not accom- 
 panied with results painful, and perhaps perilous, to himself, 
 would seem ludicrous. My informant, a stranger, states, 
 that ' it is there reported that he is considered by the officers 
 of the government to be a spy ; whether by * officers of 
 government' is meant those of Georgia, or of the United 
 States, I am not informed. 
 
 " He likewise states, that * Mr. Payne is supposed to have 
 some influence in producing the /m7wre of the late treaty with 
 the Cherokees.^ 
 
 " In the present excited state of feelings in that section 
 of the country on subjects connected with the Indian re- 
 moval, these may, perhaps, be serious charges to the 
 personal safety of one coming under suspicions of the 
 character above alluded to, however groundless. 
 
 " I take the liberty (I hope not unwarrantable) to request 
 and urge'a speedy inquiry into the circumstances of the 
 case ; and the use of the means within the power of your 
 department of the government to procure his release, if, as 
 will undoubtedly appear, upon investigation, he shall be 
 found to have been wrongfully detained. 
 "I am, with respect, 
 
 " Your most obedient servant, 
 
 " Thatcher M. Payne." 
 
 By looking over the " State Documents, 2d Session of the 
 25th Congress," in which there is a full report of the whole 
 matter, we do not find that the government of the United 
 States ever held Mr. Payne particularly responsible for 
 any of his actions towards the government, while con- 
 nected with John Ross. We also find by letters in our 
 possession from Mr. Payne, to parties in IJ^Tew York, that 
 be was Hill concerned in the Cherokee affiiirs up to a date 
 as late as 1840. 
 
156 Life and Writings of 
 
 To a man of Payne's peculiar disposition, his stay among 
 the Indians must have been highly interesting. Always 
 eager for adventure, and fond of the marvelous, he must 
 have enjoyed greatly these strange people, and the wild, 
 beautiful scenery that surrounded them. It was all new 
 to him, he had been absent from his own country for over 
 twenty years, and left it at a time of life when his young 
 mind as yet had not been impressed with the character of 
 the red men of the forest, and the vastness of his own 
 country. Payne possessed all the feelings of a true artist, 
 and when he traveled, nothing in the way of scenery or 
 the habits of the people escaped his notice and comments. 
 If he did not give object form and color, by using the pencil 
 or the brush, he did so by the constant use of the pen in 
 letter-writing. 
 
 We cannot here but remark that as a letter-writer, it 
 may be doubted whether he has ever had his superior, and 
 that, had his letters, written while abroad, been properly 
 cared for and filed for safe keeping, their publication 
 would be of rare value to literature. His large and fami- 
 liar acquaintance with English and French celebrities, all 
 apparently his personal friends, and with whom we have 
 every evidence he had a voluminous correspondence, sus- 
 tains us in this opinion. 
 
 Among his most intimate friends, we may enumerate 
 such as Charles Lamb, Washington Irving, with whom 
 he roomed while in Paris, Thomas Moore, O'Connell, 
 Counsellor Phillips, Talma, John Philip Kemble, Kean, 
 the elder Charles Mathews, Shiel, the Irish orator, Wash- 
 ington Allston, Haydon, to whom Payne introduced Charles 
 R. Leslie, R. A., who painted Payne full length in the 
 character of Douglas and Hamlet, Robert Owen, who was 
 in the habit of taking breakfast with Payne when in Lon- 
 don, Kenney, Bishops, Elliston, Dr. Crowly, Scott, and 
 the editor of the Champion, who fell in a duel in conse- 
 quence of an attack upon Lockhart, Pool, and many others 
 
John Howard Payne. 157 
 
 whom we could readily name, all of which names are taken 
 from many of Mr. Payne's own letters now before us, but 
 unfortunately too disconnected to form a complete whole. 
 While in the country of the Cherokees, he frequently 
 wrote to his brother or some one of his sisters, letters of 
 ten and fifteen pages, descriptive of all things of interest 
 that met his observation. His hand-writing is remarkably 
 clear and neat, each letter is well formed ; hence his pages 
 are as legible as a book. I^ot a blot, not an erasure is to be 
 found even in letters containing a dozen pages, snch as the 
 one we now copy, descriptive of the Creek Indian festival, 
 which, from its graphic clearness and minute details, pos- 
 sesses historical value in connection with a race of people 
 who ere long will be numbered among the things of the 
 past, and to whose peculiarities and history stories of the 
 wildest fiction cling, to fascinate the more civilized. 
 
 " Macon, Georgia, Aug. 9, 1835. 
 
 " My Dear Sister : You find me much in arrears mth 
 you for letters; that is, I have only written you several to 
 your none, and therefore, of course, you have reason to 
 complain. But it is not too late to make atonement for my 
 sins of omission. Here I am, all alone in a strange place — 
 Macon in Georgia — a good sized, handsomely built town 
 nearly twelve years old, and with 4,000 inhabitants. I 
 arrived about eleven last night. I have no acquaintances 
 here yet, so, for the sake of company, I will brush up my 
 recollection of some of my adventures. I have been among 
 the Indians for a few days lately. Shall I tell you about 
 them? You make no answer and silence gives consent, 
 so I will tell you about the Indians. 
 
 " The State of Alabama, you will remember, has been 
 famous as the abode of the Creek Indians — always regarded 
 as thetnost warlike of the Southern tribes. If you will look 
 upon the map of Alabama, you will find on the west side 
 of it, nearly parallel with the state of Mississippi, two 
 
158 Life and Writings of 
 
 rivers — one, the Coosa and the other the Tallapoosa, 
 which, descending, unite in the Alabama, l^early oppo- 
 site to these, about one hundred miles across, you will find 
 another river, the Chattahoochee, which also descends, to 
 form, with certain tributaries, the Apalachicola. It is 
 within the space bounded by these rivers, and especially 
 at the upper part of it, that the Creeks now retain a sort of 
 sovereignty. The United States have in vain attempted 
 to force the Creeks to volunteer a surrender of their soil for 
 compensation. A famous chief among them made a treaty 
 a few years ago to that effect ; but the nation arose against 
 him, surrounded his house, ordered his family out, and bade 
 him appear at the door, after all but he had departed. 
 He did so. He was shot dead and the house burned. 
 The treaty only took effect in part, if at all. Perpetual 
 discontents have ensued. The United States have assumed 
 a sort of jurisdiction over the territory, leaving the Creeks 
 unmolested in their national habits, and their property; — 
 with this exception in their favor, beyond all other tribes 
 but the Cherokees — they have the right, if they wish 
 to sell, to sell to individuals at their own prices, but are 
 not bound to treat with the republic at a settled rate, which 
 last mode of doing business they rather properly looked 
 upon as giving them the appearance of a vanquished race 
 and subject to the dictation of conquerors. So, what the 
 diplomatists could not achieve, was forthwith attempted by 
 speculators, and among these the everlasting Yankee began 
 to appear and the Indian independence straightway began 
 to disappear. Certain forms were required by govern- 
 ment to give Americans a claim to these Creek lands. 
 The purchaser was to bring the Indians before a govern- 
 ment agent; in the agent's presence the Indian was to 
 declare what his possessions were and for how much he 
 would sell them. The money was paid in presence of the 
 agent, who gave a certificate, which, when countersigned 
 by the president, authorized the purchaser to demand pro- 
 
John Howard Payne. 159 
 
 tection from the national arms, if molested. All this was 
 well enough ; but it was soon discovered that the specula- 
 tors would hire drunken and miscreant Indians to personate 
 the real possessor of the lands, and having paid them the 
 money, they would take it back as soon as the purchase 
 was completed, give the Indian a jug of whiskey or a small 
 bag of silver for the fraud, and so become lords of the soil. 
 Great dissatisfaction arose and lives were lost. An anony- 
 mous letter opened the eyes of government. The white 
 speculators were so desperate and dangerous that any 
 other mode of information was unsafe. Investigators were 
 appointed to examine into the validity of Creek sales, and 
 the examiners met at the time I went to see the Indian 
 festival. It was necessary for me to be thus prolix to make 
 you understand the nature of the society and a sort of 
 danger by which we were surrounded ; on the one side, 
 white rogues — border cut-throats contending, through 
 corrupted Indians, for the possessions of those among them 
 who are honest and unwary. The cheated Indian, wheedled 
 by some other white cheat into a promise to sell, payable 
 in over-charged goods, at a higher price, to the one who 
 should expose the fraud — and, when the decision was 
 reversed in favor of the pretended friend, the foiled thief 
 flying at the over-reaching one with fist and knife, and 
 both in good luckif either could live to see what both had 
 stolen. I beheld a fine, gentle, innocent-looking girl — a 
 widow, I believe, come up to the investigator to assert that 
 she had never sold her land. She had been counterfeited 
 by some knave. The investigator's court was a low tavern 
 bar-room. He saw me eyeing him and some one had told 
 him I was traveling to take notes. He did not know but 
 government had employed me as a secret supervisor. He 
 seemed to shrink and postponed the decision. I have since 
 heard #hat he is as great a rascal as the rest. This ill- 
 starred race is entirely at the mercy of interpreters, who, 
 
160 Life and Writings of 
 
 if not negro slaves of their own, are half breeds, who are 
 generally worse than the worst of either slaves or knaves. 
 
 "In the jargon of the border, they call them linkisters ; 
 some say, because they, by interpreting, form the link be- 
 tween the nations ; but I should think the word a mere 
 corruption of linguist The Indians become more easily 
 deluded by the borderers than others, because the borderers 
 know that they have no idea of any one being substantial, 
 who does not keep a shop; your rascal of the frontier sets 
 up a shop and is pronounced a sneezer — if his shop be large, 
 he is a sneezer-chubco — if larger than any other, he is a 
 sneezer-chubco-mico : but in any of his qualities, a sneezer is 
 always considered as a personage by no means to be sneezed 
 at. The sneezer will pay for land in goods, and thinks 
 himself very honest, if he charges his goods at five hundred 
 times their worth and can make it appear by his account 
 against the Indian's claim, that he has paid him thousands 
 of dollars, when, in fact, he may scarcely have paid him 
 hundreds of cents. 
 
 " Well, now for the festival. 
 
 " When the green corn ripens, the Creeks seem to begin 
 their year. Until after certain religious rites, it is considered 
 an infamy to touch the corn. The season approaching, there 
 is a meeting of the chiefs of all the towns forming any par- 
 ticular clan. First, an order is given out for the manufac- 
 ture of certain articles of pottery for a part of their festival. 
 A second meeting gives out a second order. I^ew matting 
 is to be prepared for the seats of the assembly. There is 
 a third meeting. A vast number of sticks are broken into 
 as many parts as there are days intervening previous to the 
 one appointed for the gathering of the clan. Runners are 
 sent with these, made into bundles for each clansman. 
 One is flung aside each day and everyone is punctually on 
 the last day at the appointed rendezvous. I must now 
 mention the place where they assemble. 
 
John Howard Payne. 161 
 
 " It is a large square, with four large, long houses, one 
 forming each side of the square, and, at each angle, a 
 broad entrance to the area. These houses are of clay and 
 a sort of wicker work, with sharp-topped sloping roofs like 
 those of our log houses, but more thoroughly finished. A 
 space is left open all around at the back and sides of each 
 house, to aiford a free circulation of air; this opening 
 came about up to my chin and enables one to peep in on 
 all sides. The part of the house fronting the square, is 
 entirely open. It consists of one broad raised platform, a 
 little more than knee-high, and curved and inclined so as 
 to make a most comfortable place for either sitting or re- 
 clining. Over this is wrought the cane matting, which 
 extends from the back to the ground in front. At each 
 angle of the square, there is a broad entrance. Back of one 
 angle, is a high, cone-roofed building, circular and dark, 
 with a sloping entrance through a low door. It was so dark 
 that I could not make out the interior, but some one said 
 it was a council-house. It occupied one corner of an outer 
 square next to the one I have described ; two sides of which 
 outer square were formed by thick and tall corn-fields, 
 and a third by a raised embankment apparently for specta- 
 tors, and a fourth by the back of one of the buildings before 
 described. In the centre was a considerably high circular 
 mound. This, it seems, was formed from the earth accumu- 
 lated yearly by removing the surface of the sacred square, 
 to this centre of the outer one. At every Green-corn fes- 
 tival the sacred square is strown with soil yet untrodden ; 
 the soil of the year preceding being taken away, but pre- 
 served, as I explain. N'o stranger's foot is allowed to press 
 the new earth of the sacred square until its consecration is 
 complete. A gentleman told me that he and a friend had 
 chanced once to walk through, along the edge, just after 
 the new soil was laid. A friendly chief saw him and re- 
 monstrated and seemed greatly incensed. He explained 
 21 
 
162 Life and Writings of 
 
 that it was done in ignorance. The chief was pacified, but 
 ordered every trace of the unhallowed steps to be uptorn 
 and a fresh covering in the place. 
 
 " The sacred square being ready, every fire in the towns 
 dependent on the chief of the clan is, at the same moment, 
 extinguished. Every house must, at that moment, have 
 been newly swept and washed. Enmities are forgotten. 
 If a person under a sentence for a crime can steal in unob- 
 served, and appear among the worshippers, his crime is no 
 more remembered. The first ceremony is to light the new 
 fire of the year. A square board is brought with a small 
 circular hollow in the centre. It receives the dust of a forest 
 tree or of dry leaves. Five chiefs take turns to whirl the 
 stick, until the friction produces a flame. From this sticks 
 are lighted and conveyed to every house of the clan. The 
 original flame is taken to the centre of the sacred square. 
 Wood is heaped there and a strong fire lighted. Over this 
 fire, the holy urns of new made pottery are placed ; drink- 
 ing gourds, with long handles, are set around on a bench, 
 officers are over the whole in attendance, and here, what 
 they call the black drink, is brewed with many forms and 
 with intense solemnity. 
 
 " I cannot describe to you my feelings as I first found 
 myself in the Indian country. We rode miles after miles 
 in the native forest, neither habitation nor inhabitant to 
 disturb the solitude and majesty of the wilderness. At 
 length we met a native in his native land. He was gallop- 
 ing on horseback. His air was oriental ; he had a turban, 
 a robe of fringed and gaudily figured calico, scarlet leg- 
 gings and beaded belts and garters and pouch. We asked 
 how far it was to the square. He held up a finger and we 
 understood him to mean one mile. N'ext, we met two 
 Indian women on horseback, loaded with water-melons. 
 We bought some. In answer to our question of the road, 
 they half covered a finger to say it was half a mile further, 
 and, smiling, added " sneezer-much — " meaning that we 
 
John Howard Payne. 163 
 
 should find lots of our brethren the sneezers to keep us 
 company. "We passed groups of Indian horses tied in the 
 shade, with cords long enough to let them graze freely ; 
 we then saw the American flag (a gift from the govern- 
 ment) floating over one of the hut-tops in the square ; we 
 next passed groups of Indian horses and carriages and serv- 
 ants, and under the heels of one horse, a drunken vaga- 
 bond Indian asleep, or half asleep; and at length we got 
 to the corner of the square, where they were in the midst 
 of their devotions. I stood upon a mound at the corner 
 angle to look in. I was told that this mound was com- 
 posed of ashes from such fires as were now blazing in the 
 centre, during many preceding years ; and that these ashes 
 are never permitted to be scattered, but must thus be 
 gathered up, and carefully and religiously preserved. 
 
 " Before the solemnities begin, and, I believe, ere the 
 new earth is placed, the women dance in the sacred square. 
 The preliminary dance of theirs is by themselves ; I missed 
 this. They then separate from the men and remain apart 
 from them, until after the fasting and other religious forms 
 are gone through. 
 
 " On my arrival, the sacred square, as I gazed from the 
 corner mound, presented a most striking sight. Upon each 
 of the notched posts, of which I have already spoken as 
 attached to the houses of the sacred square, was a stack 
 of tall cones, hung all over with feathers, black and white. 
 There were rude paint-daubs about the posts and roof- 
 beams of the houses fronting on the square, and here and 
 there they were festooned with ground-vines. Chiefs were 
 standing around the sides and corners alone, and opposite 
 to each other, their eyes riveted on the earth and motion- 
 less as statues. Every building within was filled with 
 crowds of silent Indians, those on the back rows seated in 
 the Turkish fashion, but those in front with their feet to 
 the ground. All were turbaned, all fiuitastically painted ; 
 all in dresses varying in ornament, but alike in wildness. 
 
164 Life and Writings of 
 
 One chief wore a tall black hat, with a broad, massy silver 
 band around it, and a peacock's feather ; another had a 
 silver skull-cap, with a deep, silver bullion fringe down to 
 his eyebrows ; and plates of silver from his knee, descend- 
 ing his tunic. Most of them had the eagle-plume which 
 only those may wear who have slain a foe ; a number wore 
 military plumes in various positions about their turbans; 
 and one had a tremendous tuft of black feathers declining 
 from the back of his head, over his back ; while another's 
 head was all shaven smooth, excepting a tuft across the 
 centre from the back to the front, like the crest of a 
 helmet. I never saw an assembly more absorbed with 
 what they regarded as the solemnities of the occasion. 
 
 " The first sounds I heard were a strange, low, deep 
 wail — a sound of many voices, drawn out in perfect unison, 
 and only dying away with the breath itself, which, indeed, 
 was longer sustained than could be done by any singer 
 whom I ever yet heard. This was followed by a second 
 wail in the same style, but shrill, like the sound of musical 
 glasses, and giving the same shiver to the nerves. And 
 after a third wail, in another key, the statue-like figures 
 moved and formed two diagonal lines opposite to each 
 other, their backs to opposite angles of the square. One 
 by one, they then approached the huge bowls in which the 
 black drink was boiling, and in rotation dipped a gourd, 
 and took with a most reverential expression a long, deep 
 draught each. The next part of the ceremony with each 
 was somewhat curious, but the rapt expression of the 
 worshippers and the utter absence of anything to give a 
 disagreeable air to the act, took away the eflect it may pro- 
 duce even in description. By some knack, without moving 
 a muscle of the face, nor joint, they moved about like 
 strange spectres, more than human beings. But soon the 
 character of the entertainment changed, and I more partic- 
 ularly observed two circular plates of brass and steel, which 
 appeared to be the remains of very antique shields. They 
 
John Howard Payne. 165 
 
 were borne with great reverence, by two chiefs. The na- 
 tion do not pretend to explain whence they came ; they 
 keep them apart, as something sacred ; they are only pro- 
 duced on great occasions. I was told, too, that ears of green 
 corn were brought in at a part of the ceremony to-day 
 which I did not see, and presented to a chief. He took 
 them, handed them back with an invocation that corn 
 might continue plenty through the year among them. This 
 seemed to be the termination of the peace-offerings, and 
 the religious part of the affair was now to wind up with 
 emblems of war. These were expressed in what they call 
 a Gun Dance. When dispositions were making for it, some 
 persons in carriages, were desired by a white linkister to draw 
 back, and to remove their horses to a distance. Some ladies 
 especially were warned. 'Keep out of their way, ma'rm', 
 said the linkister to a lady, 'for when they come racing 
 about here with their guns, they gits powerful sarcy.' I 
 saw them dressing for the ceremony, if it may be called 
 dressing to throw off nearly every part of a scanty covering. 
 But the Indians are especially devoted to dress in their way. 
 Some of them went aside to vary their costume with nearly 
 every dance. 
 
 "iS'ow appeared a procession of some forty or fifty women. 
 They entered the square and took their seats together, in 
 one of the open houses. Two men sat in front of them, 
 with gourds filled with pebbles. The gourds were shaken 
 so as to keep time, and the women began a long chant, 
 with which, at regular intervals, was given a sharp, short 
 whoop, from male voices. The women's song was said to 
 be intended for the wail of mothers, wives, and daughters, 
 at the departure of the warriors for the fight; the resppnse 
 conveyed the resolution of the warriors not to be withheld, 
 but to fight and conquer. And now appeared two hideous- 
 looking old warriors, with tomahawks and scalping knives, 
 painted most ferociously. Each went half round the circle, 
 exchanged exclamations, kept up a sort of growl all the 
 
166 Life and Writings of 
 
 while, and at length stopped with a war-whoop. We were 
 now told to hurry to the outer square. The females and 
 their male leaders left their places inside, and went to the 
 mound in the centre of the outer square. This mound 
 their forms entirely covered, and the effect was very impos- 
 ing. Here they resumed their chant. The spectators 
 mounted on the embankment. I got on a pile of wood, holy 
 wood, I believe, and heaped there to keep up the sacred 
 fires. There were numbers of Indian women in the crowd. 
 Four stuffed figures were placed erect, in the four corners 
 of the square. 
 
 " We now heard firing and whooping on all sides. At 
 length in the high corn on one side we saw crouching 
 savages, some with guns of every sort, some, especially the 
 boys, with cornstalks to represent guns. A naked chief 
 with a long sabre, the blade painted blood-color, came 
 before them, flourishing his weapon and haranguing vehe- 
 mently. In another cornfield, appeared another party. 
 The two savages already mentioned as having given the 
 war dance in the sacred square, now hove in sight, on a 
 third side, cowering. One of these, I understood, was the 
 person who had shot the chief I mentioned in the first 
 part of this letter, the chief who made an objectionable 
 treaty, and whose house was burned. Both these warriors 
 crept slyly towards the outer square ; one darted upon one 
 of the puppets, caught him from behind, and stole him off. 
 Another grasped another puppet by the waist, flung him 
 in the air, as he fell, tumbled on him, ripped him with his 
 knife, tore off the scalp and broke away in triumph. A 
 third puppet was tomahawked, and a fourth shot. These 
 were the emblems of the various forms of warfare. After 
 the flrst shot, the two parties whooped, and began to fire 
 indiscriminately, and every shot was answered by a whoop. 
 One shot his arrow into the square, but falling short of the 
 enemy, he covered himself with corn and crept thither to 
 regain it and bore it back in safety, honored with a triumph- 
 
John Howard Payne. 167 
 
 ant yell as he returned. After much of this brush-skirmish- 
 ing, both parties burst into the square. There was constant 
 firing and war-whooping, the music of chanting and of the 
 pebbled gourd going all the time. At length the fighters 
 joined in procession, dancing a triumphal dance around the 
 mound, plunging thence headlong into the sacred square 
 and all around it, and then scampering around the out- 
 side and pouring back to the battle-square ; and the clos- 
 ing whoop being given, all then from the battle-square 
 rushed helter-skelter, yelping, some firing as they went and 
 others pelting the spectators from their high places with the 
 corn stalks which had served for guns, and which gave 
 blows so powerful that those who laughed at their impo- 
 tence before, rubbed their shoulders and walked away 
 ashamed. We resunjed our conveyances homeward and 
 as we departed, heard the splashing and shouting of the 
 warriors in the water. Leave was now given to taste the 
 corn, and all ate their fill, and, I suppose, did not much 
 refrain from drinking, for I heard that every pathway and 
 field around was strewed in the morning with sleeping 
 Indians. 
 
 "We passed the next day in visiting the picturesque 
 scenery of the neighborhood. We saw the fine falls of the 
 Tallapoosa, where the water tumbles over wild and fan- 
 tastic precipices, varying from forty to eighty or a hundred 
 feet ; and, when wandering over the rocks, passed an old 
 Indian with his wife and child, and bow and arrows. 
 They had been shooting fishes in the stream, from a point 
 against which the fishes were brought to them by the cur- 
 rent. The scenery and the natives would have made a 
 fine picture. An artist in the neighborhood made me a 
 present of a picture of these falls, which I can show you 
 when we meet. 
 
 " The next part of the festival consisted, as I was told, in 
 the wives urging out their husbands to hunt deer. We 
 went down to the square towards night. We met Indians 
 
168 John Howard Payne. 
 
 with deers slung over their horses. The skin is given to 
 a priest, who flings it back to the young man who gave it 
 the first shot, to retain as a trophy ; , and at the same 
 time asks from the great Spirit that this may be only the 
 harbinger of deer in abundance, whenever wanted. There 
 was some slight dancing in the evening ; but all were re- 
 serving themselves for the winding-up assembly of the 
 ladies on Sunday morning. Some of our party remained 
 after I left. They found a miscellaneous dance at a house 
 in the vicinity, negroes, borderers, and reprobate Indians, 
 all assembled in one incongruous mass. A vagabond 
 frontier man asked a girl to dance. She refused, and was 
 going to dance with another. He drew his pistol and 
 swore, if she would not dance with him, she should not 
 dance at all. Twenty pistols were clicked in an instant, 
 but the borderer swore there was not a soul who dared 
 against him to draw a trigger. He was right; for the 
 pistols were dropped and the room cleared in an instant, 
 whereupon the borderer clapped his wings and crowed and 
 disappeared. 
 
 " The assemblage of the females I was rather anxious 
 to see, and so I was at my post very early. I had long to 
 wait. I heard the gathering cry from the men on all sides 
 in the corn fields and bushes ; it was like the neighing to 
 each other of wild horses. After awhile, the ladies began 
 to arrive. The spectators crowded in. The Indian men 
 went to their places; and among them a party to sing 
 while the women danced; two of the men rattling the 
 gourds. The cauldrons had disappeared from the centre 
 of the sacred square. 
 
 '•And now entered a long train of females, all dressed in 
 long gowns, like our ladies, but all with gay colors and 
 bright shawls of .various hues, beads innumerable upon 
 their necks and tortoise-shell combs in their hair; ears bored 
 all around the rim, from top to bottom, and from every bore 
 a massy eardrop, very long, and generally of silver. A 
 
John Howard Payne. 169 
 
 selected number of the dancers wore under their robes, 
 and girded upon their calves, large squares of thick leather, 
 covered all over with terrapin shells, closed together and 
 perforated, and filled with pebbles, which rattled like so 
 many sleigh bells. These they have the knack of keeping 
 silent, until their accompaniment is required for the music 
 of the dance. The dresses of all the women were so long 
 as nearly to conceal the feet, but I saw that some had no 
 shoes nor stockings, while others were sandaled. The 
 shawls were principally worn like mantles. Broad ribbons, 
 in great profusion and of every variety of hue, hung from 
 the back of each head to the ground, and, as they moved, 
 these and the innumerable sparkling beads of glass and 
 coral and gold, gave the wearers an air of graceful and gor- 
 geous, and at the same time unique, wildness. 
 
 The procession entered slowly, and wound around the 
 central fire, which, although the cauldrons were removed, 
 burned gently, and the train continued to stretch itself out, 
 until it extended to three circles and a half; the shorter 
 side then became stationary and kept facing the men seated 
 in that building which contained the chanters; and in 
 this line of dancers seemed the principal wearers of the 
 terrapin shell leg-bands. These make their rattles keep 
 time with the chant. Two leaders at each end of the line 
 (one of them an old woman and the other not young), had 
 each a little notched stick with two feathers floating from 
 them. At a particular turn of the dance, they broke off, 
 and went the outside round alone and more rapidly than 
 the rest. The body of the dancers slowly proceeded round 
 and round, only turning at a given signal to face the men, 
 as the men had turned to face the emblem of the Deity, the 
 central fire. Every eye among the women was planted on 
 the ground, I never beheld such an air of universal modesty, 
 it seeiiied a part of the old men's privilege to make com- 
 ments aloud, in order to surprise the women into a laugh. 
 These must often have been very droll and always personal, 
 22 
 
170 Life and Writings of 
 
 I understand, and not always the most delicate. I saw a 
 few instances among the young girls where they were 
 obliged to smother a smile by putting up their handker- 
 chiefs. But it was conquered on the instant. The young 
 men said nothing, but the Indian men all seemed to take 
 as much interest in the show as we. The chief, Apotheola, 
 had two daughters there. Both were very elegant girls, 
 but the eldest delighted me exceedingly. She seemed 
 about seventeen or eighteen ; she is tall and of a fine figure. 
 Her carriage is graceful and elegant and quite European. 
 She had a white muslin gown, a small black scarf embroi- 
 dered with flowers in brilliant colors, an embroidered white 
 collarette (I believe you call it), gold chains, coral beads, 
 gold and jeweled ear-rings, (single ones not in the usual 
 Indian super-abundance) her hair beautifully dressed in the 
 Parisian st^^le, and a splendid tortoise shell comb, gemmed, 
 and from one large tuft of hair upon one temple to that 
 upon the other, there passed a beautiful gold ornament. 
 Her sister's head-dress was nearly the same. The elder 
 princess, Apotheola, I am happy to say, looked only at me. 
 Some one must have told her that I meant to run away 
 with her, for I had said so before I saw her, to many of her 
 friends. There was a very frolicsome, quizzical expression 
 in her eyes ; and now and then it seemed to say, ' No doubt 
 you think all these things very droll ; it diverts me to see 
 you so puzzled by them.' But, excepting the look at me 
 (which only proved her taste), her eye dwelt on the ground, 
 and nothing could be more interestingly reserved than her 
 whole deportment. The dance was over, all the ladies went 
 from the square in the same order that they entered it. In 
 about an hour, it was repeated, and after that, signal was 
 made for what they call the dance of the olden time, the 
 breaking up of the ceremonial, when the men and women 
 are again allowed to intermingle. This was done in a quick 
 dance around and round again, all the men yelping wildly 
 and merrily as struck their fancy, and generally in tones 
 
JoiiN Howard Payne. 171 
 
 intended to set the women laughing, which they did and 
 heartily. The sounds most resembled the yelpings of de- 
 lighted dogs. Finally came the concluding whoop, and all 
 the parties separated. 
 
 " Between these two last dances, I sent for a chief, and 
 desired him to take charge of some slight gifts of tobacco 
 and beads which I had brought for them. The chief took 
 them. I saw the others cut the tobacco, and share it. Ere 
 long my ambassador returned saying, 'the chiefs are 
 mighty glad and count it from you very great friendship.* 
 I had been too bashful about my present. If I had sent it 
 before, I might have seen the show to more advantage. 
 As it was, I was now invited to sit inside of the square, 
 and witnessed the last dance from one of the places of 
 honor. But I was obliged to depart at once, and give up 
 all hopes of ever again seeing my beautiful princess Apo- 
 theola. My only chance of a guide through the wilderness 
 would have been lost, had I delayed. I reluctantly mounted 
 my pony and left the Indians of Tuckabatchie and their 
 Green-corn festival and their beautiful princess Apotheola. 
 
 " It was a great gratification to me to have seen this fes- 
 tival ; with my own eyes to have witnessed the Indians in 
 their own nation ; with my own ears to have heard them 
 in their own language ; nor was it any diminution of the 
 interest of the spectacle to reflect that this ceremony, so 
 precious to them, was now probably performing in the 
 land of their forefathers for the last, last time. I never 
 beheld more intense devotion ; the spirit of the forms was 
 a sight, and a religious one : it was beginning the year with 
 fasting, with humility, with purification, with prayer, with 
 gratitude ; it was burying animosities, while it was strength- 
 ening courage ; it was pausing to give thanks to Heaven 
 before daring to partake its beneficence. It was strange 
 to see this, too, in the midst of my own land; to travel, in 
 the course of a regular journey, in the new world, among 
 the living evidences of one, it may be, older than what we 
 
172 Life and Writings of 
 
 call the old world ; the religion and the people and the 
 associations of the untraceable part, in the very heart of 
 the most recent portion of the most recent people upon 
 earth. And it was a melancholy reflection to know that 
 these strange people were rapidly becoming extinct, and 
 that, too, without a proper investigation into their hidden 
 past, which would perhaps unfold to man the most remark- 
 able of all human histories." 
 
John Howard Payne. 173 
 
 (CHAPTER V. 
 
 Payne as Consul and Editor. 
 
 " My Lord he has been sent upon an embassy, 
 And will I know, perform his duties well." 
 
 JlN 1838, we find Mr. Payne spending considerable of his 
 time in the city of Washington and frequently furnish- 
 ing the Democratic Jievieiv with articles from his graceful 
 pen. At this time the efforts of William Cullen Bryant, 
 J. G. Whittier, ITathaniel Hawthorne, Ralph Waldo Emer- 
 son, and Miss Sedgwick and Miss Du Ponte, adorned its 
 pages. In the February and March numbers of the Be- 
 vieWj 1838, he contributed an article entitled, Our Neglected 
 Poets (the one included in this work). In this essay he has 
 done a good service, he has preserved for us a few poems, 
 that give additional value to the pages of American poetry. 
 There is a graceful simplicity, a warmth and a touch of 
 pleasantry in this contribution, that reminds us of Charles 
 Lamb's style. Payne never overrates, he is always truthful 
 and irresistibly carries you to the end, and you are satisfied. 
 The story of William Martin Johnson, the subject of Our 
 Neglected Poets, is admirably told, and attracts all our sym- 
 pathy, while it presents to us, for the first time, some verses 
 of great sweetness. In this paper he alludes to East Hamp- 
 ton, the scene of his earliest childhood. He describes it 
 with the affection and with the feelings of a true poet. 
 
 One who has studied the character of John Howard Payne, 
 cannot fail to discover in his picture of the old homestead a 
 deep, tinsubsiding love for the place, as if the spirit of his 
 boyhood had come back to awaken memories of a delight- 
 ful past. Indeed it was here, where his earliest inspirations 
 
174 Life and Writings of 
 
 were winged, where his eyes were first opened to the beauties 
 of the world, where he first took breath of the broad, green 
 fields, where the waves of the sea shore, as they broke their 
 white crests at his young feet, whispered to him strange 
 stories of the deep, where he first tried to count the stars, 
 and where, each early morn as he awoke, hope painted new 
 pictures for his imagined future. Indeed, if he was think- 
 ing of any one place on earth when he wrote his song of 
 Home, Sweet Home! it was of "the lowly cottage" at East 
 Hampton. 
 
 In 1840, a change of administration took place at Wash- 
 ington. Payne at once became aquainted with all of the 
 most prominent members of the new cabinet, and was one 
 of the most welcome and frequent habitues of the presiden- 
 tial mansion. Many of his friends suggested that he should 
 receive an appointment as consul abroad. At first Payne 
 doubted that such an end could be brought about, but several 
 prominent members of the party in power spoke in his 
 behalf, and on the 23d of August, 1842, he was appointed, by 
 President Tyler consul at Tunis. The position was pro- 
 cured for him principally through the eftbrts of Mr. Web- 
 ster and Mr. Marcy. A school mate of Payne's, who wrote a 
 sketch of him after his death, states that, on the evening of 
 the day when Mr. Payne received his appointment, he sat 
 with him at his table, and that Mr. Payne pointed to his 
 full-length picture hanging upon the wall, representing 
 him in the character of Zaphna, remarking that he still had 
 the dress and desired to know how it would do for him to 
 be presented in such a costume to the Grand Bey. But 
 Mr. Payne's friend continues to say, that Mr. Payne never 
 made a joke of his ofiicial business. 
 
 I have looked over his letter books and I do not believe 
 the government has often had agents who have better filled 
 their places. I remember the book, too, as a feast to the 
 eye. His hand writing was beautiful in the extreme ; in- 
 deed in whatever belonged to him, from verses to furniture, 
 
John Howard Payne. 175 
 
 from the choice expression of a letter to the folding of the 
 sheet that bore it, there was a rare,governing elegance 
 and taste. 
 
 Mr. Payne's appointment was not secured as a partizan 
 one; the prominent men of both parties endorsed him. 
 At the same time, he was also made colonel in the staff of 
 Major-General Aaron Ward, of the Fourth Division of 
 Infantry of the Militia of the state of New York. 
 
 In February, 1843, Mr. Payne left for Tunis and arrived 
 there on the 13th of May. On his way to the Court of the 
 Bey, he stopped at Havre, Paris, Marseilles, and London, 
 and met, in these several places, many of his old friends, 
 who congratulated him on his official appointment. 
 
 A few days after he reached Tunis, he sent home the fol- 
 lowing letter, which is full in its description of the place 
 and the characteristics of the people. The story is told in 
 a manner as to almost persuade the reader that he is an 
 eye-witness to the events. 
 
 "United States Consulate, 
 
 "Tunis, Feb. 14, 1844. 
 "My dear Sister Elizabeth: 
 
 "Why your most kind letter of August 27th, 1843, has 
 not been answered before, I have already explained to 
 Thatcher; therefore I will not dwell upon an omission, the 
 memory of which is to me so disagreeable, but proceed to 
 carry on my account of my way hither and of my ways 
 here, as if I had never sinned by silence. 
 
 "Where did I leave off? I told you of my trip across to 
 London. It all seems a strange dream. London looked 
 odd and changed. I had been so long disaccustomed to the 
 odor of coal in the air and the dinginess of coal-smoke 
 every where, that both gave me a sort of uneasiness ; es- 
 pecially as change on all sides, and a multitude of recollec- 
 tions and apprehensions, concurred to depress my spirits, 
 all buoyant with hope and novelty when, from America so 
 
176 Life and Writings of 
 
 many years before, I first entered the vast metropolis. A 
 busy look in all the people, throngs of strangers where I 
 used to meet familiar faces, altered streets and buildings, 
 met me in every direction; and yet the old landmarks were 
 unremoved, old play -bills stood exactly in the same type of 
 old at the same shops, and old book-stalls retained the 
 same old books. In one lone street, a blind beggar was 
 playing 'Sweet Home' on a flageolet before a barber's 
 shop, into which I went for a shave. At night, when I 
 strolled like an unseen spectre into Drury Lane Theatre, 
 I found the vestibule adorned with a full-length statue of 
 Kean, whom, on quitting England, I had left alive. There 
 was a skull in its hand, which pointed to an inscription: 
 ' To this complexion must we come at last.' The dead, mar- 
 ble eye of my old acquaintance seemed to rest upon me, 
 and his stony lips to direct on me their melancholy smile. 
 "Presently came the rail-road again, all new, all since 
 I went from England, the whirl back to Southampton, the 
 steamer, the going to bed in one country and waking up in 
 another, the jolting in the old-fashioned diligences to Rouen, 
 and from Rouen to Paris, and then the retracing my old 
 haunts at Paris, and the rush of changes there, as well in 
 the looks of the people, as in their rulers. Embellishments 
 which were in progress when I departed, were now com- 
 plete. ]N"apoleon was no longer named, but mighty works 
 set on foot by Kapoleon, had at length found their accom- 
 plishment, rendering Paris, ever praised for its beauty and 
 grandeur, still grander and more beautiful. But the dainty 
 and curled Frenchman of my first acquaintance with Paris, 
 had given place to the Frenchman not only with lips over- 
 shadowed by moustache, but with beard descending to the 
 bosom ; a fashion of looking venerable, devised in honor of 
 the New France in old Algiers. Then, ere long, appealed 
 diligences once more, and I was launched upon my way to 
 regions entirely new. 
 
John Howard Payne. 177 
 
 " Whut absolute fraud and folly it is for any one to pre- 
 tend that a country can be described from thus traveling 
 over it anyhow, especially by diligences, or even steamer. 
 My route to Marseilles was first by land, then by water, 
 then by land again ; but I will be honest, and only tell you 
 what I really remember. This is scarcely more than that 
 there were queer passengers, shut up together with me in 
 the lumbering conveyances, and that they caused and ex- 
 pressed sundry little vexations during joltings, day and 
 night; and most especially when, the moment we had sat 
 down to a meager meal any where, came the cry : ' En- 
 virtuse. Messieurs ? Depechez ! En virtuse ! ' Then fol- 
 lowed the hurry to pay, the pretended difficulty to make 
 full change, the greater difficulty to get settled again all in 
 our right places. I had my guide book, and looked out of 
 the window (whenever I was awake), as we rattled through 
 a town, but I could only gather the names of the places, 
 and sometimes not even the names ; their aspect I had no 
 time to fix in my mind, even if I caught it. Occasionally, 
 however, it seemed, while I went on thus, now by land, and 
 now by water, as if I were passing through the appendix 
 to a vast bill of fare, a gigantic amplification of that at 
 Delmonico's, after the dinner-items, down among the wines ; 
 for at one time I came to Beaune, and at another to 
 Macon, and so forth, and on hearing these names called 
 out, could almost fancy myself in 'New York again, at the 
 big, stone house where Thatcher and I had a bachelor re- 
 past together not long before my embarkation. 
 
 * * * * " But if the entire way from Paris to Marseilles 
 leaves only a confused recollection, it is not so of main 
 features and particular places, where I made a brief pause 
 to take breath. You must bear in mind, first, that the 
 diligence took me to Chalons-sur-Saone, there I entered 
 a steamer which conveyed me to Lyons; from Lyons, 
 another steamer bore me to Avignon, and at Avignon I 
 23 
 
178 Life and Writings of 
 
 resumed the diligence to Marseilles. Now I had thought 
 the nearer I got to Marseilles, the more luxuriant would 
 every thing appear. I expected to find Lyons a matter-of- 
 fact, manufacturing place, with large shops in long, wide 
 streets, and full of fine silks, but no attractions of scenery. 
 In Marseilles I expected a laughing, gay city, like Paris 
 before its age of tragedies. But nearly the reverse oc- 
 curred. The loveliest and the most luxuriant appearances 
 are on the river-banks between Chalons and Lyons, long 
 before you draw near Marseilles. The Saone presents a 
 succession of most fascinating landscapes ; picturesque little 
 towns, and a vast number of beautifully finished stone 
 bridges, mostly new, crossing from side to side. The im- 
 mediate approaches to Lyons are full of life and variety ; 
 high hills, with lofty structures above and below, an 
 antique castle-crowned island in the middle of the river 
 near the town, large quays, fronted and parapeted with 
 stone, wide bridges ; near the water, tall, ancient houses, 
 and facing it, lines of shops in lower stories ; more remote 
 from it, at many points, eminences towering almost into 
 mountains and most of them surmounted by chapels. 
 From one of these I had a fine view of both the Saone and 
 the Rhone at once, so different in color and in swiftness. 
 On the Rhone side of Lyons, are bridges and edifices newer 
 and more splendid than on the Saone side. But the streets 
 in the older and most populous part of the city disap- 
 pointed me. They are narrow; so much so, in places, 
 that huge beams stretch across to prop the lofty walls from 
 toppling upon one another. The shops are small, and 
 make no show to be compared with ours in Broadway. 
 
 " The Rhone, where I expected to find the banks one 
 garden, offers to the eye only stoniness and aridity, though 
 in some instances its rocks and cliffs assume a fantastic 
 and striking variety, approaching to the sublime; and 
 antique looking towns carry one back to the olden time. 
 Perhaps the coming on of the mistral (tlie north-wester) 
 
John Howard Payne. 179 
 
 of the country, during our passage, made the Rhone look 
 to me, especially when some showers fell, altogether more 
 unsmiling than it might have seemed in brighter weather. 
 Still, I experienced one sensation while rolling in the 
 steamer there, of which language cannot give an adequate 
 idea. ' What huge, white-topped masses are those, like 
 clouds, in the horizon ?' asked I, just as if I were looking at 
 any of our familiar scenes, not thinking where I was. ' The 
 Alps,' was the quiet reply. My start of astonishment and 
 sudden change of manner, made my informant stare as if he 
 thought me crazy. It was sometime before I could speak. 
 " In times gone by, it happened that I voyaged in what I 
 then thought the first steam-boat, when the old Albany 
 sloops were put out of countenance by Robert Fulton. 
 I have since been a passenger in many a Robert Fulton, a 
 name which bore undisputed super-eminence among our 
 steam boats, till a second came up to push it from its 
 throne, and on the Ohio appeared a John Fitch, in com- 
 pliment to the true originator, so called, of traveling by 
 steam. But, during the excursion now in question, I found 
 another true and genuine name immortalized like the 
 former two, and the rivers of France bearing upon their 
 bosoms multitudes of Jean Papins, with guide-books all 
 eloquent in praise of the genius of Jean Papin, to which 
 they declare that mankind is indebted for the introduction 
 of steam navigation, never even deigning to mention 
 Robert Fulton, and still less John Fitch! 'There's 
 honor for you ! ' as Falstafi:' says. But, after all, what 
 signifies that which we call fame ? What matters it even 
 during life, to any one but the inventor, whether his inven- 
 tion bear his name ? And when he is dead, who cares a 
 jot, or knows a difference, whether it be ascribed to Jean 
 Papin, or to John Fitch, or to Robert Fulton ? The main 
 point 18 gained, when an obtuse world is persuaded to per- 
 mit a great improvement, either mechanical or moral, to 
 make it happier or better. 
 
180 Life and Writings of 
 
 " Well, leaving the Papin, after a late dinner at Avignon, 
 whereby I was prevented from seeing either the town, or 
 any memorial of Petrarch and Laura, once more behold me 
 shut up in a diligence, whence, after a very cold night, in 
 the morning I caught a first glimpse of the Mediterranean, 
 and entered Marseilles, passing, as I went in, a procession 
 of priests who bore a crucifix and other emblems, and were 
 hastening along with some occasional chant. But did I 
 find Marseilles what I expected ? A light and laughing 
 place, more French than all preceding France? N'ot L 
 To be sure, I saw of Marseilles scarcely more than the 
 newer part ; but what I did see was staid and business- 
 like and neat, more like parts of Philadelphia, than like 
 any town abroad. It has, however, what Philadelphia has 
 not — picturesque eminences, with fine sea-views. 
 
 " And now I come again to shipboard. I pass out of 
 the crowded, artificial harbor, sail by the forts and the 
 rocky points and islands, and toss about and roll about 
 till near dinner time on the following day, when, lo ! 
 Minorca ! It appears like a long line in the horizon, swell- 
 ing to a sugar loaf shape in the centre. What is that 
 eminence ? There is a story about it, so we will stop a 
 moment, while I tell it. 
 
 "That eminence is called Mount Toro. It was famous 
 for a chapel to the virgin, of more than ordinary unction. 
 In earlier times that chapel was in a small village at the 
 mountain's foot. But one day its silver image of the virgin 
 had disappeared. Consternation shook the neighborhood 
 Men, women, and children, gathered from every side to 
 seek for the lost image. In the midst of the search, a 
 strange and awful bull appeared. It was not an Irish bull, 
 nor any relation to John Bull of England, nor of his stock 
 exchange; it must have been a bull of the pope! Its sin- 
 gular movements created a curiosity in the crowd that over- 
 powered their terror. They followed it to the mountain 
 top, where, suddenly pausing, it turned, struck its horns 
 
John Howard Payne. 181 
 
 into a rock which fell asunder, and then the bull vanished. 
 The throng flew to the mysterious rock. They found the 
 lost image, where the rock had been cloven asunder. The 
 hint was not lost on them. They transferred the virgin's 
 chapel to that spot, immortalizing both the event and the 
 bull by naming their new structure: The Chapel of our 
 Lady of Mount Toro. The best of its influences which yet 
 survives, is, that by Mount Toro vessels direct their course 
 to any point of Minorca island for which they steer, and by 
 so doing are sure to get in safe. 
 
 " Of Port Mahon, in Minorca, I believe I have told you 
 already. It is a long, well-sheltered harbor, of deep water. 
 The ruins of a fortress once deemed impregnable stand on 
 the left hand of the entrance as you go in, and one of the 
 largest and best of lazarettos, on the right hand. N'ear the 
 inner end, on a left-hand eminence, stands the town, high 
 and dry. It is the neatest town I ever saw; has narrow 
 streets, paved with round stones, and houses of white, green, 
 yellow and red, always kept in good color within and 
 without. The ceilings wear an awkward aspect to eyes 
 accustomed to all white and smooth overhead. They look 
 like some of our garret-roofs : huge beams run fore and aft, 
 and rows of joists cross between them from beam to beam. 
 These are all whitewashed or painted. There are excellent 
 gardens in the neighborhood of Mahon, but the island is 
 stony and bare, as far as I strolled, excepting of olives and 
 the prickly pear, neither of which grow tall, though the 
 latter spreads wide and is bulky. They say, however, that 
 forests of oak and pine clothe the mountains, and that other 
 trees prosper in other parts. The roads cut one's feet with 
 their flintiness, and the sea views are often shut out from 
 them by tall walls of round stones, an amplification of such 
 stone walls as may be seen in our country ; and over the top 
 of them bristles the prickly pear. Few horses appear, and 
 seldom a cart or carriage. I saw but one carriage, and 
 that one, a sort of minor omnibus, used as a post-coach 
 
182 Life and Writings of 
 
 once a week between the two extremities of the island. 
 The people are gentle, civil, and superstitious. Priests are 
 evermore seen parading the streets in religious processions 
 of various sorts; and the Minorcan's pride might be taken 
 for the human voice. They say that the Carthaginians pos- 
 sessed the island for a long time, and that old Hannibal 
 was born at Port Mahon. 
 
 " I remained long enough here to feel perfectly at home ; 
 got acquainted with everybody and was amused by being 
 carried about the harbor from ship to ship. One day when 
 I was going on board the Fairfield to dine, a sailor who 
 had been sent up the hill to me to announce the boat, 
 stopped short as we got to a turn near the bottom which 
 shut him out from the view of the men, and, after consi- 
 derable stammering, and much bowing and scraping, com- 
 menced the following dialogue : 
 
 " ' Will you excuse, sir ? I am going to take a great 
 liberty, but I hope, sir, you '11 excuse me.' 
 
 " ' Certainly. Speak.' 
 
 " 'Well, sir, I don't want to be rude, but I hope you '11 
 excuse me.' 
 
 " ' Speak, I say, my good fellow.' 
 
 " ' Well, sir, I want to take the liberty of asking if your 
 name is John Howard Payne V 
 
 " ' It is, what of that V 
 
 " <■ By ! I said so ! I saw your trunk coming over 
 
 the side, and I said to the men, if those trunks belong to 
 the man I think, d — e, if I don't stand up for him, and so 
 shall you. But the men said your name wasn't John, but 
 James, so, " If it is James Howard Payne, said I, that 
 alters the case — " 
 
 " ' And being John Howard Payne — ' 
 
 " ' Being John Howard Pajme, pardon me, sir, but give 
 me your hand; and all I have to say is, I'm satisfied with 
 you.' 
 
 " ' Thank you.' 
 
JouN Howard Payne. 183 
 
 " ' I'm satisfied with you, because I've made more money 
 out of you than ever I made out of any man, or ever shall 
 again. Why, sir, I've been an actor, and have acted 
 your Brutus, over and over again, and with great applause, 
 too; and I've been a manager, likewise, and had others 
 of your plays performed and made my profit out of them, 
 
 and, by , give me your hand again, for, John Howard 
 
 Payne, I'm satisfied with you ! '" 
 
 " An officer heaving in sight, our conversation was broken 
 ofi", and I went on board, where I told the story in the 
 captain's cabin. The man was inquired about. The cap- 
 tain said, ' Yes. Our men looked upon you as their pro- 
 perty. They'll be greatly disappointed if they don't take 
 you to Tunis.' But on the unexpected change of commo- 
 dores, it was differently ordered, and I left the Fairfield 
 for the Preble. 
 
 " The next change was the sortie of the squadron. 'Twas 
 really a noble sight. Boats followed the different vessels 
 with salutations and benedictions. Numbers of both sexes 
 stood on the shores and in the balconies, waving farewells. 
 
 " Out we sailed, and then commenced sea-manoeuvres, 
 which lasted a couple of days, such as ; forming by signal 
 in a line and in single file and in double file and so on. At 
 last, while we were at dinner, a midshipman announced that 
 the commodore had made signal, ' Part company you may.' 
 The various vessels then went alongside of the commodore's 
 ship. Their shrouds were lined with men. Three cheers 
 were given by each. Finally, all were answered by an 
 equal number of cheers to each from the commodore's 
 ship, then each turned off in a different direction, and, 
 forthwith, I was on my way to Tunis. 
 
 " We sailed, and sailed, and sailed. In the Mediterra- 
 nean we met scarcely anything, excepting, at two different 
 times, sleeping on the waves, a turtle ; one of which we 
 
184 Life and Writings of 
 
 put out a boat for, and took, but the other waked and 
 got off. 
 
 " ' There, sir,' said a lieutenant to me at last, as he low- 
 ered his glass, ' There, sir, is your new home, there is the 
 coast of Africa.' 
 
 " Taking the glass, I discerned a long line of hills in the 
 horizon, seemingly treeless, and, midway through their 
 entire length, a wide yellowish streak, lighted by the sun- 
 shine, and apparently of sand. But to a landsman, coasts 
 from shipboard look pretty much alike ; so we will pass 
 over certain intermediate islands, and here we are just 
 entering the harbor of Tunis. 
 
 " I must give you an idea of the form of this harbor. 
 Do you remember the shape of what they call the Saracenic 
 arch ? You will then remember that it is two parts of a 
 wide arch, whence springs an entire, but narrower one ; 
 or, if this wont do, suppose we turn it upside down, and so 
 compare it to a fine, full-cheeked half moon, with a noble 
 pair of regular, branching horns, as thus: such (mak- 
 ing due allowance for the drawing), is the form of Tunis 
 harbor. Here we are, as I said before, just entering it at 
 the wider part. Away off to the left appears a large island, 
 and nearer the cape, a small one. Don't forget these islands, 
 for I have something to say about them. 
 
 " Now we sail onward. At last we get to the inner arch. 
 Within its right side as we enter, tower the hills of ancient 
 Carthage. From the outermost point of land on the side 
 opposite, are wildly picturesque mountains, jagged and 
 steep. Far ahead of us, on the edge of the innermost arch 
 top, stands the Goletta castle ; behind it, inclining to the 
 left, is the large lake of Tunis, and behind the lake, on a 
 rising ground, but dimly perceptible from the sea, and 
 overlooked at the left by greater elevations crowned with 
 ports, stand-Tunis wall and Tunis. Between the two sides 
 of the shore facing us, the land is flat. From the harbor, 
 
John Howard Payne. 185 
 
 trees are only seen in one or two spots, and those only 
 dwarfish olives. 
 
 " Come. It is time for us to try to be classical. You 
 wish to know why I desired you to bear in mind the two 
 islands at the left ? It is because the smaller one, nearest 
 the coast, is the scene of the wreck of part of Eneas' fleet. 
 At the shore adjacent, the remainder of the fleet landed. 
 To the heights overhanging this part of the shore, ^neas 
 went up for the purpose of seeing into what sort of a region 
 he had been cast, and thereabout met his mother Venus, 
 disguised as a huntress, who gave him a deal of valuable 
 information. Farther in towards Tunis, near one of the 
 mountain tops, is the cave where he and Dido sought refuge 
 later in their history, from the tempest that arose, while 
 young A.8canius was galloping after the stags on the plain 
 below. And farther in yet towards Tunis are the other 
 eminences whence ^neas caught his first glance at Carthage 
 on the opposite elevations across the water. Of Carthage, on 
 our right hand side, nothing appears but one of the finest 
 of positions for a noble city. About one hundred and 
 eighty feet, as they say, from the water's surface, rises by 
 very long gradations, the site of the Temple of Esculapius 
 and the Citadel of Byrsa. The famous spot where the 
 Carthaginian leader Asdrubal deserted his country's cause, 
 and his heroic wife Sophonisba, rather than imitate his 
 baseness, fired the temple, plunging with her children into 
 its flames, is now marked by a meagre little red chapel 
 recently built by the French in memory of St. Louis, who 
 is said also to have died there. Thence runs a second long 
 slope mounting to a still loftier eminence, from the summit 
 of which springs a tall watch-tower, and under it descends 
 a white Moorish village consecrated to Sidi-Bon-Saed (lite- 
 rally. Our Lord Father of Felicity) a Mahometan saint 
 whose tomb, there, is a sanctuary for Mahometan criminals 
 of every sort. From the latter height, Dido might have 
 24 
 
186 Life and Writings of 
 
 gazed her last at -^neas escaping ; and it is only on the 
 former, that we can place the palace wherein the Trojan 
 told her his adventures with such fatal eloquence, and sub- 
 sequently built her funeral pyre. In short, from the vessel's 
 deck in the harbor, nearly all the points, either in poetry or 
 history, which give Tunis its fame, are discernible. One 
 takes as much interest in verifying the truth of fiction here, 
 as the truth of history ; and we realize the events connected 
 with ^neas and Dido, as we do those of Hannibal or Reg- 
 ulus, Scipio or Asdrubal or Sophonisba, or St. Louis, or 
 Charles the V, or any of the rest ; and the poetical ones, 
 perhaps even more intensely than the other, because Virgil 
 has laid the hearts of those whom he describes open before 
 us, making us their confidants. 
 
 " Mighty, however, as may have been the sensations pro- 
 duced at various times by the arrival in these regions of 
 ^neas, and Regulus, and Scipio, and Louis of France, and 
 Charles V, and others, I will venture to assert that on the 
 12th of May, 1843, the arrival of John Howard Payne, 
 consul from America, occupied the attention of numbers, 
 while not a soul far or near gave a thought or ever knew 
 of the existence of any of the rest ; and among the numbers 
 in question, were those grim warriors here who are spe- 
 cially charged with the important duty of firing salutes. 
 At eight in the morning subsequent upon the anchoring 
 of our vessel about sunset, up went the flag, and bang ! 
 went the cannons at the Goletta fort, one-and-twenty 
 times. 'Count their guns,' cried the officer on duty. 
 When they ceased, 'Twenty-one, sir,' was the reply. 
 Meanwhile, our men had been placed at their posts. 
 'Larboard, fire !' called our officer on duty. Bang! went 
 a Preble gun on one side ! ' Starboard, fire !' Bang ! went 
 a Preble gun on the other side ; and so on, to the twcntj'- 
 first. This ceremony over, I was formally invited to name 
 a day when I would dine with the gentlemen in the ward 
 room, and the captain was asked to be of the party. It 
 
John Howard Payne. 187 
 
 was then announced that the boat was manned, and the 
 captain and I in full costume descended ; some one guiding 
 my honorable heels, as I let myself down by a rope to the 
 edge of the capering boat. Just as we were clearing the 
 vessel, 'Bang!' went a gun once more from the Preble. 
 * That is for you, sir,' said the captain, whereupon I stood 
 up, as instructed, the captain steadying me on one side, 
 and a midshipman on the other; retaining that position till 
 nine guns were fired, when I reposed for a while upon my 
 glories. Dance, dance, dance, went the boat for about two 
 miles. Along the low, b ire, empty shore, appeared only 
 the Goletta fort, and between it and Carthage-heights on 
 one side, but a single building, a large, new one, much re- 
 sembling those ingenious structures which young people 
 form of playing cards. On the other side of the Goletta, 
 and at some distance from it, there was a range of little 
 crooked trees with dark bushy tops, which proved to be an 
 olive grove. In the corner of the harbor, fronting this 
 grove, were many ships at anchor. The Goletta fort looked 
 just as it does in the engraved view of it annexed to Noah's 
 book on Tunis, Mordecai Manasseh, and matters and things 
 in general. As we passed, the fort fired another salute 
 of nine guns. We went round the point of a pier, termi- 
 nating iu a line of heaped rocks and stones, entering with- 
 in the Goletta by a straight passage, on either side of 
 which were queer, looking barges, full of queerer looking 
 sailors, black and brown, some turbaned, some with red 
 skull-caps. Sentries saluted us at posts along the shore. 
 Then we passed a steamer at the wharf-side, then other 
 vessels, and then we stepped on classic ground, rendered 
 most prosaically common-place by ragged sailors and work- 
 people and double lines of galley-slaves, marching by in 
 chains from one task to another. At the house of a native, 
 of Frftich parentage, a very gentlemanly man, who is 
 our agent at the Goletta, I found two large four-wheeled 
 cabriolets in waiting. A little man standing at the door 
 
188 Life and Writings of 
 
 eyed me intently. He had a long, grisly beard and vast 
 mustacMos ; tall, red cap, from behind which hung a pro- 
 fusion of blue silk thread; a short, Mameluke jacket, a broad 
 red sash, immense large blue breeches, gathered below the 
 knee, naked calves, Turkish slippers, and a large sabre. 
 This person I afterwards found to be one of my Drago- 
 mans. He had been in his boyhood an Italian captive ; 
 turned Mussulman as he grew up, and in his prime became 
 eminent as a pirate. He mounted his charger and galloped 
 on ahead. Captain Wilson and I entered one cabriolet, 
 and the chevalier, my agent at the Goletta, another, and 
 off we rolled through the conglomeration of misshapen 
 buildings, large and little, under the gates of a wall, into 
 the plain leading around the lake's side to Tunis, turning 
 our backs on Carthage. 
 
 " We rode, and we rode, and we rode, two hours in the 
 hot sun. So flat was the way, so silent, so lonely, so tree- 
 less, I might have fancied myself on an American prairie, 
 had there been more vegetation. The lake by our left 
 hand side was streaked across, here and there, with hues 
 of a pea green. Birds flew about its borders, that made 
 our captain long for his gun. Now and then, we met a 
 rider on a mule, another on a horse, and wrapped in what 
 seemed a white sheet, with an immense nondescript straw- 
 covering over his head, a little like the caricature of a 
 coarse Leghorn bonnet, and a good deal more like a huge, 
 unstrung umbrella, open, lofty, crowned and most amazingly 
 wide in the brim, which went flapping up and down as 
 either rode. To an aged horseman, in passing, our avant- 
 courier, the Dragoman, galloped up, when, each kissing the 
 other on the shoulder, both darted onward their respective 
 ways. Then came by, some two or three loaded camels ; 
 then a crazy Maltese cab, with a half-starved horse, the 
 cabman now running along by its side, and now springing 
 in to drive as he sat on the cab-bottom, with his legs dang- 
 ling out over the side. Once or twice, we passed flocks of 
 
John Howard Payne. 189 
 
 sheep with tails resembling old-fashioned full-bottomed 
 wigs. Startling the Bedouin shepherd, as he was stretched 
 full length along some small slope, wrapped in his burnouse 
 to watch them, he would lift up his head, gaze a moment, 
 and then lay it down again. Here and there we saw at a 
 distance from th e road, grou ps of coarse, B edouin , black tents 
 of hair-cloth, the unchanged mapalia of the ancient !N^umi- 
 dians, to the form of which Sallust compares a ship-keel 
 inverted, and concerning which the Song of Solomon says, 
 verse fifth of chapter first : * I am black, but comely, like 
 the tents of Kedar ; ' comely, or pleasant to the eye, I pre- 
 sume, in allusion to the delight derived from the indication 
 of social life afforded by one of these movable villages in 
 the desert. A black hair tent-village of this sort, is sup- 
 posed to have crowned the upper height of Carthage (now 
 the Sidi-Bon-Saed already mentioned), and to have formed 
 the ancient town that Dido found there, and which retained 
 the title of Niagara, that the learned are said to regard as 
 identical with mapalia, and with magar, the still more 
 antique, and, probably, the parent term. 
 
 But what else did we meet on the road to Tunis? 
 Moorish ladies out for an airing, but we did not see them. 
 They were curtained up in a little, close carriage on two 
 large wheels, and which was enveloped in a sort of brown 
 Holland carriage-cover, bearing on each side a black cari- 
 cature of five outstretched fingers, signifying ' five in your 
 eye ! ' the severest curse of the Arabs, and meant as a spell 
 against the evil eye, and to express *Fie, and bad luck to 
 you, if you dare peep at our fat ladies ! ' More than midway 
 between us and the lake, we passed a little, square, white, 
 stone building of one story, where horses and mules were 
 drinking at the door, a Moorish coffee-house and baiting- 
 place for man and beast. Farther on, we passed through a 
 grove of olives thatlooked exceedingly like asuperannuated, 
 old, Yankee apple-orchard ; and at last, appeared the white 
 walls and round domes and minarets of Tunis; pleasant 
 
190 Life and Writings of 
 
 eminences covered with olives, a mile or two off, facing 
 and overlooking it ; and above, and on a line with it, a 
 wind-mill (the only remembrancer of familiar scenes) ; and, 
 crossing the way ahead, in the distance, beyond the city, 
 a tall line of narrow arches, sustaining an aqueduct, but 
 not of that part of the olden time which is classical. 
 
 " A little more riding and a little more riding, and lo ! 
 the American flag waving over a tall house, just behind 
 the inner wall of Tunis ; and over other houses equally 
 tall, flags of European nations; and on the walls, the flag 
 of Tunis, with its crescent and its single star. (These flags, 
 I would have you to know, by way of parenthesis, were 
 raised in compliment to the new consul.) The outer gate 
 is before us. A square, ragged old structure, open on all 
 sides, and disclosing a saint's tomb within ; an unfenced 
 burial-ground by its side, with raised flat stones, length- 
 wise, wider at one end than the other, and surmounted 
 often with a straight stem, occasionally bearing a turban 
 on its top. A drove of camels on the other side of the 
 road, some with their legs doubled under them, reposing ; 
 others standing and staring. We have passed by these, 
 and now we are under the outer gate- way. Dirt! Dirt! 
 Queer, grim-looking creatures, stretched on wide stone 
 benches that are built against the wall beneath the canopy. 
 Boys and men half naked, standing and walking about, 
 with earthen pots of antique form, crying, 'Water! 
 Who'll buy water !' Blind beggars shouting, ' Charity, for 
 the love of Mahomet !' ' Bahlick !' (Take care !) ' Ilemp- 
 shee !' (Clear out) bawls the driver, meaning that the way 
 must be freed from that drove of donkeys, puzzling to and 
 fro, and running under the wheels. 'Bahlick!' The Dra- 
 goman gives that camel a cut with his whip and he stalks 
 aside indiiferently. 'Bahlick!' The Maltese cart must 
 stop against the wall, and make room for the consul! 
 
 * * * " We have passed under the passage. We 
 are within the limits of Tunis city. 
 
John Howard Payne. 191 
 
 A short, unpaved street of moderate width ; low, one 
 story, dirty white houses, with little ragged sheds project- 
 ing over thera, eylet holes for windows; dirty looking 
 squatters of every color and age, with turbans of every 
 color, in the doorways and on heaps of dirt at each side of 
 the street. Donkeys loaded with panniers of greens, of 
 charcoal, of almost everything. Camels with huge skins 
 of water slung across them, like giant saddle bags, flocks 
 of sheep, herds of black goats ; but all must push aside, to 
 make way for the carriage. 'Bahlick! Bahlick ! Hemp- 
 shee ! ' From the short street, we enter a wide open space, 
 in its middle two rising grounds on either side of the 
 largest of which runs to one point, a road. We take that 
 at the left. What does this open space look like ? It most 
 resembles the burnt district of New York after the great 
 fire of 1835. Right and left hand of our road arise burial 
 grounds unfenced. What are those waddling masses of 
 draperies, gowns, one would say, and shawls, of every hue 
 and texture hung around the sides of a huge barrel, with 
 a black masked head thrust through its top and a pair of 
 thick legs through its bottom ? ' Foregad ! ' as the old 
 nurse says in Romeo and Juliet, ^ how every part about it 
 quivers !' Behold ! Another, and yet another of these mon- 
 sters ! Some unmasked ! Hush, man ! These are Moorish 
 women ! The one or two with their broad faces bare are 
 Jews. That fourth one so carefully muzzled with a black 
 silk scarf, as if nature had mixed her Indian ink inade- 
 quately, is a she nigger ! Bahlick ! Bahlick ! women 
 though you are, you must cling up close to the side or 
 you'll be run over. We have got to a narrow turn over 
 a short bridge. Now we have crossed — up we go — down 
 again along a pinched up way between dead walls and low 
 houses, with only a grated slit here and there for windows. 
 The t>ther carriage coming from the opposite direction 
 must back and let the consul pass ! ' Bahlick ! ' We are 
 through another gate. There's another wall and gate over 
 
192 Life and Writings op 
 
 the bridge, sole tribute to past glories, the gate is called 
 * the Carthaginian.' ' Bahlick ! Bahliek ! ' Every one gets 
 out of the way but that yellow chap with bushy black 
 hair, shirtless, shoeless and bare legged, and only girt with 
 a dark cloth descending from his waist. He is a Saint, 
 anglice, a crazy man. He does not fear, and we must take 
 care not to hurt him. Kone are truly respected among the 
 Moors but those who have lost their senses. ' Bahlick ! ' 
 How that grey bearded Jew, who has picked up a super- 
 annuated three cornered hat like an old continental colo- 
 nel's, soinewhere, and mounted it over his Moorish garb, 
 pins himself against the wall to keep secure from being 
 run over ! We jolt under and across the gateway, a short, 
 very short, turn. ' Bahlick ! Hempshee ! Bahlick ! ' Why 
 don't those men, women, children, donkeys, goats and 
 camels, mind what they are about ? We are through the 
 gate, into a winding street, each side of which can be 
 touched from the carriage if we outstretch our hands. No 
 danger of upsetting here, ruinous looking houses, dead- 
 walls. Now the walls grow higher and more regular on 
 one side, and the houses taller on the other. We are 
 among the ministerial and the consular mansions. A 
 short turn. A small open space. We shoot under along 
 archway. Halt ! We stop, descend, turn short again. 
 We are conducted under another archway. In a high 
 quiet vaulted place like a huge cave, stands a band of musi- 
 cians. Is not that attempt at Hail Columbia? It is. 
 When I appear, all the musicians bow and play and play and 
 bow. These are my premises. I am at the foot of my own 
 staircase, up we pass, to deafening music, groping our 
 way over a long ascent of clumsy stone steps. We come 
 to sunshine again in a square hall lighted by rickety win- 
 dows from above. Rooms open into it. A young man 
 advances and holds out his hand. ' Mr. Gale, I presume ? ' 
 ' Yes, sir.' He shows me into a drawing room. His 
 power as consul ad interim is at an end and mine begins. 
 
JouN Howard Payne. 193 
 
 -Oh, the uncouth place ! Great iron bars everywhere! I 
 look out of the window. The city wall is on the opposite 
 side of the unpaved street, its top cut by way of ornament 
 into the shape of a long range of grave-stones. ' Congenial 
 horrors, hail ! ' 
 
 " ' Have you anything for me ? ' ' Oh, yes, letters and 
 papers.' I open a very agreeable epistle from Mrs. 
 Thatcher Payne, forwarded by Mr. Ballard from Gibraltar, 
 wherewith I also receive one of my old night-caps. 
 
 "Dreary, indeed, seemed every thing. A yahoo of a 
 HOUSE meagerly furnished, and none of the furniture mine. 
 Kot a comfortable bed in it. Some hard wool-mattrasses, 
 and harder wool-pillows were laid on boards raised about 
 two feet from the ground. On one of these at night, I 
 sought repose in a recess. I looked up at the rafter-ceilings, 
 all in the Mahon fashion, and just at the wall-top, was a 
 black, irregular blot. My imagination was full of scor- 
 pions. I thought of Miss Phoebe Filer's customary male- 
 diction at East Hampton. After long watching the spot, 
 'till it seemed to move and crawl downward, at last I got 
 asleep, while thinking how the bite of a scorpion could be 
 cured. 
 
 " The official visits to the bey, and from the consuls, 
 next ensued. 
 
 " For the former, I was glad to find the modes grown 
 more European. I need not take off my shoes nor attempt 
 to smoke. 
 
 Accompanied by the consul ad interim, and Captain Wil- 
 son, I went to the fortified palace of the bey, about two 
 miles out of Tunis, on a plain. We passed through the 
 arches of the aqueduct I spoke of entering the city, and 
 which is about midway from Tunis to Bardo, for so they 
 call the palace. An irregular mass of edifices combined, 
 and a number of others standing apart, are enclosed within 
 an extensive oblong square, by lofty walls, with cannon and 
 25 
 
194 Life and Writings of 
 
 watch-towers, and surrounded bj a wide, deep moat. The 
 crescent and star banner of the bey waved over the main 
 building. 
 
 " We enter the gateway. Sentries and guards salute. 
 Grim throngs, some standing and some reclining, fill long 
 dark passages, on either side of which are low rooms. An 
 open space with many carts and carriages, a turn to the 
 left, another passage into an unpaved court with a foun- 
 tain in the middle, an ascent up several wide marble 
 stairs to apartments seemingly important. Under this 
 colonnade we stop. Persons with anxious and busy faces 
 pass to and fro, some in humble garb, some richly clad, 
 and wearing diamond orders. One of the apartments forms 
 the hall of justice, where a move of the bey's hand maybe 
 to his subjects, either All the world can give, or Death. 
 
 " After broiling for some time in the hot sun, we were 
 asked up into a little room set apart for a consular ante- 
 chamber. Thence we were at length summoned to the 
 royal presence. 
 
 " Down stairs under the colonnade, a turn through a cen- 
 tral door, into a passage lined at each side with guards, 
 who presented arms. Before me, my dragoman; at my 
 left, one of the bey's ministers ; behind me, the vice con- 
 sul and Captain Wilson. 
 
 " We enter a long drawing room, carpeted, a range of 
 numerous windows on one side. Wide Moorish sofas 
 against the wall, facing each other, from end to end. 
 
 " At the corner of the left hand extremity, fronting me as 
 I entered, sat a person in a tall red cap. At his left stood, 
 with similar caps, two others, young and plump. All had 
 long, double-breasted blue frock-coats, closed from the top, 
 descending to the heels, the yellow buttons stamped with 
 the crescent and the star, and converging from each shoulder 
 to the waist, till they formed there nearly the point of an 
 angle. All had diamond orders, but the diamonds of the one 
 who was seated, were the richest and most numerous. The 
 
John Howard Payne. 195 
 
 minister who accompanied me, wore a costume similar to 
 the others. 
 
 " We are at our destination, my dragoman has kissed 
 the royal hand, for it was the bey who sat before us. 
 
 " ' Peace between us,' said his highness in Arabic. ' Be 
 pleased to take a seat,' continued he, pointing to the sofa 
 at his right, ' and to receive my welcome of you and of your 
 friends.' 
 
 " Chairs being placed, Mr. Gale and Captain Wilson sat 
 in front of the bey, and the minister, standing at their 
 right, interpreted Mr. Gale's Italian in Arabic, after my 
 English to Mr. Gale. 
 
 " Presently I asked Mr. Gale for my letter of credence, 
 and having received it, I rose, and said : 
 
 " * In presenting these, my credentials, I am instructed 
 to assure your highness of the cordial friendship of the 
 president of the United States, and of his earnest desire 
 that the amicable relations now subsisting between Tunis 
 and our republic, may long continue unimpared.' 
 
 " His highness interrupted me, by declaring with empha- 
 sis that no one could cherish more strongly such a desire 
 than he himself did. 
 
 " ' Permit me, at the same time, to avail myself of this 
 occasion, on my own part, to express the gratification I feel 
 in being honored by my country with a mission, of which 
 the duties promise to be rendered not only easy but agree- 
 able, by their bringing me into communication with a prince 
 universally characterized as wise, and good, and just.' 
 
 " While the minister was translating what I had said, 
 his highness frequently put his hand to his heart and said, 
 ' Meleeah ! ' which means ' good ! ' 
 
 " I then handed my letter of credence to the minister, 
 who handed it to the bey. 
 
 "HTs highness hoped I should find my new residence 
 comfortable and happy, and assured me that nothing 
 should be wanting, within his power, to make it so. 
 
196 Life and Writings of 
 
 " Some general chat ensued, in which Captain Wilson 
 took part. The captain expressed the pleasure it would 
 give him to receive his highness on board the Preble, and 
 his highness said he should be gratified some day when 
 he went to the golelta, at any rate, to take a look at the 
 corvette from his windows there. I observed that I hoped 
 our vessels would visit Tunis more frequently hereafter, 
 as we had a large squadron in the Mediterranean. The 
 bey replied that he was always happy to welcome the ships 
 of friends, dwelling on the word friends. A question 
 whether our squadron was actually in the Mediterranean, 
 or only expected, was answered that she was at that 
 moment cruising there. A black now entered with little 
 coiFee cups on a silver tray. We all partook, made our 
 bows, and departed. I felt considerably annoyed that, from 
 the combined eifects of so long standing in the sun, and of 
 the unsettledness arising from my recent voyage and novel 
 situation, my hand trembled so in taking the coffee, that 
 the cup went tap, tap, tap ! against the saucer, when I sat 
 it down, as though I were under a fit of ague. You may 
 guess from that how glad I was, when, my bow being made, 
 I found myself once more through the guards, out of the 
 palace, and on my way back to Tunis. 
 
 " Visits from all the consuls and all their respective suites, 
 glittering in gold and silver, immediately ensued. They 
 were consumed in hollow diplomatic civilities, and in hints 
 that I should find Tunis a most unendearing residence ; all 
 social relations being broken up by a miserable spirit of 
 village prying and scandal, which has destroyed even 
 the unreserved and agreeable intercourse once subsisting 
 among the consular families. There was more truth in 
 this than always comes from ministerial agents. 
 
 " So ! the Preble went and I was left alone, all alone ! 
 but soon I got used to the looks and ways of the folks around 
 me. There is a minaret of a mosque close by my mansion ; 
 and even the five-timos-a-day call to prayer, repeated at 
 
John Howard Payne. 197 
 
 each of the four corners of the square top, has lost its 
 strangeness and is now uttered without my being aware 
 of it. One of the oddest things at first seemed to 
 me, when I asked, ' Where is Mr. (such a one) ? ' — the 
 reply, ' Oh, he's gone to breakfast at Carthage, he'll be 
 back to dinner.' And it was long before I could really 
 feel and believe that real Carthage was meant, and not 
 some Carthage in our far west. But I must defer any 
 further mention of Carthage, or the neighborhood, or 
 Tunis itself, for future letters, and proceed to the next 
 great court-ceremonials which it came within my course of 
 duty to attend. 
 
 " Probably you are aware that there is a a Mahommedan 
 lent, during the ninth month of their year, and which 
 they call Ramadhan. At the next new moon following, 
 Ramadhdn ceases, and the lesser Beiram, or feasting, begins, 
 and lasts four days. The greater Beiram, or fasting begins 
 on the 10th day of the twelfth moon, and also lasts four 
 days. 
 
 " The Ramadhan this year fell on the 24th of September, 
 the first day of the lesser Beiram on the 24th of October, 
 and the first day of the greater Beiram on the 24th of 
 December. 
 
 " For the week preceding the Ramadhan, all sorts of 
 preparations were made for it. All the Moorish servants 
 wanted presents for the purpose of enabling them to lay in 
 their stock of extra provisions for the thirty nights to 
 come, no food being permitted during the thirty days. 
 
 " Cannons, drums and guns at midnight announced the 
 commencement of this fast. All the day after, every 
 Moor looked most forlorn, and daily, till it ended, worse 
 and worse. On the first night, great illuminations had 
 been talked of, but they consisted merely, I believe, of 
 lightefl lanes, and extra-lighted coft'ee-houses, with the 
 novelty of a row of lamps all round the minaret's balus- 
 trade on each mosque. The moment the sun sets, eating 
 
198 Life and Writings of 
 
 and drinking begins, and is only suspended, when the drum 
 goes about beating for the fast to be vigorously resumed. 
 " I took a turn in the town, well attended, on one of 
 those nights during this fast, when the Moors are permitted, 
 after sunset, to indulge a little more than usual. I stopped 
 at a coffee-house which was greatly crowded, but very 
 orderly. Groups were sitting all about on Moorish divans, 
 drinking coffee, smoking, playing at draughts. Curiously 
 cut tin lanterns hung in every direction as did cages 
 with canary-birds. In the centre was a long table, and 
 Moorish sofas on each side and at one end. Various 
 adornments stood on the table, among them, for instance, 
 a large glass vase of gold fish. Some famous singers, one 
 of them blind, very old, very celebrated, and with a most 
 venerable white beard, sat on the end bench, bearing in his 
 hand a musical instrument. Six or seven others were 
 squatted, tailor-like, on each side of this one. They had 
 a something like pipes and tabors ; and little instruments 
 with a couple of strings each, played on like a violincello, 
 and others like mandolines, and accompanied them with the 
 earthquake fury of stentorian lungs in Arabic songs — as I 
 was told, but never should have suspected — of most melt- 
 ing tenderness. As it was known that I intended to visit 
 the Cafe that evening, I and my suite, (among whom was 
 Mr. Ballard), received the honor of the most conspicuous 
 place there, and chairs were placed for us so near the musi- 
 cians, that we were almost deafened. To mend the matter, 
 every now and then, when the voices were most outra- 
 geous, the keeper of the coffee-house would go round with 
 a staff, and violently slapping cage after cage, startle up the 
 wearied out and slumbering birds, who would begin also 
 to sing most vociferously, by way of chorus. Yet the 
 whole scene was most amusingly oriental. Both a gallery 
 overhead, and an open apartment overlooking it, were 
 crowded with Moors, as were the steps leading up to them. 
 
John Howard Payne. 199 
 
 "During this fast a native Tunisian, who called upon 
 me, mentioned a strange scene and a stranger history, 
 which had just come under his notice. His curiosity was 
 excited by the view of a tall, haggard, turbaned person, 
 with long white beard, and skin-pails filled with water, 
 girt all around him and bearing in his hand a cup. He 
 made seven steps and paused, knelt, bowed his face to the 
 ground, licked the dust, rose up and then went on again, 
 but repeated the same at every seventh step. All looked 
 on him with respectful silence and a sort of awe. My 
 informant learned that he was a Turk from Egypt. During 
 the French invasion, he fled thence, leaving behind him a 
 wife and child. He obtained employ on board a vessel 
 that brought him to Tunis. Meanwhile, unknown to him, 
 the troubles of his country drove his wife and child away 
 from it, and chance also led them to Tunis. The wife died. 
 The motherless child found a protecting friend, who brought 
 her up as her own daughter. The Egyptian Turk hearing 
 a description of this young girl's attractions, demanded 
 her in marriage ; courtship in these countries always 
 going on through others, and without personal acquaint- 
 ance. After some months of marriage, the husband and 
 wife happening to disclose each their history to the other, 
 the Egyptian, horror-struck, discovered his wife to be his 
 daughter. He flew distracted to the cadi and told him all. 
 The cadi forthwith decreed a divorce and condemned the 
 man through life, to give water, without pay, to all who 
 should desire it, and at every seventh step, to lick the dust. 
 This he has done for years, and is often seen performing his 
 penance, especially at Moorish funerals. 
 
 "The liamadhdn is over when the new moon of the 
 Beiram is discovered; great, indeed, is the noise and the re- 
 joicing. On the morning following, the national banner is 
 raisea everywhere, and the cannons, wherever planted, 
 fire a national salute. The bey goes through various cere- 
 monies at Bardo Palace, and, among the rest, receives the 
 
200 Life and Writings of 
 
 bow of felicitation, while seated in state upon his throne, 
 from all the consuls. 
 
 " My honorable self, of course, with my vice-consul, went 
 on the 24th of October, to grace this ceremony with my 
 presence. The road was alive with even a more motley 
 group than used to animate that from Boston to Cambridge 
 on the commencement days of Harvard University. And 
 what crowds of white mantled, and red mantled, and green 
 mantled Moors, in the passages, and fi rst open space of 
 the approaches to the palace; and how carnages and 
 carts and splendidly caparisoned horses were, in the latter, 
 wedged together ! The first court-yard, the unpaved one 
 with a fountain in the centre, was entirely covered with 
 a thick bed of sand ; for what purpose, you shall know 
 anon. We ascend the high, wide range of steps, jostled 
 there, and in the short passage above, by multitudes of 
 persons in various rich costumes, and by dense masses of 
 epauletted officers, white, yellow, and black, returning 
 from paying their devoirs to the bey. We enter the inner 
 and paved court-yard that I spoke of as surrounded by a 
 colonnade. Opposite the entrance, in the door way to the 
 apartment where I was first received by his highness, sat 
 the king of Tunis ; on either hand, his officers of state ; 
 the superior ones, generally, in the uniforms of the frock- 
 coat form which I have noticed before, but glittering with 
 rich embroideries, and a greater number of diamond deco- 
 rations. A child of some seven or eight years old, decked 
 out in the same style, the orders, and the sabre, and the 
 epaulettes all in little, stood at the right hand of his high- 
 ness. Of course, finely dressed persons hemmed in every 
 side, but the area was unencumbered. 
 
 " Ahmed Pacha Bey was seated in a white chair, of some 
 peculiar fish-bone, put together with silver rivets. 'No 
 doubt the chair has intrinsic claims to admiration, of which 
 its exterior gives no sign, nor could I learn what they were 
 supposed to be. His highness was magnificently decorated 
 
John Howard Payne. 201 
 
 with embroidery and diamonds, and had a splendid scy- 
 metar before him. His right hand rested on a yellow 
 cushion. Facing him stood a Herculean figure, wrapped 
 in a dark burnouse. 
 
 " The bey's countenance was unmoved as marble while 
 he received the various obeisances, but when he desired to 
 give a mark of signal favor, he would turn the palm of his 
 hand upward, after the back had been kissed, and he who 
 obtained that honor, would again kiss the hand on the 
 palm; and throughout this ceremony, I observed that 
 none were content with a mere kiss, but after it, the fore- 
 head was bent down and pressed upon the open palm, and 
 then the lips again, all of which pressures probably meant 
 something particular, but I could not find out what, be- 
 yond entire devotedness of body and soul. But there was 
 a more significant manoeuver than the rest, and which 
 proved how much these potentates confide in the aforesaid 
 public testimonials of entire, soul-and-body devotedness ; 
 it was this; the Herculean figure that I mentioned as 
 standing in front of the bey, grasped firmly each bending 
 devotee's shoulder, never relaxing his hold till the faithful 
 slave was too far from his royal master to stab him while 
 he kissed. The manual exercise of courtesy is not ex- 
 pected, even on these occasions, from the consuls. All 
 their kissing of the barbarous high and mighties, is done, 
 like the courtship of kings, by proxy, all by their drago- 
 mans. Each, preceded by his own dragoman, after the 
 royal hand is duly saluted, makes the best bow he can, 
 and goes away in silence. The presentation of the Divan 
 is more imposing. This is the nominal council of the 
 ruler, whom formerly it could crown or decapitate at plea- 
 sure. It consists of long-bearded, and gravely, but ele- 
 gantly, attired old men, who advance in a row, single file. 
 As they appeared, seats were brought and placed on a line 
 from the bey to the entrance door, and at his right, but 
 26 
 
202 Life and Writings of 
 
 considerably distant from him ; to which seats, after the 
 kissing of hands, these dignitaries went, and coffee was 
 handed to them and to his highness; which being disposed 
 of, they rose and uttered a prayer from the Koran, that 
 was every now and then interrupted by a loud cry, ahmeen ! 
 synonymous, as I was informed, with our amen! This 
 over, and the bey having withdrawn for awhile, the next 
 move was another presentation of all the principal person- 
 ages to the bey of the camp, as he is called, the lieutenant- 
 general of the army, and heir presumptive, at present, of 
 the throne, but who, in a direct line, would now have been 
 reigning. He sat in a dark room, and the same forms to 
 him as to his royal cousin were observed. 
 
 " His highness, Ahmed Pacha Bey, with all the great 
 folks, followed by multitudes of the ordinary ones, reap- 
 pearing, crossed this main court yard, to the top of the 
 stair-case overlooking the ante-court yard, unpaved, which 
 has the fountain in the centre; and was, as I told you, 
 entirely covered with a thick bed of sand ; you will now 
 perceive for what purpose. 
 
 " Near the fountain stood a number of swarthy, tall, 
 athletic Bedouins, with bodies and limbs bare, and entirely 
 shaven pates unturbaned; all shining from head to foot 
 with oil. At their left, as they faced us great personages 
 on the stair top, squatted queer-looking musicians before 
 queer-looking instruments. On each side of the wide, open 
 space before the fountain, was a throng of turbaned and 
 mantled Moors and Turks and Arabs and Bedouins and 
 ^Negroes. 
 
 " All this array was for a Barbaric wrestling, practiced 
 from time immemorial on such occasions in presence of the 
 king and court. Directors and judges stood near. The 
 ladies of the harem have a place altotted to them over- 
 looking the court-yard, where they may see the sport, 
 themselves unseen. 
 
John Howard Payne. 203 
 
 "Drums and other music; a signal; two of the wrestlers 
 start forward. They curvet around, flinging their arms 
 and legs about, and striking their palms together, like 
 capering sailors half drunk, about to jump Jim Crow. 
 Coming in front of the bey, they suddenly cast themselves 
 each upon his knee, up again, and jump Jim Crow back 
 to their starting place, where each, with neck and knee 
 bent, stands like a statue, while a priest (I suppose it was), 
 advances, and placing a finger on the back of the right 
 hand one, loudly utters some words, which I understood 
 to be a prayer to excite them to do their best, and to in- 
 voke Mahomet to carry them through the trial uninjured; 
 for, sometimes, it is said, they do not quit the struggle 
 alive. The invocation over, they start up, watch their 
 chance awhile, then close. 
 
 " If they become exasperated, and make any move con- 
 trary to rule, or if they display such equal prowess and 
 dexterity as to render it clear that neither is likely to con- 
 quer, the judges stop the struggle. In the latter case, or 
 in the case of a victory, the band plays, and then another 
 pair contend. After each encounter, there is a small caper, 
 and a kneeling obeisance to the court. I understand that 
 they were ushered before the bey after the trial, for the 
 honor of kissing his hand, and to receive gifts or prizes. 
 This, however, I did not witness, but when the sports were 
 past, pushed through the crowd as soon as possible to my 
 carriage. 
 
 "It would have diverted you to have seen what odd- 
 looking military ofiicers passed us on the road. We saw, 
 mounted on a little donkey, two of them, one astride, the 
 other sideways, each with fine epaulettes ; and though they 
 had clumsy shoes on their feet, their pantaloons, being 
 without straps, had worked, in riding, up to their knees. 
 Others, however, were on noble steeds, and both horse 
 and rider were gorgeously caparisoned. 
 
204 Life and Writings of 
 
 " The same forms in every respect were repeated on the 
 24th of December, the beginning of the greater Beirara ; 
 but all upon a grander scale. I saw the account the bey 
 paid to the French merchant who got the new coat and 
 sword-belt embroidered that his highness first wore on 
 this occasion. Its amount was six thousand seven hundred 
 and seventy francs. 
 
 "Here, then, my 'full, true and particular story' draws 
 to a close; and high time it did, say you. But Anna 
 asked me to relate every thing about my life here, public 
 and private, and I do not hold myself responsible for the 
 consequences of complying for once with such a request, 
 though I think you will find it more agreeable that I should 
 in future be regulated by the rule given to dyspeptics 
 about food, ' less at a time and oftener.' For the present 
 occasion, however, I will suppose I may take with me, even 
 into Africa, the license which has always been allowed 
 wherever else I have lived ere now, of spoiling as much 
 paper as one chooses on Valentine's day in honor of the 
 ladies. 
 
 * * * " Ah, Eloise ! Bid you get a' Valentine this 
 year? Though Uncle Howard's words do come to you 
 now with black faces from the country where the N^egroes 
 grow, what a pretty Valentine you should have if I were 
 in France, where they make paper with such beautiful 
 pictures on it, and ink all bright with silver and gold ! 
 There ! That's a kiss for you, my dear, and take that for 
 Uncle Howard's Valentine. I would send one Valentine 
 to my Miss Van Rensselaer, and another to Miss Julia 
 Sands, were I not afraid my little Eloise would be jealous. 
 You may, nevertheless, thank Miss Sands for giving me 
 the pleasure of her appearance, and of the flashes of her 
 wit, in a dream last night ; and say to her that her literary 
 glory has even extended to Barbary, for I myself saw it 
 here recorded in Picket's Academician, side by side with 
 
John Howard Payne. 205 
 
 that of Miss Miller and others, whom it delighted me to 
 find thus honored in the land of Dido. 
 
 But here I am talking of love and ladies, when everything 
 around me threatens war. I had almost forgotten to men- 
 tion that, for the last three months, forts have been building, 
 monitors arriving, troops collecting, and hostile fleets looked 
 for, by some from Sardinia, by some from Austria, by 
 some from Constantinople; but I can scarcely think the 
 difliculties (for there are real ones with all these powers), 
 will have any results so serious. Therefore you may assure 
 Mrs. Barnes and the ladies, that I hope at some future day 
 to see them all again in spite of cannons and scymetars, and 
 to tell them how much their little Turkish slippers have 
 been admired even by genuine Turkies. 
 
 " I would add a list of those to whom I desire to be par- 
 ticularly remembered. Miss Sedgwick and her connections, 
 the Bryants, Mrs. Bradish, your father, and many others, 
 but you will be glad to be spared the inconvenience of 
 reading any more from me just now, on condition of your- 
 self calling them all to mind without my naming them. To 
 Mrs. Osborn and Aunty, I mean to write when the next 
 scribbling fit comes on ; so you are set free from the effects 
 of the present one, with assurances how sincerely I remain 
 " Ever yours faithfully, 
 
 " John Howard Payne." 
 
 After his presentations to the bey, Mr. Payne imme- 
 diately devoted himself to the duties of his office. Mr. 
 Hodgson was the preceding consul, but this gentleman 
 spent the most of his time in Italy, and left the affairs of 
 state in the hand of his clerk, a young man by the name 
 of Gale, whom he appointed to act as consul ad interim. 
 The business of the office was found to be in a state of neg- 
 lect wflich caused Mr. Payne much hard work to put into 
 proper condition ; besides this, he found the consular resi- 
 dencein frightful disorder and dilapidation, entirely unfit for 
 
20fi Life and Writings of 
 
 persons of the most ordinary circumstances to live in, far 
 more the representative of a great nation, and, had the prior 
 consuls to Mr. Payne properly respected their office, they 
 would have demanded other apartments of the Tunis go- 
 vernment. It did not take Mr. Payne long to discover the 
 place far beneath the dignity of his position, for he at once 
 made a representation to his government at Washington 
 of the vile condition of the consulate mansion, and asked 
 for the necessary authority to repair the dungeon-like 
 place, with iron-barred holes for windows, and rafted ceil- 
 ings. But the government at the time did not think it 
 expedient to take any steps in the matter, as there was a 
 disposition, on the part of congress, to suppress its Tunisian 
 consulate altogether. Meantime, Mr. Payne had discovered 
 that the bey himself was his landlord, and sometimes put 
 such of his houses, as were occupied by consuls in order, 
 and that he was at that time actually spending quite a 
 sum of money on the building assigned to Queen Victoria's 
 representative. " On this hint he spake." He forthwith 
 wrote to the secretary of the bey in the spirit of complaint, 
 declaring that it was almost oiFering an indignity to his 
 government to remain in the building. This was done 
 in such a manner, and so impressive was the style of the 
 communication compared with those hitherto sent by 
 earlier American consuls, that it received an immediate 
 answer, with the promise of repairs. After some two or 
 three days had passed and no workmen appeared, he ap- 
 pealed to his royal highness again. Then workmen were 
 sent, who fooled about the place and who only took some- 
 thing away and left no substitute. Then came another 
 pause : this was too much for Payne. He made up his 
 mind to press the matter until his residence was put in 
 handsome order. He made out a list of the alterations 
 that he desired, got it translated and written down in 
 Arabic, put on his full uniform, and, with his interpreter 
 and vice-consuls, posted off in battle-array to Bardo. 
 
John Howard Payne. 207 
 
 One of the ministers, whom, according to usage, he first 
 had to meet, asked the object of his visit, and when he told 
 the gentleman of state his object, he declared that he was 
 extremely grieved to hear of our consuls inconvenience, but 
 that there was no necessity of his seeing the bey, who was at 
 this moment much occupied with an important case in the 
 hall of justice, and that his highness had already issued 
 orders that all should be done that he desired. Payne was 
 not to be put off any longer ; he insisted on seeing the 
 bey. The minister retired for a moment, and then re- 
 turned with the request from the bey that if Mr, Payne 
 would have patience for a few seconds, he would be happy to 
 receive him. In a few moments more his highness ad- 
 journed a cause that was then before him and Payne with 
 his attendants was escorted to the hall of justice. Payne 
 entered in the true court-style. His highness was reclin- 
 ing on a long sofa ; at his right stood his minister, and on 
 his left, the interpreter. A dense crowd of white bur- 
 nouses were on each side of the room, leaving a large open 
 space between them and the bey. Payne's dragoman 
 walked up and kissed the hand of his highness, as his 
 (Payne's) proxy, observing court etiquette, and then his 
 interpreter, who did his own politeness, also kissed his 
 royal hand, whereupon his majesty fixed his eyes upon 
 Payne's majesty, and exclaimed in Arabic : 
 
 " I bid you welcome. What can I do that will afford you 
 pleasure ? " 
 
 Payne answered ! " I am sorry that I am forced to dis- 
 tress or inconvenience your highness, but ever since my 
 arrival I have been much annoyed about my residence, 
 which now has been rendered so vexatious that, unless some- 
 thing is immediately done, I shall be forced to find apart- 
 ments elsewhere, and make a complaintto my government." 
 
 " Btitl have given orders to have the patio newly roofed, 
 as you requested," replied the bey. 
 
208 Life and Writings of 
 
 " This is the least of the things needed. I have informed 
 one of your ministers that there are other things infinitely 
 more required than the roof your highness specifies." 
 Handing the list, Payne in addition remarked, " This will 
 prevent further misunderstanding." 
 
 His highness appeared to be struck on finding the com- 
 munication written in Arabic, and half opening, and then 
 closing it, and then looking at his minister, and again half 
 opening it, he acted as if he desired to read the communi- 
 cation before the proper time. He then said to Mr. Payne : 
 
 " I myself will read your list, and see that all your wants 
 herein expressed shall be with promptitude attended to." 
 
 Mr. Payne evidently had made an impression, and per- 
 fectly satisfied with his own august display, left the apart- 
 ment of his majesty once more to inhabit his tottering 
 
 A few days more passed and nothing done, he sent 
 another message to the bey by his vice-consul, stating that 
 he would at once take the trouble off his highness' hands, 
 make the required improvements, and deduct the expenses 
 from the rent, until he should be reimbursed. He directed 
 his messenger, Vice-Consul Mr. Gale and his interpreter 
 to insist on a reply, either oral or written. 
 
 On this occasion, as before, the approaches to his high- 
 ness were already crowded with consuls and others waiting 
 on special business, in such numbers when Payne's am- 
 bassadors arrived, that there was a general titter as if to say : 
 " Gentlemen, you came too late ; your case is hopeless, for 
 we must be served before you." But Payne's ofiicers had 
 learned a lesson but two days before, assumed a dignity 
 that did not belong to them, and pressed through the crowd 
 to the immediate door of the grand court; where the 
 minister who previously presented Mr. Payne to his high- 
 ness at once recognized the messengers, treated them with 
 the most marked civility, and attepded to them forthwith. 
 The expression upon the faces of the crowd that stood 
 
John Howard Payne. 209 
 
 about at once changed to wonder and astonishment, and 
 Mr. Payne's ambassadors had the satisfaction of hearing 
 a muttering complaint from the bystanders thus set aside, 
 and who were unable to understand why the United States 
 should be so promptly attended to. A badge signified 
 the consulates to which they belonged. In a quarter of an 
 hour or so, the following written answer was placed in 
 the hands of Mr. Payne's plenipo, when he and his 
 coadjutor departed, highly delighted with their success 
 and importance. 
 
 " Glory to the one only God ! From the slave of All-power- 
 ful God, the Mouchir Ahmed Pacha, Bey, Emir of the 
 Tunisian armies; 
 " To our Ally, Sidi John Howard Payne, Consul General 
 of the American Government at Tunis. 
 "We acquaint you, that we have received your letter, 
 regarding the aftair of the consul's mansion. We had even 
 previously ordered our L'oukie (architects) in relation to 
 the subject; we now come from dispatching the Bache 
 Bouck (chief of the guards) to compel that every thing 
 might be done which you have desired, 
 
 " May God be your holy guardian ! 
 
 " Written this ninth day of the month of El Hadja, in the 
 year 1259." (Corresponding with the month of January, 
 the 8th, 1844). 
 
 Scarcely had the answer been read by Mr. Payne when 
 a giant of a guard covered with tunics and jackets and 
 cloaks, all brilliant here and there with gold (the same 
 man stands before the bey on presentation-day), who as- 
 sured Mr. Payne that the work would go on in the morn- 
 ings The work did go on as promised, and Mr. Payne 
 ordered just whatever he desired. Walls were cut through ; 
 iron gates disappeared; eyelet-holes were turned into 
 27 
 
210 Life and Writings of 
 
 magnificent windows; all the terraces were newly covered 
 and painted ; all the floors newly paved with the most ex- 
 pensive painted tiles, and an arched dome towered above 
 the roof, giving a grandeur to the building almost equal to 
 that of the bey's own palace, and over this again our consul 
 caused to be erected a flag-staff of a size that had never 
 before been witnessed in Tunis, and a new American flag 
 was flung out to the winds, of such magnificent proportions 
 that it became the subject of public comment. These im- 
 provements cost the bey over thirty thousand piastres 
 (almost four thousand dollars). When all was complete, 
 Mr. Payne congratulated himself on having the finest con- 
 sulate building in Tunis. 
 
 Mr. Payne became a great favorite with the bey. He 
 induced Mr. Horace H. Day of New York, the manufac- 
 turer of rubber goods, to present the bey with some speci- 
 mens of his best work, among which there was a large 
 Indian-rubber boat, for which his highness expressed 
 himself much pleased, and in return presented Mr. Day 
 with a gold snuff box set with brilliants valued at one 
 thousand dollars. 
 
 Mr. Payne had not much more than got his consulate 
 affairs in good working order, and felt comfortable in many 
 respects, when by a change of government at Washington 
 and the intriguing of a person who had formerly been the 
 consul at Tunis, (and who desired a reappointment,) he 
 was recalled. This was a great disappointment to Mr. 
 Payne in several respects. The most important one was, 
 that he had been engaged for over a year on the history 
 of Tunis, and, to accomplish the work properly, it was abso- 
 lutely necessary to be there, where he could come in contact 
 with the materials required for the work. 
 
 He received the ofiicial notice of his recall on the 20th 
 of ]!^ovember, 1845. On his way home he stopped for some 
 twelve months or more, in Italy, Paris, and London, and 
 reached I^ew York in July, 1847. He then went to Wash- 
 
John Howard Payne. 211 
 
 ington where he was received with great warmth and 
 respect by every one who knew him, and especially so by 
 Gov. Marcy. Many of his old friends were astonished to 
 see him back at home, as they had not previously heard of 
 his recall ; and protested that he should be returned to a 
 post he had filled with so much dignity and patriotism. 
 
 Mr. Payne had not been in Washington for a great while 
 before Mr. Marcy and Mr. Clayton made a strong move 
 for his reappointment. This was done on the ground of 
 the dissatisfaction given to the bey, and the people of 
 Tunis by the consul who took Mr. Payne's place. The 
 matter, however, dragged along for some time, and he was 
 not reappointed, until a change of administration took 
 place, and in 1851 Mr. Webster stood by his "old friend," 
 and caused Mr. Payne to be reinstated. Payne, now once 
 more " an exile from home," left his country and his friends, 
 for the last time, in the latter part of April, 1851. When he 
 bade his friends good-by, in Brooklyn, where he had been 
 residing with his brother, Thatcher Payne, he did so in 
 broken health. On his way to Tunis he stopped at Paris 
 for a little over a month, and then taking ship (the Missis- 
 sippi) July 25th, at Marseilles, under the command of Com- 
 modore Morgan of the United States navy, he was directly 
 en route for Tunis, and in sixty hours afterwards, he once 
 more lay in the harbor opposite to the classic grounds of 
 Carthage. Salutes were fired; he was visited from the 
 shore, and was every way received with all the signs of 
 marked respect. When the bey heard of his arrival, he 
 exclaimed, " Let him be welcome." All the flags were dis- 
 played, and all the foreign consuls, in full uniform, imme- 
 diately called on him; his old personal friends hastened to 
 give him a cordial reception. Once more Mr. Payne sat 
 down to his work, with his characteristic determination to 
 do it faithfully and well. 
 
 In the early part of the winter of 1852, his health com- 
 menced to fail rapidly. Rheumatism and great prostration 
 
212 Life and Writings of 
 
 followed. He was confined to the house the whole of the 
 winter. In March, feeling somewhat better, he ventured 
 out, to entertain, and show the interesting features of the 
 place to three American gentlemen who were traveling for 
 pleasure, and crossed over from Italy to see Tunis and Car- 
 thage. The undertaking was too much for him, and on his 
 return home, he was prostrated to his bed again, from 
 which he never arose. He died on the 9th of April, 1852, 
 in the sixty-second year of his age. 
 
 The following is a translation of the official letter an- 
 nouncing his death to the government of the United States. 
 
 " Tunis, the 9th of April, 1852. 
 " To the President, and Government of the United States : 
 
 "Monsieur: I hasten to have the honor to bring to 
 your knowledge the decease of Colonel John Howard 
 Payne, our consul, who died this morning at six o'clock. 
 
 " Gaspary." 
 
 At the moment that Mr. Payne died, his Moorish 
 domestics and two sisters of charity were at his bedside. 
 During the whole of his last confinement to his sick room, 
 he received the kindest consideration and nursing at the 
 hands of these good women; not a day passed without 
 some one of them standing at his side, administering 
 the consolation that so lifts the drooping spirit of the sick, 
 and those delicacies that moisten the parched taste and for 
 a moment, at leist, revive the lost appetite. The sisters of 
 mercy who attended him, were Rosalie, Josephine, Marie 
 Xavier, and Celeste. A priest of the Greek church said 
 prayers over his remains at the grave. His remains lie in 
 the old, time-honored burial-place that over-looks the 
 bay, and the ruins of Carthage. The United States go- 
 vernment caused to be placed over his grave a marble slab 
 with the following inscription on it. 
 
John Howard Payne. 213 
 
 in memory of 
 COL. JOHN HOWARD PAYNE, 
 
 Twice Consul of the United States of America, for the 
 Kingdom of Tunis, 
 
 This stone is here placed by a grateful country. 
 
 He died at the American Consulate in this city after a 
 painful illness, April 1st, 1852. He was born in the city 
 of Boston, state of Massachusetts, June 8th, 1792.' 
 
 His fame as a poet and dramatist, is well known where- •^ 
 ever the English language is spoken, through his cele- 
 brated ballad of Home, Sweet Home, and the popular 
 tragedy of Brutus, and other similar productions. 
 
 The stone that bears this inscription is an oblong slab 
 of white, Italian marble, raised a few inches above the 
 grave. On each of the four margins of the slab, are the fol- 
 lowing lines of poetry. 
 
 " Sure when thy gentle spirit fled 
 To realms beyond the azure dome. 
 With arms outstretched, Grod's angels said 
 ' Welcome to Heaven's ' Home, Sweet Home V " ' 
 
 So ended the singular and constantly varying life of John 
 Howard Payne, unquestionably a man of genius, but who 
 failed to accomplish a very high position in any of the 
 several professions of poet, dramatist or actor, from the 
 want of exclusive devotion to some one of them. 
 
 A life-long friend of Mr. Payne, a gentleman of the 
 finest literary attainments, and of whom we have already 
 
 • The current dates of his birth and death as placed on his tomb-stone are 
 many. It is a singular fact, that none who have written of Mr. Payne, have 
 had tfce dates right. 
 
 'These beautiful lines were composed by Mr. R. S. Chilton, who at the 
 time held the position of clerk in the consular bureau at Washington. As 
 Mr. Payne's personal friend, betook great interest, on behalf of the govern- 
 ment, in having the monument erected over him at Tunis. 
 
214 Life and Writings of 
 
 Bpoken as having published a sketch of our subject in the 
 Boston Gazette, thus comments upon the close of Mr. 
 Payne's life. 
 
 " Many mourn him : the fascination of his early brilliancy 
 has left its record on many minds. The tidings of his de- 
 parture touch many hearts with very tender memories. 
 Always buoyant, full of resource, rich in the stores of a 
 varied and peculiar experience, his society always had a 
 singular attraction. Always busy about something, he 
 always kept his mind cheerful and wide-awake. His abili- 
 ties did not fulfil their early promise. His faculties were 
 never sufficiently disciplined by the healthy toil of exact 
 study, nor was his knowledge enlarged by methodical and 
 various acquisitions from books. But, if he did not assimu- 
 late or amass in the way necessary for a higher eminence 
 than he attained, so quick a mind with such opportuni- 
 ties could not fail to collect a great deal of what was 
 profitable and pleasant for immediate use ; his grace of ex- 
 pression, from boyhood to age, combining remarkably the 
 exactness of art with the ease of nature, had a singular 
 charm ; and, I presume, a collection of his letters might be 
 made, which would take a high rank in that department 
 of composition. But what I like most to think of is, that 
 a life, begun in some respects so unpropitiously, should 
 have passed to its end so blamelessly, and so happily. To 
 be the spoiled child of public enthusiasm and not to be 
 a ruined man; to lose the huzzas that have cheered one on 
 at the threshold of life, and not become blase or a misan- 
 thrope; to be made drunk with admiration in the feeble- 
 ness of one's teens, and not wake to a chronic imbecility 
 or spleen, bespeaks the presence of elements of a noble 
 nature." 
 
 When we were preparing a paper on Mr. Payne to read 
 before the Faust Club of Brooklyn, for the purpose of in- 
 citing the members to assist in erecting a memorial to the 
 author of Home, Siveet Home, we wrote to Mr. Amos Perrv, 
 
John Howard Payne. 215 
 
 who, some few years after Mr. Payne's death, filled the con- 
 sulship at Tunis, and who, on arriving there in 1862, took 
 a great interest in all matters concerning Mr. Payne's con- 
 sulship, and the literary efi:ects which he left behind him, 
 which perhaps are now lost forever. Indeed, had it not 
 been for the appreciation and manly sympathy of Mr. 
 Perry, hardly an autographic letter of Mr. Payne's would 
 have been saved for his admiring friends to look at. In 
 answer to the communication we sent to Mr. Perry on the 
 close of Mr. Payne s life, we received the following: 
 
 " Gabriel Harrison, Esq. 
 
 " 380 Wyckoff St., Brooklyn, K Y. 
 
 "Dear Sir: Your esteemed favor, of the 3d instant, 
 is before me. I am gratified to learn that you have made 
 a movement for the erection of a monument in Prospect 
 Park to the author of Sweet Home, and I desire to make my 
 grateful acknowledgment to you and the high-spirited 
 Faust Club of Brooklyn, for the effort to do simple justice 
 to the memory of one who deserves the respect and ad- 
 miration of every American citizen. I am, also, gratified to 
 learn that you are engaged iu preparing for publication a 
 biography of Mr. Payne, which, I doubt not, will be a 
 graceful and a fitting tribute to his genius and industry, and 
 will supply a manifest demand in the republic of letters. 
 
 " I had no knowledge of Mr. Payne on my arrival in 
 
 Tunis, 1862, except that he was the author of Sweet 
 
 Home, and had held the consular office in that city. Paying 
 an early visit to his grave in the Protestant cemetery, I 
 plucked and pressed flowers that I found growing luxuri- 
 antly around it. In writing to friends across the ocean, I 
 frequently enclosed these flowers with a copy of the in- 
 scriptions upon the grave-stone, and I subsequently learned 
 from the various sources that the memorials were greatly 
 prized. 
 
216 Life and Writings of 
 
 " I soon became interested to learn about Mr. Payne's 
 life, and especially about the sad, closing scenes in his con- 
 sular career and his earthly existence. But here my en- 
 quiries were not, in general, cheerfully or satisfactorily 
 answered. A shadow seemed to rest upon his name. 
 Estimable and worthy persons spoke of him with ominous 
 reserve. In searching the archives of the consulate, I 
 found comparatively little to gratify my curiosity. I saw 
 convincing proof of method and order in his transactions. 
 His letters and accounts were duly filed. His dispatches 
 to the department of state and his communications ad- 
 dressed to the Tunisian government were neatly copied in 
 his own clear hand. There was abundant proof that he did 
 not pass his time in ignoble ease. He had animated con- 
 troversies with the Tunisian government and with one 
 of his colleagues, on some matters that have long since 
 ceased to interest the public. It was through his official 
 interference and untiring exertions, that a superior con- 
 sular mansion or government-house was secured for the use 
 of the American representative at the Tunisian court. The 
 old consular building, whose foundations date as far back 
 as the days of Venetian greatness and glory, was, through 
 his official service, thoroughly remodeled or rebuilt in a 
 style of grandeur bordering on extravagance. On the top 
 of this great structure was erected a towering mast, from 
 whose heights was suspended a liberal supply of bunting, 
 with the stars and stripes in such ample proportions as to 
 be seen and distinguished at a distance. 
 
 " Mr. Payne labored indefatigably for the honor of the 
 American government. Believing that, without a stately 
 official mansion, and a tall naastfrom which to siispend the 
 national standard, the representative of his country could 
 not secure becoming respect, he applied himself to what 
 seemed at the time a hopeless task. At a formal audience 
 given to him by the bey, he pronounced the dilapidated 
 old building, with its diminutive flagstatf, (that had once 
 
John Howard Payne. 217 
 
 served the republic of Venice), beneath the dignity and 
 honor of America, and demanded in unequivocal terms a 
 suitable mansion. The bey, aroused to indignation by 
 his bold manner and utterances, caught up the word Ame- 
 rica, and with the severest irony and derision replied: 
 ' America ! America ! where is it ? I do not know of any 
 such country.' 
 
 " One of my informants, an intelligent and outspoken 
 republican, born at Venice, and long a resident at Susa 
 (ancient Hadrumetum), said that Mr. Payne, on receiving 
 this reply, determined that the bey should learn something 
 about the country of whose situation and existence he pro- 
 fessed to have no knowledge. To this end he besieged 
 the bey and his ministers, persistently pressing his claims 
 for a new consulate, till ' his highness ' acquired a prac- 
 tical lesson in geography and history. In fine, the bey 
 came to the conclusion that America actually existed some- 
 where on the globe, and that its representative was entitled 
 to courteous and respectful treatment. His cofiers were 
 speedily opened, and America thus secured the finest con- 
 sulate and the tallest mast in the city. It was a trial of 
 wits in which Mr. Payne proved victorious. The comple- 
 tion of the consulate was observed in a marked manner. 
 The consul procured a national standard, of quality and 
 dimensions in harmony with the occasion. The stars and 
 stripes were unfolded to the breezes in the presence of a 
 multitudinous throng. A brass band, stationed on a plat- 
 form, fastened with iron bands to the flag-staff, twenty-five 
 feet above the roof of the consulate, made the welkin ring 
 with their shrill and boisterous blast, while the spacious 
 and the tasteful apartments in the second story were the 
 scenes of feasting and gayety. One of Mr. Payne's Moorish 
 friends, in speaking of this celebration, called it ' an Ame- 
 rican jubilee.' 
 
 "While Mr. Payne was successfully carrying out his 
 project of securing for the use of the American represent- 
 28 
 
218 Life AND Writings OF 
 
 ative at Tunis, a stately and commodious mansion, he took 
 a step, whicli, in connection with official rivalry, envy 
 or malice, and in the absence of needed aid from personal 
 friends and relatives, seriously impaired his reputation in 
 that city. IsTot content with the great outlay made by the 
 bey, he expended on his private account for his darling 
 project some borrowed money, thus involving himself in a 
 debt which subsequently increased, in Mussulman phrase, 
 by the hand of God. 
 
 " A proud-spirited man, Mr. Payne found himself, de- 
 spite his success in getting a new consulate, weighed down 
 and chagrined. In this state of affairs his health gave way. 
 His plans for literary labor, on which he depended for 
 funds, were broken up. He drooped, sickened, and after 
 a lingering and painful illness, passed on to 
 
 ' That undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
 No traveler returns.' 
 
 " It was a sad issue and a cruel lot. He was in a foreign 
 land, deprived of the pleasures of the sweet home about 
 w^hich he had sung, and of the presence of long cherished 
 friends. Yet he was cared for. Sweet charity from 
 Christians, Mussulmans and Jews failed him not. He was 
 tenderly and lovingly nursed, till his spirit departed from 
 the clayey tabernacle. 
 
 "The saddest part of the case was his disappointed 
 hopes and unfulfilled obligations. His plans were all frus- 
 trated, and his account was closed. For the want of a 
 strong friendly hand to gather up his effects and protect the 
 interests of his creditors and of his heirs-at-law, irreparable 
 losses, confusion and dissatisfaction resulted. Some to 
 whom he was indebted, regarding themselves as the vic- 
 tims of misplaced confidence, became sour and uncharita- 
 ble. Smothered malice and animosity broke out. Many- 
 tongued scandal started up and ranged through that city 
 and over that coast, as in the days of ^neas and Dido. 
 
John Howard Payne. 219 
 
 The consul, silent in death, became a veritable victim. 
 Could he have looked on, he would have witnessed hag- 
 gling and contention. The love of money was at the root 
 of the evil. Mr. Ambrose Allegro, who was one of the 
 appraisers of Mr. Payne's effects, and who had unusual 
 means of understanding the condition of his affairs, thought 
 that six or seven hundred dollars would have paid all the 
 demands upon Mr. Payne's estate. For the want of this 
 amount of money, after due notice had been given to Mr. 
 Payne's relatives in America, his library, household furni- 
 ture, pictures, sword of office and numerous manuscripts 
 and works of art were appraised and sold at auction. His 
 personal apparel, an extensive collection of manuscripts, 
 mostly in bound volumes, an autograph-album of distin- 
 guished contemporary authors, and numerous choice keep- 
 sakes, were not appraised or sold. What became of them 
 is rather a matter of conjecture than of proof. They were 
 unquestionably taken away by unauthorized persons, and 
 were effectually scattered and lost. The autograph-album 
 referred to has, I am assured, been offered for sale in N^ew 
 York, at a price sufficient to have paid all Mr. Payne's 
 debts. One of his keepsakes, of which I have seen no 
 mention, was brought to me with a mysterious air just 
 before my departure from Tunis. It was a compact box 
 made to resemble a well-bound volume, entitled : CJode of 
 Texas. On opening it, were found two well finished, and 
 finely polished Colt's revolvers, together with some imple- 
 ments needful to keep them in order, and an inscription 
 on a brass or copper plate, showing this to have been pre- 
 sented to Mr. Payne by the inventor, as a token of affection 
 and respect. Having no taste for implements of war, or 
 for this kind of keepsake, I declined to accede to the terms 
 of the appreciative possessor. 
 
 " At the request of the venerable poet, scholar, and jour- 
 nalist, Wm. C. Bryant, and under instructions of the de- 
 partment of state, I instituted, while at Tunis, careful 
 
220 Life and Writings of 
 
 enquiries with the view of restoring these things, if possible, 
 to Mrs. Rev. Lea Luquer {nee Eloise E. Payne), the niece 
 and nearest living relative of Mr. Payne. But my efforts 
 proved of little avail. A few manuscripts, some of them 
 diaries, and numerous packages of letters were found 
 mixed up with mouldy newspapers and decaying rubbish 
 in a dozen or more bags and boxes that were stored in a 
 damp cellar at the Goletta. The most valuable volumes 
 of manuscript, and choice mementoes of friends, including 
 photographs and miniature portraits, a quaint old seal ring 
 with a Hebrew inscription (a family treasure that used to 
 belong to his grandfather), a cane given him by "Washing- 
 ton Irving, and other keepsakes of more or less value, 
 known to have been in the consulate at the time of his 
 death, were sought in vain. 
 
 " The catholic bishop of Tunis, who was on terms of 
 intimacy with Mr. Payne, recognized in him superior re- 
 finement, cultivation, and nobility of sentiment. The Greek 
 priest who officiated at his funeral, spoke of him in terms 
 of unqualified praise. Of the four sisters of charity, who, 
 two at a time, ministered by turns to his wants during his 
 protracted illness, I saw only sister Rosalie. She compli- 
 mented Mr. Payne's patience and gentleness, adding that he 
 exhibited throughout his sickness the instincts and refine- 
 ment of a gentlemen. His Mussulman servant Mohammed, 
 who stood by his bedside when he breathed his last, and 
 who was in my service nearly five years, never wearied in 
 speaking his praise. He esteemed it a privilege to go into 
 the room where Mr. Payne died, show how the bed and 
 chairs were arranged, and describe scenes and conversa- 
 tions that had occurred. Mr. Ambrose Allegro, the veteran 
 Italian secretary who began the service in the American 
 consulate near the close of the last century, under Gen. 
 William Eaton, expressed the opinion that Mr. Payne was 
 engaged up to the time of his sickness in the preparation 
 of a work on the regency of Tunis, containing sketches of 
 
John Howard Payne. 221 
 
 Barbary corsairs and slavery. In confirmation of this 
 view, Mohammed said he kept constantly on his table two 
 large volumes of manuscript, in which he was writing much 
 of his time. 
 
 " The grave of Mr. Payne, in St. George's cemetery, is an 
 object of interest to most American tourists, and is also 
 sought out by some Englishmen. One intelligent and 
 gentlemanly British tourist learned there for the first time 
 that John Howard Payne was the author of Sweet Home. 
 He gave it as his opinion that this song was more sung at 
 British firesides than " God save the Queen," and, having 
 seen it stated in print that Barry Cornwall was the author 
 of it, he was slow to credit the American. This incident led 
 me to seek authentic information in regard to this matter. 
 Accordingly, I addressed my enquiries to the late John 
 Miller, who was at that time United States despatch agent 
 in London. The following is the reply I received: 
 
 Letter of John Miller. 
 
 * To Amos Perry J Esq., U. S. Consul at Tunis : 
 
 ' Sir : I first published Sweet Home as an interlude in a 
 play entitled Clari, the title-page of which is as follows : 
 
 ' Clari, an opera in three acts, as first performed at the 
 Theatre Royal, Covent Garden, on Thursday, May 8, 1823, 
 by John Howard Payne, Esq. The overture and music 
 (with the exception of the national airs) by Henry R. 
 Bishop, Esq. London, John Miller, 69 Fleet street, 1826. 
 (Price two shillings and six pence.) 
 
 ' I gave Mr. Payne, who was introduced to me by Wash- 
 ington Irving, £50 for the copyright, and he was to revise 
 
 t^'^P™"*'- (Signed), 
 
 John Miller. 
 * London, OflSce U. S. Despatch Agency, 
 Sept. 19, 1865.' 
 
222 Life and Writings of 
 
 "During my residence at Tunis, the removal of Mr. 
 Payne's remains to his native land came up for considera- 
 tion among his friends in America, and I was consulted by 
 letter in regard to the best means of accomplishing this 
 object. The removal was not regarded with favor in that 
 city, fear being expressed lest, if it were effected, Ameri- 
 cans might take less interest in keeping St. George's ceme- 
 tery in order. Evidently, no hostility exists against Mr. 
 Payne's ashes. It was conceded that their presence was a 
 pledge of interest on the part of Americans, exerting an 
 influence in securing for the cemetery an annual contribu- 
 tion from our government. 
 
 " The only direct charges I ever heard uttered against 
 Mr. Payne at Tunis, were, that he was stern, ruling the 
 bey, as it were, with a rod of iron, and that he was extra- 
 vagant at the expense of the bey and of his creditors. 
 
 " I regard the first of these criticisms, made to subserve 
 rival interest as a virtual compliment. 
 
 — — - ' Caesar wept ; ' 
 
 ' Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.' 
 
 " Mr. Payne was at a post of duty in the service of his 
 government. It was his part to sustain the honor and 
 dignity of his country. Others might cringe and succumb 
 before an imperious prince, seeking personal comfort and 
 pleasure at the expense of the government. That was not 
 in accordance with his nature or line of action. 
 
 " I am here reminded of Capulet and Montague (without 
 their Pomeo and Juliet), and am cautioned against stirring 
 up smouldering embers. But from my stand point, no 
 embers — only pale ashes — are visible. I would fain 
 believe, for charity's sake, the fire gone out, and the days 
 of strife gone by. l^o smoke now obscures the vision of the 
 great American public. We can all, throwing a mantle 
 of charity over weaknesses and foibles, look calmly and dis- 
 passionately on the rivals, sleeping the sleep of death. 
 
John Howard Payne. 223 
 
 They can no longer harm and supplant each other. Each 
 lives, though dead, in the light of his own deeds. Leaving 
 the benevolent physician and the successful courtier, some 
 of whose descendants are among our dearest friends, with 
 naught but kindly expressions and sentiments of respect, 
 we turn to the dramatist, the man of letters, the poet of 
 our homes, the energetic consul and the efficient champion 
 of our country's dignity and honor. !N'o defense or apology 
 is required at our hands. A people who hold Bainbridge, 
 Decatur and their compeers in grateful remembrance for 
 humiliating at the cannon's mouth the defiant despots of 
 Tripoli and Algiers, cannot fail to appreciate the man who, 
 by dint of diplomatic skill and energy, gained a controlling 
 influence, if not a signal victory, over the proud and inso- 
 lent ruler of Tunis. In the light of his literary and official 
 services, no right-minded American citizen can stoop to 
 indulge in harsh and ungenerous criticism. Sternness, 
 when it subserves a worthy cause, is rightfully accounted 
 a virtue, and thus the charge we are considering does 
 actual credit to the man it was intended to disparage. 
 
 "In like manner the other charge or criticism is di- 
 vested of its power of evil the moment it is examined in 
 the light of truth. To begin with, Mr. Payne never had in 
 his hands any of the bey's money to squander or use in that 
 way. He simply furnished the plans which the bey adopted 
 for the rebuilding of the American consulate. The plans 
 were indeed on a generous scale, requiring a large outlay ; 
 but it was the bey, not the consul, who incurred the ex- 
 pense and assumed the responsibility of the enterprise. 
 
 "Mr. Payne's sickness and death, brought on, no doubt, 
 by labor and anxiety, were in my opinion (which is based 
 on varied testimony taken at Tunis), the main cause of his 
 insolvency. Misfortune — not prodigality — produced the 
 deranf ement in his affiiirs. True, his was not the type of 
 character that belongs to successful financiers and bankers. 
 The philosophy of exhorbitant interest was not his favorite 
 
224 Life and Writings op 
 
 study. He failed to invest in real estate and bonds. He 
 left for his heirs no bank-stock or well endorsed notes. 
 He failed sometimes to avert from his humble abode the 
 trials of pinching want. 
 
 " He did not, however, fail to produce during his life 
 such fruits of genius, industry and perseverance as will 
 make fragrant his memory, and prove a better legacy than 
 bank-notes and real estate. He did not fail, while in the 
 severest straits, to record his name on the rolls of fame, in 
 connection with his song of Home. 
 
 " I am, then, of the opinion that the proposed memorial 
 is appropriate and deserved. Your action in Brooklyn will , 
 I am confident, awaken a responsive chord at thousands 
 of firesides that have been enlivened and blessed by the 
 author's life and labors. 
 
 " Truly yours, 
 
 " Amos Perry. 
 '' Providence, E. I., May 26, 1873." 
 
 Mr. Amos Perry justly alludes with regret to the loss 
 of Mr. Payne's literary eftects and mementos of great value. 
 Even from the comparatively scanty number of letters, 
 memoranda, and journals now extant, and over which we 
 have carefully looked, we feel certain that the greatest merits 
 of his life have been lost. In one letter to a dear relative, 
 he particularly mentions, that he " had been devoting much 
 of his time in preparing a history of the Barbary States, 
 and that the work would contain a large amount of highly 
 interesting matter." In addition to this, Mr. Payne had in 
 his possession several manuscript plays, which had never 
 been performed or published, and judging from the fact 
 that the larger number of his dramatic productions had 
 been successful, we have a right to conjecture that they 
 were of like merit. 
 
 The writer, while spending two or three days with Mr. 
 Edwin Forrest, at his residence in Philadelphia, alluded to 
 
John Howard Payne. 225 
 
 Payne's tragedy of Romulus, inquiring why he never per- 
 formed it. Mr. Forrest answered that he never could un- 
 derstand why Payne did not make the alterations he 
 requested ; that it was a fine play, and would have been in 
 his opinion as great a success as Brutus. What has 
 become of this tragedy, with the rest of his manuscripts, 
 will more than likely remain forever a mystery. 
 
 Mr. Payne was never a married man : a heavy shadow 
 was cast over his eventful life, by the unhappy termination 
 of a romance of his early manhood when he became de- 
 votedly attached to a lady of Boston, whose rare beauty 
 and mental accomplishments made her the idol of the 
 social circle in which she moved. The affection of the 
 gifted lover was warmly reciprocated, and a marriage would 
 have completed the happiness of both, but for parental 
 interference. Payne's over-sensitive nature never fully 
 recovered from this blow, and to the last days of his life, 
 he would speak of it in tones of sadness that excited the 
 sympathy of the few friends whom he honored with his 
 confidence. One of the largest characteristics of Mr, 
 Payne's nature, was its gentleness ; — a disposition that be- 
 spoke more of the mother's than the father's nature within 
 him. His love for children throughout his life amounted 
 to a passion. Some of his letters to little Eloise, written but 
 a few years previously to his death, are perfect models of 
 child-letters, and show him to have understood their sim- 
 ple natures as comprehensively as he did the manly and 
 womanly characters which grace his many dramatic efforts. 
 This freshness of disposition lasted him up to the last 
 hour of his life, and although, throughout his life, he seemed 
 to have met with considerable harsh treatment from those 
 for whom he worked the hardest, still he was ever confi- 
 dent^and trusting, ever deceived and defrauded. Hence, 
 with all his industry and talents, his life was not as great a 
 material success as it would have been w^ith narrower and 
 29 
 
226 Life and Writings op 
 
 lower aims, and it seems somewhat singular, at least, 
 that the man who could say so much of "Home" in so 
 small a space, eight lines only, should all his life be a wan- 
 derer, and at last sleep the long last sleep in a strange land 
 away from " Home, Sweet Home." 
 
 "We close this sketch of his life by laying on his tomb 
 a wreath from Shakespeare's hand, saying with a fond and 
 a sad farewell, he was 
 
 The kindest man, 
 
 The best conditioned and unwearied spirit 
 In doing courtesies." 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " All's well that ends well." 
 The Payne Memorial and the Faust Club. 
 
 J- HE Faust Club of Brooklyn, L. I., was organized in the 
 early part of 1872. The object of the club was to provide 
 a place for the social gatherings of gentlemen belonging to 
 the several professions — authors, artists, actors, journalists 
 and musicians. The constitution provides that one-half of 
 the whole number of members shall be of the above profes- 
 sions, while it leaves in the residue of its membership ample 
 room for non-professional men who may desire to become 
 members of the club. One of the most delightful features 
 of the association are " The Saturday-night Entertainments " 
 which consist of exhibitions of works of art, music, recita- 
 
John Howard Payne. 227 
 
 tions, and the reading of original papers by the members. 
 It was on one of these occasions, the 20th of October, 1872, 
 that Mr. Gabriel Harrison read an original paper on the 
 life and writings of John Howard Payne, for the purpose 
 of enlisting the sympathy and cooperation of the club, in 
 the erection of a suitable memorial to Mr. Payne. At the 
 conclusion of Mr. Harrison's paper a committee of twenty- 
 five, with Mr. Gabriel Harrison as chairman, was appointed 
 to carry out the object. 
 
 Mr. Henry Baerer was proposed by Mr. Harrison as the 
 artist to make the design for the memorial. 
 
 The material furnished and used by the artist to produce 
 the likeness was a very fine, large-sized daguerreotype, taken 
 of Mr. Payne in 1849, a short time previous to his leaving 
 this country to fill, for the second time, the position as con- 
 sul at Tunis, and less than three years prior to his death. 
 In a few months the large model from which the bronze 
 bust was finally cast, was exhibited before the members of 
 the Faust Club. To make perfectly sure of the fidelity of _ 
 the likeness, the only two surviving relatives of Mr. Payne, 
 his brother Thatcher Payne's widow, and daughter, with 
 whom for the last twenty years of his life he spent all of 
 his leisure moments, and resided with them in Brooklyn, 
 were called in to pass their judgment on the likeness. 
 Their verdict was favorable in the extreme, and after passing 
 under the opinion of several other old associates of Mr. 
 Payne, who pronounced the likeness faultless, it was 
 finally placed in the hands of the artist to be cast in bronze. 
 Among those who attested to the fidelity of the likeness is 
 Mr. James Rees, of Philadelphia, who was contempora- 
 neous with Mr. Payne, and had been perfectly familiar with 
 him. Mr. Rees's opinion on this point is contained in the 
 followino: letter. 
 
228 Life of John Howard Payne. 
 
 " Philadelphia, July 10, '73. 
 " To Gabriel Harrison, Esq. 
 
 " Dear Sir : I have just received the beautiful little bust 
 of my old and much lamented friend, John Howard Payne, 
 as a copy of the large bronze bust proposed to be placed 
 on Prospect Park, Brooklyn, ]^. Y. I can only say, a 
 more striking likeness of the author of Home, Sweet Home ! 
 I have never seen, not excepting several other likenesses 
 of him, I have in my possession. The artist seems to have 
 caught that mild expression with a '■ shade more of sorrow 
 than anger' around it, an expression which I have so often 
 seen upon his face when speaking of the past. 
 
 " The artist, we repeat, deserves much credit for the 
 piece of work, a view of which satisfies me that it more 
 than realizes in faithfulness of features all that his most 
 ardent admirers ever anticipated. In the years that are to 
 come, when we have passed away, the words of Home, 
 Sweet Home ! will have an additional charm to those, while 
 gazing upon this striking likeness of their gifted author. 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 "James liEES." 
 
 The casting of the bronze was made at the J^ational 
 Fine Art Foundery of Mr. Powers, New York, and was in 
 every respect a great success. 
 
 The work, when completed, cost four thousand dollars. 
 
 The club, to assist them in obtaining means to pay for the 
 memorial, gave two performances, afternoon and evening, 
 at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. To accomplish this, 
 a circular was sent by the club to the members of the 
 dramatic and musical professions, soliciting their volunteer 
 aid, to which an immediate and generous response was 
 made, resulting in the following programme : 
 
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1873. 
 
 MANAGER MR GABRIEL HARRISON 
 
 STAGE DIRECTOR MR. JA8. KCHONIJERG 
 
 MUSICAL DIRECTORS Messrs. M. PAPST, JOHN M. LORETZ, Ju, & H . TISSINOTON 
 PROMPTER Mr. ALFRED BECKS 
 
 m m Will \m mm\. 
 
 TWO PEKFUUMAXC'KS UNDER THE AL'.Sl'ICES OF THE 
 
 AFTERNOOX & NIOHT, KKXDEIiED BY A LAKGE NUMBEK OK VOLITNTEER ARTISTS. 
 The dramatic iwrtioii la preseiiteil mainly tliroiigh the cordial co-operation of LESTER WALLACK, 
 Esq., of Wallack'n; EDWIN mtOTH. Esq., of Booth's: A. M. I'AL.MER, Esq., of the Union Square 
 Theatre; Messrs. .lARKETT and PALMER, of Niblo's, who have freely granted permission for members of 
 their comiwnit-s to appear. 
 
 The AFTERNOON PERFORMANCB will commence at 2 P. M. with John 
 Howard Payne's drama, 
 
 O L ^ R I ! 
 
 THE MAID OF MILAN. 
 
 Rolamo Mr. John Gilbert 
 
 The Duke Vivaldi .. Mr. E. M. Holland 
 
 J0CO80 .. .. Mr. Robert Pateman 
 
 Nimpedo Mr. C.E.Edwin 
 
 Nicolo Mr. W.H. Jones 
 
 Geronio Mr. Geo. W. Browne 
 
 Pelgrino Mr. J. W. Leonard 
 
 Nobleman Mr. H. M. Brennan 
 
 Page Mr. Frank Lamb 
 
 Clari, (with the song of " Home, Sweet Home," in the same situation 
 
 in which it was originally used) Miss Phillis Glover 
 
 Vespinii Miss Fanny Hay ward 
 
 Leoaa Miss Imo^ene Fowler 
 
 Fidalma Mme. Ponisl 
 
 Ninetta Miss Kate Holland 
 
 Pelgrino's Wife Miss Blaisdell 
 
 To be followed by a 
 
 GRAND MUSICAL OLIO. 
 
 OVERTURE — "Matitaua" .... Musical Conductor, Mr. H. Tissington 
 
 Orchestra 
 SONO .......... Mr. Mark Smith 
 
 BALLAD — " The Last Rose of Summer" ..... Madame Anna Bishop 
 
 Accompanist, Mr. Wagner. 
 SONG— "La Donna E Mobile- ........ Verdl 
 
 Mr. H. K. Humphries. 
 
 After which the celebrated TELEGRAPH SCENE from 
 
 THE LONG STRIKE. 
 
 Mr. Moneypenny- ........ Mr. J. II. Stoddart 
 
 Jane Learoyd - ' ™ . . 
 
 Telegraph Clerk 
 
 B^- - 
 
 
 
 Miss Kate Holland 
 
 RECITATION - 
 
 " The Bells' 
 
 To conclude with a 
 '— (by Edgar A. Poe) 
 
 Mr. Steele Mackaye 
 
 OVERTURE 
 
 
 
 ORCHESTRA 
 
 THE EVENING PERFORITEANCE will commence at 8 P.M. with John 
 
 Howard Payne's, comedy, 
 
 OmLE/LES II! 
 
 Charles II - - - - - - - - - Mr. .1. W. Carroll 
 
 Rochester ......... Mr. James Dunn 
 
 Captain Copp ........ Mr. Thomas Morris 
 
 Edward ......... Mr Maurice I'ike 
 
 Lady Clara, with Sontag's " Echo Song" ..... Miss Ellen Morant 
 
 Mary Copp, with Song, " The Bird on the Tree" ..... Miss Jennie Lee 
 
 To be followed by a 
 
 GRAND MUSICAL OLIO. 
 
 1. OVERTURE— "Pearl of Bagdad" - - - Musical Conductor, Mr. J. M. Loretz, Jr 
 
 •2. BOLERO -"SiciUan Vespers," ---..... Verdi 
 Mrs. Jennie Van Zandt, accompanied by Mr. Geo. W. Colby. 
 
 3. ADELAIDE • - - - • - . . . ' . Beethoven 
 
 Sung by H. R. Humphries, accompanied by Geo. W. Colby. 
 
 4. HOFFNUNG- fHope) - - - - . . . . Mohr 
 
 Brooklyn Saengerbund — Mr. Groeschel, Conductor. 
 5- BALLAD— "Home Sweet Home," .words by J. H. Payne) .... Bishop 
 
 Mrs. Jennie Van Zandt, accompanied by Mr. Colby. 
 
 6. "MEINSCHIFFLEIN,"(myUttlebark) - . . ' . ^ . . Beschnitt 
 
 Brooklyn Saengerbund. 
 
 The performance will conclude with John Howard Payne' Comedietta, 
 
230 Life of John Howard Payne. 
 
 The receipts of the two performances amounted to 
 about two thousand dollars ; this result not reaching the 
 amount required, another plan was immediately put into 
 operation in the form of an art-drawing among the members 
 of the club. The artists in and out of the club donated 
 some of their best works. Their liberality was remarkable. 
 Among the gentlemen who contributed, were Mr. James 
 Hart, Rufus Wright, Gabriel Harrison, Ferdinand T. 
 Boyle, John Williamson, J. A. Parker, W. M. Brown, J. 
 B. Whitaker, Mr. Lanthier, Mr. Wiggins, George Hall, 
 Mr. Henry Baerer, Mr. Groos, J. A. Faulkener, Mrs. 
 Nagle, and others. Among the members of the Faust Club 
 who took a liberal and very active interest in the art-draw- 
 ing, and the erection of the memorial were D. M. Tread- 
 well, J. Y. Culyer, and F. T. Hoyle. Not to have made 
 especial mention of their names here would have been an 
 act of injustice and ingratitude. The drawing was a suc- 
 cess; whereon a committee of five was appointed to confer 
 with the Commissioners of the Prospect Park, for the pur- 
 pose of selecting a site for the monument. This done, the 
 committee determined on the day for the unveiling, and 
 the following programme was observed. 
 
OP THE 
 
 COLOSS^^ ^I'^'^ZE Bust 
 
 AT PROSPECT PARK, 
 
 Saturday, September 27th, 1873. 
 
 OVERTURE— " Semiramis," ROSSINI. 
 
 Twenty-Third Regiment Band. 
 
 1. CHORUS— "America," 
 
 By the Children of the Public Schools of Brooklyn. 
 
 2. PRESENTATION of the Bust of John Howard Payne to the Com- 
 
 missioners of Prospect Park by the President of Faust Club, 
 Thomas Kin sella. 
 
 3. THE UNVEILING BY THE SCULPTOR, 
 
 Mr. Henry Baerer. 
 
 4. HOME, SWEET HOME ! sang by one thousand public-school child- 
 
 ren, in which the assemblage are requested to join the chorus. 
 
 5. ACCEPTANCE of the Bust by Hon. J. S. T. Stranahan, President 
 
 of Commission. 
 
 6. ODE — (Written for the occasion), by Jno. G. Saxe, LL. D. 
 
 Read by the Poet. 
 
 7. GALOP— " Clear the Track," Strauss. 
 
 Twenty-Third Regimemt Band. 
 
 8. ORATION, By William C. De Witt. 
 
 9. CHORUS—" Flag of the Free," - - - Millard. 
 
 By the Children of the Public Schools. 
 
 10. GRAND MARCH—" Coronation," - - - . Meyerbeer. 
 Twenty-Third Regiment Band. 
 
 COMMITTEE OF ARRANGEMENTS. 
 
 GABRIEL HARRISON, Chairman. 
 
 Thos. Kinsella, W. H. Clark, G. G. Barnard, 
 
 Francis S. Smith, E. P. Ackerman, J. M. Loretz, Jr., 
 
 S. D. Morris, W. N. Griffith, D. M. Treadwell, 
 
 HENRX.MINTON, M. D., J. Y. CULYER, D. B. THOMPSON, 
 
 E. LA*i, F. T. L. Boyle, W. C. Hudson, 
 
 J. J. McCloskey, a. G. Torrey, C. H. Parsons, 
 
 Andrew McLean, Jas. Terry, M. Papst, 
 
 W. H. Woodward, J. W. Carroll, T. B. Sidebotham, Jb. 
 
 H. T. Chapman, Jr., A. W. Peters, 
 
 Union Print 
 
232 Life and Writings op 
 
 The Presentation by Thomas Kinsella. 
 
 *' Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Park Commission: 
 
 " On behalf of the Faust Club of the city of Brooklyn, I 
 have the honor to present to you to-day, in trust for the 
 citizens of Brooklyn and. for their descendants, a colossal 
 bust of John Howard Payne. The present is from a club 
 made up for the most part of journalists, artists, drama- 
 tists, musicians, and actors. This present is made because 
 the Eaust Club desired to contribute something to the 
 attractions of this popular domain ; to add something to 
 the means of cultivating and gratifying public taste ; to 
 perpetuate the fame of one who may be said to have labored 
 and succeeded in a majority of the callings I have enume- 
 rated ; to show that in their opinion, it is not all of life to 
 make a living; to incite, it may be, citizens of greater 
 affluence to follow their example, so that in time the coun- 
 terfeit presentments of the representative men of all nations 
 may be found in Prospect Park, and side by side with 
 them the statues and busts of the men whose names light 
 up our country's history, and whose deeds give weight and 
 character and dignity to the word American. From the 
 bead-roll of the great names of native-born men we selected 
 John Howard Payne — because he was connected with so 
 many professions represented in the Faust Club ; because 
 he was among the first of Americans who established a 
 reputation in Europe as an actor and an author ; because 
 in his life he was not fortunate ; because his memory seems 
 to have been neglected; because he is connected by resi- 
 dence and by ancestry with Long Island ; because his re- 
 mains have been allowed to mingle with the dust of a 
 foreign land; because — and I confess it, sir — there was, 
 running throiigh his life, a streak of Bohemianism, which is 
 not without its attraction to men who follow those pro- 
 
John Howard Payne. 233 
 
 fessions which contribute less to the necessities than to 
 the grace, the culture, and the refinements of life. It is 
 for my friend and brother to speak of John Howard Payne 
 to-day as a journalist, an actor, a dramatist, a representa- 
 tive of his country abroad, and as a man. To the masses 
 he will never need any other introduction than this — he 
 is the author of Home, Sweet Home. 
 
 " The bust which is about to be presented is the work 
 of Mr. Henry Baerer, a retiring, unobtrusive, and most 
 meritorious sculptor. It is regarded as a work of art of 
 exceptional excellence, and the members of the Faust Club 
 believe they have performed a service for art in the wide 
 introduction they have secured to-day for Mr. Baerer. 
 Would that the dust of Payne could be deposited to-day 
 in his native soil, and in some such delightful spot as this, 
 and that, placing this monument to his fame above it, we 
 might say, in the language of one of our living poets : 
 
 ' Oh, Mother Earth I upon thy lap, 
 
 Thy weary ones receiving, 
 And o'er them silent as a dream 
 
 Thy grassy mantle weaving, 
 Fold softly in thy long embrace 
 
 That heart so worn and broken, 
 And cool its pulse of fire beneath 
 
 Thy shadows old and oaken/ 
 
 "Let me say, in closing, that it affords me peculiar 
 pleasure to make this presentation directly through you, 
 Mr. President. We stand here in a domain set apart for 
 the use, enjoyment, pleasure, and education of the people 
 of Brooklyn. It has cost them many millions of dollars. 
 What of it ? Who will dare to estimate its value in dollars 
 to-day ? What citizen of Brooklyn would consent to part 
 witlyt to-day for money ? That Prospect Park exists as 
 it is within the lifetime of the present generation, is due to 
 you beyond all men — to your foresight, to your resolution, 
 31) 
 
234 Life and Writings of 
 
 to your courageous faith in the future of the beautiful city 
 we call home." 
 
 At the conclusion of Mr. Kinsella's remarks, Mr. Henry 
 Baerer, the sculptor quickly cut the cord that held the 
 covering over the bust, and as the star spangled veil fell to 
 the earth, loud and prolonged applauses greeted the artist's 
 work. Simultaneous with this the voices of over one 
 thousand children filled the air with the song of Home, 
 Sweet Home! while the great multitude of twenty-five 
 thousand people joined in the chorus. The effect was elec- 
 trical, and, before the song was completed, many eyes in 
 the vast crowd were overflowing with tears. 
 
 This done, amid a solemn silence, the Hon. J. S. T. 
 Stranahan, President of the Prospect Park Commission, 
 arose and addressed the people and the members of the 
 Faust Club as follows : 
 
 " Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Fmist Club of Brooklyn : 
 " The Park Commission, representing this city and speak- 
 ing for all the people, gratefully accept the monumental gift 
 which your generosity has furnished, and which by the 
 ceremonies of this hour, is transferred to its possession and 
 future keeping. The splendid bust just unveiled, so com- 
 plete as a work of art and so true to life, will hereafter be 
 one of the attractions of Prospect Park, while paying a 
 becoming tribute to one so well deserving, but hitherto so 
 little known to, fame. 
 
 " John Howard Payne, though a man of brilliant inspi- 
 rations and lofty genius, did not in life, except within a 
 limited circle, command the attention he deserved. Unlike 
 his contemporaries and companions, Irving, Morris, Willis, 
 Cooper, and others, whose names have so long been fami- 
 liar to the popular ear, he was for the most part unknown, 
 perhaps, I might say, even neglected by his countrymen. 
 Thousands and tens of thousands have been charmed with 
 
John Howard Payne. 235 
 
 one of the finest and simplest products of his pen, Home! 
 Sweet Home! with scarcely any knowledge of the man who 
 gave it birth. His literary career began in a foreign 
 land while he was yet in comparative youth. It ended at 
 last on an inhospitable shore. Such sometimes is the 
 seeming ill-fortune of genius. Of the characteristics of his 
 mind, the moral qualities which endeared him to his friends, 
 the range and merit of his literary productions, others will 
 speak to you on this occasion. The duty imposed on me 
 is mainly accomplished in receiving at your hands this bust, 
 so fitly located, surrounded by and associated with the 
 scenes of pastoral life, and by its very situation suggest- 
 ing the quiet repose to which, though vainly sought by 
 him, he gave expression in the tenderest strains of song. 
 You have, gentlemen of the Faust Club, evinced a delicate 
 and appreciating discrimination in selecting John Howard 
 Payne as the man who deserves this commemorative honor. 
 His name will hereafter be more familiar to the people. 
 
 " The occasion naturally reminds us of the limited extent 
 of such efforts in this country to do honor to men of mark, 
 while the increasing demand for park grounds, as places of 
 popular recreation and enjoyment suggests the fitting re- 
 ceptacle of these visible memorials of departed greatness. 
 The classic nations of olden times gained much for them- 
 selves, and have contributed much to the pleasure of the 
 world, by such public recognition of their illustrious dead. 
 Art was encouraged and developed thereby, and the tastes 
 of the people elevated. Even to this day many of these 
 works still remain as unrivaled models of perfection and 
 beauty. Modern Europe has long since caught the inspi- 
 ration supplied by the example of the ancients. Her cities 
 abound with the productions of art, many of them designed 
 to kgep in memory and make familiar to the people the 
 names of her scholars, poets, soldiers, and statesmen. We 
 have had them; the future will give ns more, and can we 
 do better than to learn a lesson from others older than our- 
 
236 Life and Writings of 
 
 selves ? The visitor who enters the grand plaza of this park 
 will be greeted by the statue of the lamented Lincoln, vocal 
 with a thousand associations and suggestions. In making 
 the circuit of the park, his eye will fall upon the bust of 
 the illustrious Washington Living, the historian and scholar. 
 If he shall repair to this retired and quiet scene of rural life, 
 the bust of John Howard Payne will arrest his notice and 
 become his teacher. I trust that the work of enriching 
 this pleasure-ground with such monuments has simply be- 
 gun. As the years roll away, their number should and will 
 be increased, till at length the best characteristics of Pros- 
 pect Park will consist in memorials placed here in honor 
 of those whose career has been fraught with blessings to 
 their country and the world." 
 
 Immediately on the conclusion of Mr. Stranahan's re- 
 marks, John G. Saxe, LL.D.,took his place in front of the 
 platform, and read the ode which he had written for the 
 occasion. 
 
 Ode. 
 
 I. 
 
 To him who sang of " Home, sweet home," 
 
 In strains so sweet the simple lay 
 Has thrilled a million hearts, we come, 
 
 A nation's graceful debt to pay. 
 Yet, not for him the bust we raise ; 
 
 Ah, no ! can lifeless lips prolong 
 Fame's trumpet-voice ? The poet's praise 
 
 Lives in the music of his song ! 
 
 II. 
 
 The noble dead we fondly seek 
 
 To honor with applauding breath • 
 Unheeded fall the words we speak, 
 
 Upon " the dull, cold ear of death." 
 Yet, not in vain the spoken word ; 
 
 Nor vain the monument we raise ; 
 With quicker throbs our hearts are stirred, 
 
 To catch the nobleness we praise ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 237 
 
 III. 
 
 Columbia's sons — we share his fame ; 
 
 'Tis for ourselves the bust we rear, 
 That they who mark the graven name, 
 
 May know that name to us is dear ; 
 Dear as the home the exile sees, — 
 
 The fairest spot beneath the sky, — 
 Where, first — upon a mother's knees — 
 
 He slept, and where he yearns to die. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But not alone the lyric fire 
 
 Was his ; the Drama's muse can tell 
 His genius could a Kean inspire ; 
 
 A Kemble owned his magic spell ; 
 A Kean, to " Brutus" self so true, 
 
 (As true to Art and Nature's laws) 
 He seemed the man the poet drew. 
 
 And shared with him the town's applause ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Kind hearts and brave, with truth severe 
 
 He drew, unconscious, from his own ; 
 O nature rare ! But pilgrims here 
 
 Will oft'nest say, in pensive tone, 
 With reverent face and lifted hand, 
 
 " Twas he — by Fortune forced to roam — 
 Who, homeless, in a foreign land. 
 
 So sweetly sang the joys of home !" 
 
 After the applause upon the reading of the ode, had sub- 
 sided, Mr. Kinsella then introduced the orator of the day, 
 William C. De Witt, who, in a fine, clear voice, which was 
 heard to the furthest extemity of the great crowd, spoke 
 as follows: 
 
 Oration. 
 
 # 
 
 " We meet among grand and familiar scenes. Only a 
 short distance from the southerpja*?'*^^? of this park, the 
 waves of the Atlantic, breaking on our coast, present one 
 
238 Life and Writings of 
 
 of the ocean-boundaries of the great republic which is our 
 nation's home. llTearer still, beneath the declining sun, 
 gleam the more peaceful waters of the bay, which is the 
 imperial gateway and harbor of our Empire state ; and 
 down the northern and the eastern vista rise the compact 
 walls and steeples many of our own Brooklyn — the city of 
 homes, and home of cities yet to be ; while all about us, 
 in this vast assemblage beneath the autumnal foliage, 
 are the faces which around our hearth-stones kindle with 
 joy when we are prosperous and happy, and darken with 
 anguish when we are stricken with sadness or affliction. 
 
 " Among scenes thus beautiful and familiar, brothers of 
 the Faust Club, we come to consecrate one of the cardinal 
 virtues, and to erect a monument to the memory of the 
 author of Home, Sweet Home. It is not merely the individual 
 that we wish to commemorate, but it is, besides, the love 
 of home with which his name is inseparably interwoven 
 for all time. Like Yirgil in his -^neid, we take a double 
 subject. We celebrate the sentiment and the man, home 
 and the author, the fireside and the stage — his life. 
 
 " John Howard Payne, whose living presence long since 
 resolved to dust, in some measure reappears in the impe- 
 rishable bronze of this bust, was born in the city of '^%w 
 York, on the 9th of June, 1792, and died at Tunis on the 
 9th of April, 1852. His life was remarkable for personal 
 beauty and intellectual precocity in its youth, for great 
 usefulness and excellence in acting and authorship in its 
 maturity, and for versatility in literature and faithfulness 
 in public office during its closing years. 
 
 " Some of his sweetest verses were written when he was 
 only fourteen years old, and at that age he had attracted 
 public attention by his contributions to the newspaper-press. 
 He was well educated, mainly by his parents and partly by 
 a studentship at Union (Jollege, broken oif after two years. 
 He went upon the stage when only seventeen years old, 
 and in characters peculiarly suited to his years, won the 
 
John Howard Payne. 239 
 
 title of the American Boscius, and was regarded, apparently 
 with justice, as the best actor of his age in Europe or 
 America. He was physically so handsome that he pro- 
 voked criticism as being ' too beautiful for a man,' and it 
 is evident that he possessed those talents and graces with- 
 out which beauty is a cheat. "When he went to England, 
 in 1813, he was twenty-one years old, and from that period 
 he challenges attention to his life. 
 
 " The conditions under which he wrote. — Properly to appre- 
 ciate John Howard Payne, the place and circumstances in 
 and under which he fitted himself for his life's work, must 
 be taken into consideration. Our country was then in its 
 extreme infancy. An energetic, hard-working people break- 
 ing ground on a new continent, the pursuit of letters had 
 comparatively few votaries on this side of the Atlantic. 
 The literature of the world was accessible to us only through 
 expensive and difficult courses. We had produced great 
 statesmen, good lawyers, and tolerable generals, but letters 
 and the arts had been neglected. Indeed, an English 
 journal of professed friendship to America, in descanting 
 upon the appearance of Mr. Payne at Drury Lane, deemed 
 it just to speak of us in this wise: 
 
 "' A youth from a remote country — a country nearly 
 two centuries behind us in the improvement of every 
 art — must come before a London audience under every 
 possible disadvantage. There must necessarily be a difier- 
 ence of manner, of deportment, of enunciation and even of 
 accent, all tending to make rather an unfavorable impres- 
 sion. We may form some idea of the impression an actor 
 from Ephesus would have made two thousand years ago 
 on one of the theatres of Athens, where the Greek lan- 
 guage had arrived at such a degree of polish that the com- 
 mon fruit-women could criticise all the niceties of its 
 pronunciation.' 
 
 "It was in the morning twilight of American art and 
 literature that Payne prepared himself for the pen and the 
 
240 Life and Writings of 
 
 stage. He is first to be regarded as a pioneer in the un- 
 cultivated fields of intellectual labor in America, with no 
 other training than that which his primitive home could 
 afford. When it is remembered that it was with this dis- 
 cipline, and no more, with an education acquired in the 
 midst of such obstacles, and no greater help, that he trans- 
 ferred himself to London, and there, in the presence of the 
 wealth and genius of the old world, gave our country an 
 honored name and fame in the history of the dramatic art 
 in England — the first American who thus honored his 
 country abroad — what praise of him can be fulsome here, 
 what gratitude can be too magnanimous? 
 
 "In examining his life's work, his dual capacity is con-' 
 stantly before you, and you cannot divide it without mar- 
 ring his fame. It will not do to consider him either as an 
 actor or as an author alone. It was his governing ambi- 
 tion to merge the two pursuits together in such measure as 
 to produce the greatest possible usefulness. 
 
 " When he entered upon the English stage, it was blaz- 
 ing with the glories of Kemble and of Kean, and lighted 
 occasionally by the still greater brilliancy of Talma, who 
 at Paris, divided the hearts of the French people with the 
 first Napoleon. It is not likely that he was, in all respects 
 the equal of these masters, yet he competed with them in 
 all their greatest characters, and bore along with him, 
 through all his star engagements in England and Ireland, 
 the applause of the people and the laudations of the press. 
 
 " As a dramatist, he may likewise have been surpassed 
 in originality and genius by some of his contemporaries, 
 yet, in usefulness to dramatic literature, he is not easily 
 matched. Payne wrote in all about forty plays. It is true 
 most of these were reproductions from the French, and 
 during his stay at Paris, under contract with English 
 managers. London may be said to have been largely de- 
 pendent upon his pen for its dramatic novelties and enter- 
 tainments. Yet his reproductions from the French stage 
 
John Howard Payne. 241 
 
 were in no sense literal translations, for Payne's taste and 
 experience enabled him to alter a plot whenever it dis- 
 pleased him, and so many were his inroads upon the 
 speeches that the originals would scarcely be recognized 
 in the copy. Utility marked all he did. His adaptions 
 were practical and popular, and although surrounded by 
 competition in this pursuit, he eclipsed all his rivalt^. 
 
 " The greatest of the dramatic works which he called 
 his own was his tragedy, entitled Brutus; or, the Fall of Tar- 
 quin. While he had the assistance of seven plays pre- 
 viously devised upon the main incident of Brutus, yet the 
 feebleness of their help may be judged from the fact that 
 five of these plays were absolute failures, and two occupied 
 the stage for only a few unprofitable nights. Payne's 
 Brutus is one of the most popular and enduring tragedies 
 in the English language. The intensity of its arrangement, 
 its strong, brusque, startling characterization, and the fiery 
 eloquence of its speeches justly entitle its author to favor 
 and fame. His comedy of Charles II, is more wholly ori- 
 ginal than Brutus, and is popular and meritorious, while 
 his adaptation of Therhe to the English stage was regarded 
 at the time of its production as a master-stroke of art. 
 
 " Of the purely poetical works of Payne there is a large 
 number of beautiful, small poems, all remarkable for their 
 richness of sentiment, and the opera of Clari in which the 
 immortal ballad had its birth. He wrote also a biographi- 
 cal work entitled Our Neglected Poets, and was a con- 
 tributor of essays to many of the political controversies in 
 this country after his return from abroad. 
 
 " Such were the literary and dramatic labors of John 
 Howard Payne. They are not, however, to be separated 
 from each other. They did not occur at different or dis- 
 tinct stages in his career. All through his life the two 
 pursuits of acting and authorship ran together, and his 
 highest claim to renown is in his excellence, not in one, but 
 31 
 
242 Life and Writings op 
 
 in both, and in his unparalleled usefulness to this double 
 calling. The debt due him from posterity is one purely 
 of gratitude. He does not extort admiration by the dazzling 
 splendors of extraordinary genius, but he has earned an 
 honest fame by the utility of his talents, and the abundant 
 fruits of his patient and laborious life. 
 
 " But, my friends,just and kind and becoming as it would 
 have been for you to have selected John Howard Payne 
 for this monumental compliment because of these great 
 services to dramatic and poetic literature and art, it was, 
 after all, the immortal ballad that peculiarly endeared him 
 to your hearts. 
 
 " Home, Sweet Home! What memories these simple words 
 recall ? What ties of kindredship flash through their Pro- 
 methean heat? How burdened with sacred thoughts of 
 rest and peace they are! And here in Brooklyn — our 
 home, and peculiarly fitted to be called the city of homes — 
 it was touchingly appropriate that this song should have a 
 shrine. 
 
 " This little poem, like its author, is largely indebted to 
 providential aids for its celebrity. It was not the coinage 
 of many years of meditation, like Gray's ' Elegy,' nor was 
 it written, like our national anthem, amid the scenes it 
 sought to consecrate. Payne never knew what it was to 
 have a home after he was thirteen years old. About this 
 period of his life, his mother, whose love and virtue pro- 
 bably planted within him those sentiments which burst 
 from his soul years after she was gone, and his father, who 
 stood behind the scenes in tears when his boy first trusted 
 himself to the temptations of the stage, went to their long 
 home beyond the grave. 
 
 " From this moment Payne was a wanderer, and despite 
 the tenderness of his heart, and the fascinations of the fair 
 sex, with which he must have been constantly assailed, he 
 maintained his celibacy and hopelessness until he consura- 
 
John Howard Payne. 243 
 
 mated it by death upon the remote and hoary shores of 
 the Mediterranean. Strange that a wanderer should have 
 sung this song of home. Nevertheless, it was while in 
 London, engaged in writing Clari, which he subsequently 
 converted from a drama into an opera, and when his mind 
 was doubtless dwelling upon his delightful boyhood at 
 East Hampton, that he wrote Home, Sweet Home. 
 
 "The song is short and simple. It is remarkable 
 neither for elegance of diction nor harmony of numbers. 
 But it has crowded into a few lines every thought and 
 sentiment and scene of its blessed subject: 'the lowly 
 thatched cottage,' ' the singing birds,' the ' hallowing 
 charm from above,' and ' the peace of mind better than 
 all.' It is full of the fruit and essence of its theme. Yet 
 must this poem have slept the sleep of the forgotten and 
 the lost, had it got no better succor than printer's ink and 
 the inquiring eye of the scholar. Indeed, it had been in 
 Payne's possession, among his rubbish, for a long time 
 before it was brought out at all. It wanted the tune 
 which was to hum it wherever the English language was 
 or should be spoken. Music was needed, and music came. 
 As when some parent bird, on lofty pinions, circling above 
 his eyrie, seeing its young prepared to fly, yet fearful of 
 the elements, descends and bearing the fledgeling forth to 
 mid-heaven, puts him on his experimental voyage through 
 the air, so music came to this rich germ of poetic thought, 
 and upbearing it upon the cloud of melody, in which it has 
 ever since lived and moved and had its being, sent it 
 chanting and singing forever and forever through the 
 world. 
 
 " I said awhile ago, that after his thirteenth year Payne 
 never knew what home was. Yet this I know not. For 
 where is our home ? Is it that first one in which we were 
 born ? Is it the household that rang with the laughter of 
 later boyhood ? Is it the scene of our first nuptials ? or the 
 last? or is it the more solemn tenement in which old anre 
 
244 Life and Writings of 
 
 lies down to die ? These fade and merge with the march 
 of time, and the organic thing keeps shifting into the 
 infinite. Where is our home ? Shall we seek for it in 
 the realms of fancy ? Is it upon the El^^sian fields where 
 Homer pictured heart's ease and glory, or is it in the fabled 
 Atlantis beyond the Herculean pillars of the sky ? Is it in 
 that new world in quest of which the venerable Ulysses 
 sighed to sail ' beyond the sunset, and the baths of all the 
 western stars until he died.' Or is it among the many man- 
 sions and upon the eternal hills ? This is the wondrous 
 mystery. All I know is that where the soul dwells, that 
 is our country, and where the heart is, there is our home. 
 
 " And now to the sentiment of the song, and the memory 
 of the man, let this monument be dedicated, and to the 
 honor of its founders, may it endure forever." 
 
 Mr. Henry Baerer, the sculptor, was then introduced to 
 the assemblage. After which Home, Sweet Home! was 
 again sang by the children and the multitude, at the termi- 
 nation of which, all departed for their homes. 
 
 Gloom and disappointment may have hung over the life 
 of the man whom twenty-five thousand people had met 
 this day to commemorate in bronze and granite, but, if this 
 world was ever blessed with a perfect day, it was the day 
 the bronze bust of John Howard Payne was unveiled. 
 The whole summer had been a beautiful one; the frequent 
 falls of rainbowed storms had refreshed the growth of trees, 
 and fields, and flowers ; and nature all around was in a 
 perfection seldom seen. The broad piazzas of bright 
 green fields were relieved here and there by the long-out- 
 reaching, darker green in shadows from the massive groups 
 of tall trees. Flowers of every kind were out in their 
 bright colors, and the birds busy among the Park trees 
 made the mild air of a September afternoon bewitchingly 
 sweet with their melody, while Aqua Fontana dashed 
 upwards from their subterranean beds in grand crystal 
 columns, cresting over and sparkling in the sunbeams like 
 
John Howard Payne. 245 
 
 showers of diamonds, until, fading into a mist of transcend 
 ent splendor, they disappeared in their marble basins 
 below, and, as you stood upon the gentle sloping mound, 
 on which the memorial lifted its graceful proportions, with 
 the eye sweeping over the great space that led to the main 
 entrance of the park, watching the scattering throngs of 
 people departing for their homes, it awakened the reflect- 
 ive mind to the importance of the occasion. In this 
 event, the Faust Club accomplished a thing that will ever 
 reflect to their glory and memory, and have set an example 
 to other organizations that will in the future be imitated, 
 and thereby many an art-work will not only adorn our 
 public parks, but will restore to memory the deeds and 
 accomplishments of others, who perhaps had too long 
 rested in the gloom of forgetfulness. 
 
 The bust is a masterly production, " the modeling is 
 really fine. It gives the intellect of the poet in the most 
 pronounced manner ; the lines express thoughts touched 
 with care. In this dual expression the sculptor has 
 achieved his greatest triumph; the nose, too, is beautifully 
 modeled ; and the mouth expresses the firmness of the 
 inflexible resolution of the man. All these facial charac- 
 teristics are brought together by the sculptor into a harmon- 
 ious whole." The pose of the head is downward, and 
 the reflective, inward look of the deep-set eyes seems to 
 express a sad sentiment of inner life, and as you look on 
 the colossal head, the mind of the beholder at once suggests, 
 so must he have looked when he wrote the song of Hoyne, 
 Sweet Home. 
 
LISPINGS OF THE MUSE: 
 
 SELECTION 
 
 JUVENILE POEMS, 
 
 CHIEFLY WRITTEN AT AND BEFORE THE AGE OF SIXTEEN, 
 
 JOHN HOWARD PAYKE. 
 
 ■He LISP'D IK NUMBERS, FOR THE NUMBERS CAME.' 
 
 COMPrLED BY 
 
 GABRIEL HARRISON. 
 
 BROOKLYN, L. I. 
 
 * 1873. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 This little selection has been prepared as a shelter from 
 the trouble of transcription, an office which the author has 
 been solicited much oftener than he could spare the time 
 to accomplish it, by the kind desire of friends to receive 
 copies of the juvenile efforts of which it is composed. 
 With regard to the work itself, the author is so conscious 
 of the feebleness of its claims that he desires not to trust 
 it beyond the indulgence and partiality of personal friends. 
 It gives him no pleasure but from the associations it recalls. 
 His ambition for verse-making never soared beyond the 
 wish to amuse his friends ; and repeated experiments have 
 convinced him that his talents for the business will never 
 exceed the domestic quality of his ambition. In some in- 
 stances, the last production which has been the subject of 
 his admiration, before sitting down to write, will have 
 insensibly diffused the influence of its impression around 
 what he has written. 
 
 This is always so much the case with young writers, that 
 it would have been named here only from an apprehension 
 that the age at which these trifles were framed, might not 
 be always remembered; and cases of imitation might sug- 
 gest themselves to others, which, had they been committed 
 knowingly, would have been specified by himself; but as, 
 after ttiis long interval, the course of his reading and re- 
 flection at the moment is so entirely forgotten that he 
 
250 Preface. 
 
 cannot retrace the paths from which he might have plucked 
 flowers to deck his own wild wreath, he must refer the dis- 
 covery to readers, with whom he could not have risked 
 these infants of a mind never much given to poetry, unless 
 fortified by the consciousness of having put them in the 
 way of being judged with that good-humoured prejudice 
 which people seldom bring to a new book, the determina- 
 tion that nothing shall prevent them from being pleased. 
 
 John Howard Payne. 
 London, February, 1815. 
 
THE 
 
 LISPINGS OF THE MUSE. 
 
 VALEDICTORY. 
 
 [This poem was written at Boston, in 1805, when the author first quitted his home, and 
 the Academy in which he had been educated, for New York. The author's father, Mr. 
 William Payne, was the founder and director of the Seminary alluded to, which was 
 known by the title of " Berry-Street Academy."] 
 
 O TIME ! forgive the infant muse 
 
 Who dares to sing thy speedy flight, 
 And waft a sigh in silent views 
 
 To realms of permanent delight ! 
 In vain I glance a wistful thought, 
 O'er joys too precious to be bought, 
 Where no sad change 
 Can e'er estrange 
 From scenes which erst engaged my feeling heart. 
 
 With fond rememb'rance I retrace 
 
 The years, the months, the weeks, the days, 
 Which " creeping in this petty space," 
 
 I've spent in childhood's blithesome maze : 
 Now fled, like Ganges' sacred stream, 
 Or, like a visionary dream ; 
 
 Now here — now gone — 
 Still passing on. 
 Or, like myself — appears but to depart ! 
 
 Friends of my life, and dearest held, — 
 My filial vows to you I pay, 
 By love and duty both impell'd 
 
 While, from your guidance call'd, I stray. 
 
252 LiSPINGS OF THE MuSE. 
 
 With lively gratitude inspired ; — 
 May all the bliss to be desired 
 
 On you descend 
 
 Till time shall end, 
 And crown the wish convey'd in my adieu ! 
 
 Still, fond rememb'rance, ling'ring, dwells 
 O'er my lov'd ALMA'S nurt'ring shade, 
 And painful recollection swells : 
 
 The clust'ring branches there display'd, 
 While nursed in Science' lib'ral store, 
 And fed with literary lore — 
 Oh, may they still 
 Thy vot'ries fill. 
 And they, like me, shall own their debt to you. 
 
 [At the age of thirteen.] 
 
 EPILOGUE TO THE WANDERER, 
 
 AN AMEKICAN PLAY, ACTED AT THE NEW YORK THEATRE. 
 
 Written at the age of fourteen, spoken by Mrs. Jones, who performed the part of Julia, 
 the Wanderer. 
 
 So, then methinks we'll leave, without repining, 
 This sobbing, monkish, methodistic whining : 
 One serious part (at least, if they will tease one). 
 Is quantum sufficit for half the season. 
 Oh dear ! I scarce can force a smile to ask 
 How you approve our author's infant task ? 
 If to his Wanderer a home you'll give 
 And bid the hope of trembling genius live ? — 
 " Pshaw ! " cries old ten-per-cent, " don't talk to me 
 Of trembling genius, hope, and — 
 
 (Hesitating, then with a mimicking flourish,) 
 
 ti-tum-tee ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 253 
 
 " All stuflF and nonsense ! If the cash be rare — 
 
 What, genius, is thy boasted lot ? — despair ! 
 
 Though his bold flight reached worlds at every bound, 
 
 Its end — what is it ? two-pence in the pound ! 
 
 The silly wight is left at last to curse 
 
 His learned noddle, with an empty purse ! 
 
 Give me your plodding man of common sense, 
 
 Whose wiser study is to soar at pence ; 
 
 Who thinks no style like invoice half so terse is, 
 
 And contra credit worth a ton of verses ! 
 
 If wits will write, why let them write, and starve j 
 
 For me, thank Heav'n ! I have my ffoose to carve. 
 
 And cellar furnish'd to my heart's desire : — 
 
 Prithee what more can man or beast require ? " 
 
 This said, he takes his quid, looks wise, and stirs the fire. 
 
 From judges such as these we gladly turn 
 
 To eyes that sparkle, and to hearts that burn, 
 
 That conscious, kindle at Columbia's name, 
 
 Proud of their country's letters, as her fame ! 
 
 That rear th' exotic, if the flowers be fair, 
 
 But guard the native plant with ten-fold care ; 
 
 Nourish its tendrils like the dew of dawn. 
 
 And bid it bloom to cheer its parent lawn ! 
 
 Warmed by such favor, Genius learns to rise. 
 
 Like our own Eagle, a career to run, 
 
 Free as the air, and brilliant as the sun ! 
 
 A devious Wanderer fondly turns to you, 
 
 To ask indulgence, not to claim a due ; 
 
 And oh, believe her ! she would rather roam 
 
 O'er any wilds, however far from home, 
 
 Than fail to court, in modest merit's cause, 
 
 The sanction of your smile — the fame of your applause I 
 
254 LiSPINGS OF THE MuSE. 
 
 FRAGMENT OF POETRY. 
 
 FOUND AT THE FALLS OF MOUNT IDA, TROY, IN THE STATE OF NEW YORK. 
 
 Several passages were obliterated, by having been frequently trodden on ; and those 
 which remained, were traced out with much difficulty. 
 
 Shunning the noisy haunts of men, 
 He loved to wander here. His friends were few : 
 He cared not for the crowd. He heard, unhurt, 
 The scornful jest of cruel ignorance. 
 The poison'd arrows, which misfortune aira'd, 
 Pierc'd not his heart, in such bold armor clad, 
 That every point was blunted at the blow, 
 And dropp'd unheeded down ! 
 
 Oh ! he would gaze, 
 With rapture gaze upon this fairy scene. 
 And he would moralize the opening leaf 
 And in each little, curious fibre find 
 The noblest tribute to its Maker's praise. 
 * * * * * * 
 
 I He joy'd to mark 
 
 The silver stream swift gliding twixt the banks, 
 
 Which seem'd to smile in extacy to see 
 
 Their lovely foliage in the polish'd wave ! 
 
 In silent rapture would he sit and view 
 
 These distant waters, torn up by the crags, 
 
 Rippling and sparkling as they sprang in air : 
 
 Then traced with hasty steps the forest path, 
 
 Where stream impetuous plunges the abyss; 
 
 Then rolls along exulting to be free, 
 
 With roar at which earth trembles. Here he paus'd : 
 
 For inspiration lived in every wave. 
 
 And the aw'd soul was mute. 
 
 Within the cataract where th' embodied stream 
 l^eaps the high cliff, with dash of fury foaming, 
 Sleeps the wild spirit of the storm. A cave, 
 Formed by the jutting of that cliff, her cell ; 
 
John Howard Payne. 255 
 
 The water-sheets, its wall, through which the sua 
 Darts tempered hues of strange and various light ; 
 And as the tumult stills, — the waves subside, — 
 And distant echoes die upon the ear, — 
 With printless tread, along its flowery banks, 
 The Muses love to wander, hand in hand — 
 There, as it gently winds among the vales, 
 To trace, through fairy lands, its silver course. 
 
 Note. — The scenery of the forejjoing is described from nature. It is pe- 
 culiarly picturesque. The jutting out of the top of the precipice throws 
 the wave forward with a magnificent sweep, leaving an immense chasm 
 between the sheet of water and the side of the clifF, to which the Poet 
 cannot help assigning some inhabitant from among the numberless spirits 
 who are always in waiting for appointments of that nature. The an. 
 thor therefore put the storm-spirit into it, and liopes she will be pleased 
 with her residence, which certainly possesses great attractions from the rain- 
 bow effect of the sunbeams, as they come subdued into moonlight mildness 
 by their pasage through the stream. 
 
 ODE 
 
 FOR THE THIRTY-PinST ANNIVERSARY OP AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 Written as a College Exercise. 
 
 When erst our Sires their sails unfurl'd, 
 
 To brave the trackless sea, 
 They boldly sought an unknown world, 
 
 Determin'd to be free ! 
 They saw their homes recede afar, 
 
 The pale blue hills diverge, 
 And, Liberty their guiding star, 
 
 They plough'd the swelling surge ! 
 
 • No splendid hope their wand'rings cheer *d ; 
 
 No lust of wealth beguiled j — 
 They left the towers that Plenty rear'd, 
 To seek the desert wild ; 
 
256 LiSPINGS OF THE MuSE. 
 
 The climes where proud luxuriance shone, 
 Exchang'd for forests drear ; 
 
 The splendour of a Tyrant's throne, 
 For honest Freedom here ! 
 
 Though hungry wolves the nightly prowl 
 
 Around their log-hut took ; 
 Though savages with hideous howl 
 
 Their wild-wood shelter shook ; 
 Though tomahawks around them glared, — 
 
 To Fear could such hearts yield ? 
 No ! God, for whom they danger dared. 
 
 In danger was their shield ! 
 
 When giant Power, with blood-stain'd crest. 
 
 Here grasp'd his gory lance, 
 And dared the warriors of the West 
 
 Embattled to advance, — 
 Our young Columbia sprang, alone 
 
 (In God her only trust). 
 And humbled, with a sling and stone, 
 
 This monster to the dust ! 
 
 Thus nobly rose our greater Rome, 
 ' Bright daughter of the skies — 
 
 Of Liberty the hallow'd home, 
 
 Whose turrets proudly rise, — 
 Whose sails now whiten every sea, 
 
 On every wave unfurl'd ; 
 Form'd to be happy, great, and free, 
 
 The Eden of the world ! 
 
 Shall we, the sons of valiant Sires, 
 
 Such glories tamely stain ? 
 Shall these rich vales, these splendid spires, 
 
 E'er brook a Monarch's reign ? 
 No ! If the Despot's iron hand 
 
 Must here a sceptre wave, 
 Kaz'd be those glories from the land, 
 
 And be the land our grave ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 257 
 
 TO A LADY, 
 
 rnOSE INFANT DAUGHTER DELPHINE WAS KEMARKABLE FOR THE 
 BEAUTY, FIRK, AND INTELLIGENCE OF HER EYES. 
 
 The Rose, which boasts so rich a dye, 
 And wantonly with Zephyr plays, 
 
 Woos the delighted traveler's eye, 
 Yet blushes at the traveler's gaze. 
 
 That Rose, in but a little while, 
 
 Shall bloom and blush no longer there. 
 
 Shall pass away, like beauty's smile, — 
 Be pale and cheerless, like Despair. 
 
 But when another Spring shall rise. 
 Another Rose shall there be found ; 
 
 Another Rose of richer dyes 
 
 Shall shed a sweeter fragrance round. 
 
 Thou art that earlier Rose, ! long 
 Be friendship with thy virtues blest ! 
 
 The theme of many a Poet's song ; 
 The idol of affection's breast ! 
 
 And, if thy little one confirm 
 
 The promise of her sparkling eyes. 
 
 In Delphine we behold the germ 
 Of the next Rose, of richer dyes. 
 
 ! may this child surpass in worth 
 The bright example thou hast given, 
 
 Charm the enraptured sons of Earth, 
 Then flourish in the fields of Heaven ! 
 
 33 
 
258 LiSPINGS OF THE MuSE. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 " Ah me I how sweet is Love itself possest. 
 When but Love's shadows are so rich in joy ! ' 
 
 If Reason could the heart control, 
 If Memory from itself could fly, 
 
 I'd quench the fire that burns my soul, 
 Nor drink the poison from her eye ! 
 
 How often have I vainly sought 
 
 To guard against Love's madd'ning sway, 
 But flashing deep into my heart, 
 
 One glance has swept resolves away ! 
 
 Since Reason, then, can ne'er assuage 
 Presumptuous reveries like mine. 
 
 Rage on, my soul ! still madly rage, 
 And be a fancied Mary thine 1 
 
 Long may the fairy vision spread 
 Its soothing spell around my mind, 
 
 That joy, itself forever fled. 
 
 May leave the phantom still behind ! 
 
 And when, at length, this life shall fade, 
 And earthly scenes recede in gloom. 
 
 My Mary's fondly cherished shade 
 Shall light my passage to the tomb I 
 
John Howard Payne. 259 
 
 A very accompUahed lady, by the name of Aib, residing at Providence, in the state of 
 Rhode Island, was on the eve of departure from Boston, where she had been some months 
 on a visit. A gentleman, celebrated for the frequency and felicity of his puns, was soli- 
 cited by a friend of this lady to express his admiration in a farewell poem, which was, of 
 coarse, expected to have been a poem of puns ; but the parties were surprised to receive, 
 in place of the expected Jew d'esjyrit, a grave series of compliments, conveyed in delightful 
 poetry, but not one pun in the whole collection. This incident called forth the following 
 
 LINES, 
 
 ADDKE88ED TO MRS. AIR, ON HER DEPARTURE FOR PROVIDENCE ; 
 WHICH OUGHT TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY SOMEBODY ELSE. 
 
 Yes ! I am lost ! By those bright eyes 
 
 Entrapp'd before I was aware ! 
 Ev'n Hope deserts me ! for my sighs 
 
 Are given to unconscious Air. 
 
 Like the mild Air which sweetly swells 
 
 The notes of an ^olian lyre, 
 Whose magic every woe dispels. 
 
 And fills us with seraphic fire, — 
 
 This soothing, loveli/ Air can make 
 
 The passions bend to her control, 
 And, with ethereal mildness, wake 
 
 The softest music of the soul ! 
 
 Thy smile (like the pure Air which blows 
 
 Where spirits of the blest unite), 
 Exhilerating Air' ! bestows 
 
 A dear delirium of delight ! 
 
 I live — I move — by means of Air ; 
 
 Yet gentle Air resolves to fly ! 
 Oh stay ! protect me from despair ; 
 By Air deserted^ I must die ! 
 
 • 
 
 ' ExliUcrating air is Sir Humphrey Davy's term for what is called in the 
 technical phrase of chemistry — gaseous oxyd of nitrogen. When inhaled, 
 it pr<Mlucea the wiUlest ecstasy. A late writer on tlie subject poetically 
 imagines that the atmosphere of Heaven is composed of that kind of air. 
 
260 LiSPINGS OF THE MuSE. 
 
 DERMODY. 
 
 "Whether by accident or design, I know not, but never were the remains of a Bard 
 deposited in a spot more calculated to inspire a contemplative mind with congenial and 
 interesting feelings." Monthly Mirror, London, 1802. 
 
 If, pensive stranger ! in thy breast 
 
 The flowers of Fancy ever bloom, 
 Come hither, stranger ! come and rest 
 
 Upon this rose-encircled tomb ! 
 
 This tomb, to which at eve retires 
 
 Neglected Genius: — here, alone. 
 He weeps, despises and admires 
 
 The wretch whose wrongs describe his own ! 
 
 The aged Minstrel, pausing here, 
 
 Of many a plaintive lay beguil'd. 
 Laments, with many a tribute tear, 
 
 The Poet " wonderful and wild." 
 
 Could but that Poet swell the song. 
 And now with phreosied touch inspire 
 
 The harp whose notes he'd once prolong 
 Till his whole soul would be on fire, — 
 
 Ah ! could he touch — The thrilling strain 
 
 Would wake a kindred ecstasy, 
 And thou wouldst sigh to hear again 
 
 The lyre of luckless Dermody ! 
 
 And o'er his lov'd remains, which sleep 
 
 Cold in this dark sepulchral bed. 
 Then wouldst thou sit, like me, and weep 
 
 The wild-ey'd Bard of Erin dead ! 
 
 And thou wouldst bathe the flowers that wave. 
 Till ev'ry flow'r that bloom'd before 
 
 Should, bending, kiss the sacred grave, 
 And bow, and weep, and bloom no more ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 261 
 
 The following was dedicated to an English Lady, who had been twice married. The 
 happiness of the earlier part of her life was blasted by the ill-treatment of a very profli- 
 gate hnsband; but her felicity was restored by the second marriage, which was remark- 
 ably prosperous. These circumstances will explain some allusions in the Poem. 
 
 MAY AND HER PROTEGE. 
 
 RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO MRS. A. V. n. ON TUE ANNIVERSARY OP 
 HER BIRTH IN MAY. 
 
 by thb poet-laureatb to hbb rosy-cheeked majesty the bioht wob8hipful 
 queen flora. 
 My Dear Madam, 
 
 The inspiration of your Birth-day sets even me into a humor for rhyming, What a 
 magical day, to inspire me, of all the stupid people in the world ! I hope you will not, 
 true woman-like, be vexed at my making May your Queen, instead of making you the 
 Queen of May, as is usual on such occasions. I could not consign you to a better pro- 
 tector than this blooming nymph ; and I think it is fully proved in the enumeration of 
 her past bounties, with which I have the honor to accompany my congratulations on the 
 return of this anniversary. 
 
 Sweet May ! thy magic charms inspire 
 
 Poets, as well as birds, to sing ; 
 Each hopes to utter from his lyre 
 
 The best turn'd compliment to Spring. 
 
 The flowers which start beneath thy tread, 
 The Graces which around thee throng, 
 
 Have madden'd every Poet's head, 
 Since the first Poet lisp'd in song. 
 
 But, lovely May ! although thy smile 
 
 Turns deserts into rosy bow'rs ; 
 Reams forth such raptures as beguile 
 
 The wretched of their gloomiest hours ; 
 
 Yet higher joys thy happy dawn, 
 
 Enchanting month ! to me unfurl'd. 
 When, on Amelia's natal morn, 
 
 Thou, smiling, gav'st her to the world ! 
 
 Yes ! at that hour didst thou impart 
 
 Thy softness to her eye and face. 
 With thine own warmth inspire her heart, 
 
 And o'er her form difi'use thy grace ! 
 
 ♦ When tyranny, neglect, and woe 
 
 Low'r'd awful o'er thy lovely trust; 
 November would have bid her go. 
 And skulk into a grave accurst : — 
 
262 LiSPINGS OF THE MusE. 
 
 But taught by thee, Heav'n's darling May, 
 When the black tempest hid the skies, 
 
 She bow'd to its o'erwhelming sway, 
 Then saw a cloudless sun arise ! 
 
 Yes, lovely May ! to thee she owes 
 That conscious purity of soul, 
 
 Which, though it cannot shield from woes. 
 Spurns their unlimited control ! 
 
 Drear was the past detested hour ! 
 
 Her present bliss by contrast charms — 
 That past, forgotten, through thy pow'r. 
 
 In a deserving husband's arms ! 
 
 Still o'er her destiny preside. 
 
 And grant that ev'ry future day. 
 
 Which, gentle month, shall o'er her glide, 
 Be soothing and serene as May ! 
 
 THE TOMB OF GENIUS. 
 
 Where the chilling north wind howls, 
 Where the weeds so widely wave, 
 Mourn'd by the weeping willow, 
 Wash'd by the beating billow. 
 Lies the youthful Poet's grave. 
 
 Beneath yon little eminence, 
 Mark'd by the grass-green turf. 
 
 The winding sheet his form encloses, 
 On the cold rock his head reposes — 
 Near him foams the troubled surf! 
 
 " Roars around" his tomb " the ocean," 
 Pensive sleeps the moon-beam there ! 
 Naiads love to wreath his urn — 
 Dryads thither hie to mourn — 
 Fairy music melts in air ! 
 
John Hovtard Payne. 263 
 
 O'er his tomb the village virgins 
 Love to drop the tribute-tear ; 
 Stealing from the groves around, 
 Soft they tread the hallow'd ground, 
 And scatter wild flow'rs o'er his bier. 
 
 By the cold earth mantled — 
 All alone — 
 Pale and lifeless lies his form : 
 Batters on his grave the storm : 
 Silent now his tuneful numbers : 
 Here the son of Genius slumbers : 
 Stranger ! mark his burial stone ! 
 
 Thb following ^'gM (T esprit was written in the honour of a celebrated lady in Virginia 
 by the name of Ma.to, whose virtues, beauty, and accomplishments deserve a higher 
 eulogium from an abler pen. The effort was more immediately prompted by a remark 
 that the name of Mayo was no way susceptible of a pun. The Poem was intended to be 
 complete as an independent allegory, and, at the same time, appropriate in every refer- 
 ence to its subject. 
 
 PUZZLE. 
 
 Fatigu'd and restless, on my bed 
 I languish'd for the dawn of morrow, 
 
 Till slumber sooth'd my aching head, 
 And lull'd, in fairy dreams, my sorrow. 
 
 I seem'd in that serene retreat, ^ 
 
 Which smiles in spite of stormy weather ; 
 Where flowers and virtues, clustering, meet, 
 
 And cheeks and roses blush together : 
 
 When soon twelve slyph-like forms, I dream'd, 
 
 Successive on my vision darted, 
 And still the latest comer seem'd 
 
 Fairer than she who just departed. 
 
 ' The Ilermitaje, — a delightful country residence of the lady, afterwards 
 the wife of Gen. Scott. 
 
264 LiSPINGS OF THE MuSE. 
 
 Yet one there was, whose azure eye 
 A melting, holy, lustre lighted, 
 
 Which censur'd. while it wak'd, the sigh, 
 And chid the feelings it excited. 
 
 " Mortal ! " a mystic speaker said, 
 
 " In these the sister months discover : - 
 
 " Select from these the brightest maid, — 
 " Prove to the brightest maid a lover." 
 
 I heard, and felt no longer free ! 
 
 The dream dissolves, the sisters sever, 
 While raptur'd, I exclaim, " With thee, 
 
 " Dear May ! O, let me dwell for ever ! 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 An original play called Pulaski was acted at college, and Master Howard Payne, at that 
 time only fourteen years of age, and who sustained the onXy female character in the play, 
 was appointed to write and pronounce the epilogue. He spoke it in the dress of Lo- 
 doiska, who entered hastily as the curtain fell. 
 
 " I haste kind guests, as you perhaps will say 
 A wretched pleader for a wretched play. 
 Oh, had you seen, repentant for his errors, 
 Our trembling author's frown-subduing terrors. 
 Even if you disapprov'd you would not show it. 
 But spare the work in pity of the poet ! 
 
 But soft a while — let me a moment pause — 
 Speak for myself — and then assert his cause-, 
 Tell me, ye beaux, are your affections free ? 
 You need not answer, for I plainly see 
 That you're all dying, luckless beaux, for me ! 
 
 Ladies ! do you no indignation feel 
 That Lodoiska should your lovers steal ? 
 
 Be calm, dear ladies ! set your hearts at rest 
 
 You shall retain your beaux, and make them blest ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 266 
 
 For, lest a late discovery prove inhuman, 
 
 In time I'll tell them that then /air's — no woman. 
 
 " No woman ! " say you ? — gentle folks, don't stare ! 
 
 The transformation is no more than fair! 
 
 So many women now our breeches wear 
 
 That we must sport their dresses, or go bare ! 
 
 Says that young lady in the gun boat bonnet 
 
 Or seems to say — " WE, sir, — we wear the breeches, sir ! 
 
 Fie on "it ! " 
 Sweet Miss, I ask your pardon, but if you 
 The fact deny, I'll try to prove it true. 
 
 Are you not soldiers? Fight ye not with — eyes ? 
 And many a stout heart carry by surprise ? 
 Who can withstand, " th' artillery of charms." 
 The harvest heroes yield — to woman's arms! 
 
 Are ye not merchants? and to lose vexation 
 Do you not marry upon speculation, 
 And with the highest bidder play a trade 
 On which embargoes can be laid ! 
 
 But, woman-like, my tongue once under weigh 
 From the main point, has gone so far astray 
 That, self- absorb 'd, I've quite forgot" Our play." 
 
 " Our play ! " the critics sneeringly exclaim — 
 " Our farce " were surely a much fitter name. 
 
 Remember, critics, what you've seen this night 
 
 Is but an unfledg'd poet's infant flight; 
 
 " Tis yours to tempt him with bright plumes to rise, 
 
 Spring from the plain, and glitter in the skies; 
 
 Like our own Eagle, a career to run. 
 
 Free as the air, and brilliant as the sun. 
 
 Ye lovely fair ! beneath whose guardian eyes 
 ^The humblest bud of genius never dies. 
 And with your cheering smiles this honest claim — 
 " The smiles of beauty are the wreaths of fame." 
 34 
 
266 LispiNGS OF THE Muse. 
 
 FLATTERY. 
 
 Lines addressed to a lady who told the author, she feared that the attention of the 
 world would spoil him, and unfit him for any thing serious. Written in 1806. 
 
 Oh, Lady ! hadst thou ever seen 
 
 The tear unbidden fill my eye, 
 Or mark'd me in the sportive scene, 
 
 To half suppress the rising sigh, — 
 
 Thou would'st not think, that pleasure's glare 
 Had blinded, and subdu'd my heart, 
 
 Or planted deep was, rankling there 
 The poision of her glittering dart ! — 
 
 True, fortune on my boyhood smil'd, 
 And much of flatt'ry I have known, 
 
 Yet sorrow claims me as her child. 
 And early mark'd me for her own. 
 
 Tho'^oy has burst its prison chains, 
 And rapture started from its sleep, 
 
 They left me with severer pains, 
 
 They taught me, better how to weep ! — 
 
 Few are the hours which beam like those 
 That I have sweetly spent with you. 
 
 Which, brilliant 'mid a cloud of woes. 
 In memory still their charms renew ! 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A LADY FRIEND. 
 
 Death with reluctant steps, half lingering, hies. 
 And, arm'd with terror, pitying, shakes his spear ! 
 
 He strikes, and as the lovely victim dies, 
 Relenting, mourns her with a silent tear ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 267 
 
 THE COQUETTK. 
 
 Oh, tell me, sweet girl, ere we part, 
 'If your recent reproofs were sincere. 
 
 If that anger arose from the heart. 
 Which glowed in those glances severe. 
 
 Did you mean, love, when lately we met 
 In earnest to frown thus and fly me ? 
 
 Or, acting for once the coquette 
 
 Did you counterfeit rage, but to try me ? 
 
 Come ! kiss and make up, ere we part, 
 And dearest, I'll strive to amend ! 
 
 For, depriv'd of my home in your heart. 
 Where again shall I find such a friend ? 
 
 ODE TO CLARA. 
 
 The following was written when Master Payne was twelve years of age, on readinj] 
 some publications iii a New York paper, signed " Clara." 
 
 How oft have I essay'd in vain 
 
 To swell the wond'rous wizard song. 
 
 Yet still the rude and rustic strain 
 Groans on the lyre's unwilling tongue, 
 
 And hoarsely breathes, as if to chide 
 
 My erring and presumptuous pride ! 
 
 Oh, Clara ! since the muse denies 
 My wild, uututor'd strain to rise 
 With some bewitching melodies, 
 Deign thou, her darling, to inspire 
 My humble harp with hallow'd fire ; 
 ^ Teach it the magic of thy lyre, 
 
 That I may boldly forth and claim 
 Like thee, the choicest gift of fame, — 
 A deathless, great, and glorious name ! 
 
POEMS 
 
 LATER DAYS 
 
POEMS OF LATER DAYS. 
 
 CANZONET. 
 
 Thou, — oh, thou hast lov'd me, — dearest \ 
 When none other car'd for me, 
 
 When my fortune seem'd severest, 
 Kindest was the smile from thee ! 
 
 Yes, — Ah, Yes ! The lorn and lonely 
 Hollow hearts of worldlings shun : 
 
 Theirs are flowers of day, which only 
 Open when they see the sun ! 
 
 But while theirs were all reposing 
 
 In the absence of the light, 
 Like the cereus, thine, unclosing, 
 
 Gave its sweetness to the night. 
 
 THE LOSS OF THOSE WE LOVE. 
 
 The pang, of all severest, 
 Is the deep, withering one, that's borne 
 In being torn 
 From those we love the dearest. 
 
 Some griefs bear consolation ! 
 • There's none for this — no, none I It breaks 
 The heart, and makes 
 The world a desolation ! 
 
272 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 A BIRTH-DAY SONG. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR DB. DRAKE FOR A BIRTH-DAY PARTY, 
 
 Oh speed the light hours ! 
 
 With fancy's gay flowers 
 Life's dear socialities gracefully wreathe ! 
 
 Let the shadows of care 
 
 Meet like mists in the air, 
 While the warmth of thy sweetest kisses we breathe. 
 
 Oh ! fill not the bowl 1 
 
 'Tis the wine of the soul 
 That must gladden the spirits that mingle to-night : 
 
 Let it sparkle and dance 
 
 Like the dazzling expanse 
 Of the wave when the sunbeam has clothed it in light. 
 
 Oh ! spread not the board 
 
 From luxury's hoard : 
 'Tis the pure /eas< of feeling, we gather to share — 
 
 Ambrosia of Heaven 
 
 Free, bounteously given — 
 The East cannot furnish a banquet so fair. 
 
 Oh ! cold is the heart 
 That would scorn to impart 
 Its brightness and glow to the hours as they glide : 
 Then hasten to weave 
 Sweet garlands ; they '11 leave 
 A. beam, as we float, on Time's cold, ebbless tide. 
 
John Howard Payne. 273 
 
 STAR GAZING : 
 
 AN EXCHANGE OF " IDLE THOUGHTS." 
 
 Like thee, I love the stars. In distant climea 
 
 I've stood alone and watch'd them ; and have thought 
 
 I saw the spirits of departed friends 
 
 Smile in their loveliness ; and then would dream 
 
 That some, not yet departed but far off, 
 
 Gaz'd with me on them j and that I could feel 
 
 Their glance of kindness in the gentle light 
 
 Which cast its sweet spell round me. Then there seem'd 
 
 A music in the sphere, to charm away 
 
 The serpent sorrows gnawing at my heart, 
 
 Till, one by one, they dropp'd their demon hold, 
 
 And left me, all alone with contemplation, 
 
 Like thee, to love the stars. 
 
 Like thee, I love the stars — And thou hast made 
 Their radiance dearer yet. The poetry 
 Of thy imaginings, like sunbeams flung 
 Upon the waterfall, has wrapp'd those stars 
 In colors new and beautiful ; and now 
 O'er me bring visions of deeper power : 
 They call the mighty from their monuments; 
 They fill the sky with old historic wonders ; 
 And, all commingling with the thoughts of her 
 Whose wand has wak'd this witchery, my soul 
 Swells with the blended glories, and I thrill 
 Like thee, to love the stars. 
 
 Like thee, I love the stars, and yet my fortunes 
 Have often seem'd to tell me, " Do not love theui. 
 But give them hate for hate ! " They never bless me ; 
 They hurl'd me forth on thwarted hopes, false friends, 
 And left me to those triumphs from the little 
 Which make the spirit wither up in scorn, — 
 But I can have no quarrel with them now, 
 Since one has risen o'er me in the west 
 Whose gentle beauty speaks for all the rest. 
 35 
 
274 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 Shine on, sweet star ! — still let me feel thy light. 
 For, though I know that light is not for me, 
 I would not have thy pity cloud the spell, 
 Whate'er its peril, which lias taught me here. 
 In thee, to love the stars. 
 
 THE WATER-WITCH AND THE PILGRIM. 
 
 [There is a tradition of Correggio which some Italian Poet has wrought into a play, 
 that contains the following singular fancy for its plot. Penniless, he had hurried from 
 his home to the mansion of a rich man with a picture which had been ordered, urging him 
 for immediate compensation. The rich man pompously paid the amonut aW in coppers, 
 but Correggio, exulting in the good fortune of getting all his pay, accepted the indignity 
 without particular notice, and hastened away with the relief so anxiously sought for. 
 When near his destination, overpowered with fatigue and thirst from the weight of his trea- 
 sure, and the terrible heat of the day, he came to a beautiful pond of water with a natural 
 fountain spriuging from the side of a brooli. The cool, clear, bright waters invited him to 
 partake of the refreshing treasure. He eagerly drank from it, and while he drank, myste- 
 rious music came over his ear as from a fairy spirit in the water. For a moment he was 
 fluttered and thought it a warning or a prophesy, but w ith a light heart he passed on to his 
 home, and the song of the fountain was soon forgotten in his rapture at the bright face and 
 the warm welcome his charming little wife gave on his return. Yet scarcely had he 
 caught her sweet smile when the poison of the icy draught darted through him, and in an 
 instant he remembered the mystic song of the waters, and as he flung the sack of money 
 before his adored wife, he expired. The following is the substance of the song of which 
 the Italian poet has given the idea.] 
 
 A water-nymph lurks in the cliff's hollow side, 
 And a pilgrim lies faint by the wild, whirling tide ; 
 Where 'midst rainbow and cloud, the lone waterfall springs 
 And its curtain of foam o'er the haunted cave flings. 
 
 Hark ! the lay 
 
 Of the Fay ! 
 "Come hither, come hither, poor pilgrim to me; 
 From sorrow and sighing thy bosom I'll free; 
 And thou shalt a fairy's blest paramour be ! " 
 
 Plunge, world weary pilgrim ! plunge deep in the wave ! 
 Once mine, thou wilt smile as it storms o'er our cave ; 
 For never false friend or sad heart-ache may come 
 Through the rush of white waters that curtain our home. 
 
 And away 
 
 Shall the spray 
 Wash mortality's clay from the care-canker'd soul ; 
 Long dreams of delight o'er thy senses shall roll. 
 And new life wilt thou quaff from the fairie's charm'd bowl. 
 
John Howard Payne. 275 
 
 Ho struggles to rise as ho hears the fond strain, 
 
 But sinks on the flood's giddy margin again ; 
 
 From her wave-curtained cavern the water-nymph trips, 
 
 And fatal the goblet she holds to his lips. 
 
 Quick the thrill 
 
 Of death's chill 
 Has run through his marrow and curdled his blood; 
 His faint shriek is echoed by cavern and wood, 
 And wildly he plunges beneath the dark flood. 
 
 His winding sheet was a whirlpool's white spray, 
 And a bubble bore his last life-breath away; 
 Deep, deep lies the pilgrim beneath the cold stream, 
 And dimly his bones through the clear water gleam. 
 
 But at night 
 
 The false sprite 
 In pale moonshine oft glides from her damp-dropping hall. 
 The ghost of the wave-buried pilgrim to call; 
 And they dance, and they shriek o'er the wild water-fall ! 
 
 THE THRONE AND THE COTTAGE. 
 
 I. 
 
 There once was a king on his throne of gold seated ; 
 
 His courtiers in smiles were all standing around; 
 They heard him with news of fresh victories greeted; 
 
 The skies with the joy of his people resound; 
 And all thought this king was most thoroughly blest, 
 
 Till sadly he sigh'd forth his secret unrest : 
 
 " How much more delight to my bosom 'twould bring, 
 To feel myself happy, than know myself king I" 
 
 II. 
 
 *' Ah what ? while such power and such treasure possessing," 
 
 (A courtier, astonish'd, stept forward and cried, ) 
 " Could fortune bestow in exchange for the blessing ? " 
 • And thus to the courtier the king straight replied : 
 " Health, a cottage, few friends and a heart all my own 
 Were Heav'n, in exchange for the cares of a throne !" 
 
276 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 "Then, sire, if no longer to empire you cling, 
 Seek these, and be happy, and let wiebe king ! " 
 
 III. 
 
 The king gave the courtier his throne and descended ; 
 
 He long'd for delights of retirement to prove, 
 And now for the first time around him there blended 
 
 The smiles of contentment, and friendship, and love ; 
 But the courtier soon came to the king in his cot : 
 " Oh no ! " said the king " I'll no more change my lot ! 
 Think not, that, once freed from the diadem's sting, 
 I'll give up my cottage and stoop to be king! " 
 
 VALENTINE. 
 
 To A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG ACTKESS. 
 
 There is a heart, (I dare not say 
 
 Where that heart dwells,) whose fondest dream 
 (Though wild and hopeless,) many a day 
 
 Has been the angel which you seem : 
 And though the world has taught that heart, — 
 
 (Oh, may such lessons ne'er to thee 
 The world, — stern monitor ! — impart ! ) 
 
 Taught it to seem is not to be ; 
 
 Yet who would not such doubt discard. 
 
 That see thy loveliness and youth 
 Enshrine the visions of the bard. 
 
 And turn his poetry to truth ? 
 Would that I knew thee ! and yet still 
 So strongly do I feel its dangers 
 
 The very wish to know thee, will 
 Perhaps forever keep us strangers ! 
 
 When once we met, of all who live 
 I thought that there was none but thee 
 
 Who could a charm to bondage give, 
 Or take the charm from liberty — 
 
 And therefore 'tis on such a theme 
 My truant feelings dread to dare. 
 
 And rather choose of hope to dream 
 Than rashly to ensure despair ; 
 
John Howard Payne. 277 
 
 For I'm not vain enough to think 
 It were not madness to aspire 
 
 To charms like thine, — and so I shrink 
 From that which I the most desire — 
 
 The most desire, though love which seeks 
 By selfishness its truth to prove, 
 
 Is undeserving thee — and speaks 
 The voice of passion, not of love ! 
 
 Then never shall thou know whose hand 
 'Tis now declares the secret feeling 
 
 Which at once dreads disclosure, and 
 Still finds relief in the revealing ! 
 
 And while at times, I hope once more 
 That we may meet as once we met, — 
 
 Grow more acquainted than before, 
 With chances more propitious, yet 
 
 If ne'er by me to be possess'd. 
 Elsewhere thy love turns, — let it go — 
 
 Enough for me to know thee blest, 
 And feel thee worthy to be so. 
 
 HOME, SWEET HOME! 
 
 AS OHIGINALLY WKITTEN. THE ACCEPTED VERSION AS AIIKANOED B-QB 
 THE MUSIC IS INTRODUCED IN THE FORE PART OP THIS BOOK. 
 
 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, 
 Be it ever so humble, there's no place like Home I 
 A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, 
 
 (Like the love of a mother. 
 
 Surpassing all other) 
 Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere, 
 
 There's a spell in the shade 
 
 Where our infancy play'd, 
 Even stronger than Time, and more deep than despair ! 
 
 An exile from Home, splendor dazzles in vain ! 
 Oh, give me my lowly, thatch'd cottage again ! 
 
278 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 The birds and the lambkins that came at my call, — 
 Those who nam'd me with pride, — 
 Those who play'd by my side, — 
 
 Give me them ! with the innocence dearer than all ! 
 
 The joys of the palaces through which I roam 
 
 Only swell my heart's anguish — There's no place like Home ! 
 
 The following additional verses to the song of Home, Sweet Home ! Mr. Payne 
 affixed to the sheet music and presented them to Mrs. Bates, in London, a relative of his, 
 and the wife of a rich banker. 
 
 To US, in despite of the absence of years. 
 How sweet the remembrance of home still appears ; 
 From allurements abroad, which but flatter the eye, 
 The unsatisfied heart turns, and says, with a sigh, 
 " Home, home, sweet, sweet home ! 
 
 There's no place like home ! 
 
 There's no place like home ! " 
 
 Tour exile is blest with all fate can bestow ; 
 
 But mine has been checkered with many a woe ! 
 
 Yet, tho' different our fortunes, our thoughts are the same, 
 
 And both, as we think of Columbia, exclaim, 
 
 " Home, home, sweet, sweet home ! 
 
 There's no place like home ! 
 
 There's no place like home ! 
 
 THE LAND OF MY BIRTH. 
 
 I've rov'd, mid the wonders of many a clime, 
 Fair cities, sweet vallies, and mountains sublime, 
 But ne'er saw a clime half so lovely on earth 
 As the land of my first love, the land of my birth ! 
 
 Land of my first love ! Oh, land of my birth ! 
 
 Thou, thou art the loveliest land upon earth. 
 
John Howard Payne. 279 
 
 II. 
 
 Far away have I hung on the love of the wise, 
 And bask'd in the sunshine of soul-thrilling eyes, 
 But the land of true wisdom, and beauty, and worth, 
 Is the land of my first love, the land of my birth ! 
 
 Land of my first love ! Oh, land of my birth. 
 Thou, thou art the loveliest land upon earth ; 
 Land of my first love ! sweet land of my birth ! 
 
 IIL 
 
 Still dear and more dear, the more distant thou art, 
 My foot-steps have left thee, but never my heart ! 
 That magnet still turns from all over the earth 
 To the land of my first love, the land of my birth ! 
 
 The land of my first love, the land o( my birth. 
 Thou, thou art the loveliest land upon earth; 
 Land of my first love ! blest land of my birth ! 
 
 INCLEDON'S BtBVT IN AxMERICA. 
 
 The following was written to "be sunn by lucledon himself. Shield made admirable 
 music lor it : whether it was sung or not, I could never learn.— J. H. P. 
 
 Hail Columbia ! patriot nation ! 
 
 Star of hope to the opprest ! 
 In Battle, darting desolation ! 
 
 But in peace, sole ark of rest ! 
 
 Parted far from friends that lov'd him, 
 
 Torn from children he adores, — 
 Driv'n from those who first approv'd him 
 
 To the shelter of thy shores — 
 
 Shores which shar'd his youth's affection ! — 
 
 Hither forc'd in age to roam — 
 Here, the stranger seeks protection ! 
 
 The " Wandering Melodist"' a home ! 
 
 ' " Wandering Melodist" was the title given by Incledon to an enter- 
 tainment with which he traveled, and in which he was the sole performer. 
 
280 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 Free as the wave your coast thus dashes, 
 To glory your young eagle springs ! 
 
 But tho' her eye with terror flashes, 
 Comfort dwells beneath her wings ! 
 
 THE WANDERER. 
 
 The mother of a young lamb died, 
 And left it helpless on the wild. 
 A shepherd found it, 'twas his pride — 
 
 He lov'd it almost like a child — 
 It never left him — 'till one day 
 
 He look'd and 'twas no longer there ! 
 " My precious lamb is gone astray ! 
 In vain I seek her every where ! 
 She's gone ! my lov'd one's gone ! " he cried, 
 " My hope is gone, my joy, my pride !" 
 And only Echo's voice replied. 
 
 She's gone ! she's gone ! 
 
 But soon the thoughless truant yearn'd 
 
 For him she left so desolate. 
 And when the shepherd home return'd, 
 
 He found her at his cottage gate ! 
 The shepherd did not then disdain 
 The lamb he had so loved before. 
 But took it to his heart again. 
 
 Forgave it, and it stray'd no more ! 
 ' She's here ! " the exulting shepherd cried, 
 ' She never more will quit my side ! " 
 And both, with Echo now replied, 
 
 " She's here, she's here ! " 
 
 LEARNING, LOVE, AND VICTORY. 
 
 I. 
 
 When the Parson woo'd me, then 
 I could never say " Amen !" 
 When the Doctor — what a pill ! 
 His addresses made me ill ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 281 
 
 When the Lawyer, — what a pest ! 
 
 I was — " non inventus est ! " 
 
 But oh ! now the soldier comes, 
 
 With •' presented arms" to me, 
 
 He may — " Hurrah " — » Victory ! " 
 
 II. 
 
 What girl in the Parson's whine 
 
 E'er discover'd aught divine ? 
 
 When did the Physician's art 
 
 Cure the ague of the heart ? 
 
 Or the Lawyer's habeas move 
 
 Suitors to the court of Love ? 
 
 But when martial steeds are bounding, 
 
 And the war-like clarion sounding, 
 
 Who would not " Ground arms " like me? 
 
 To the " Hurrah," " Victory !" 
 
 THE LOSS OF THOSE WE LOVE. 
 
 The pang, of all severest, 
 
 Is the deep, withering one, that's borne 
 In being torn 
 From those we love the dearest. 
 
 Some griefs bear consolation ! 
 There's none for this, — no, none ! It breaks 
 The heart, and makes 
 The world a desolation ! 
 
 A GIRL'S MESSAGE TO HER LOVER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Tell him, though fortune dooms that we must part, 
 I cannot make his image leave my heart ; 
 Tell him that they may keep me from him, — yet 
 He's with me still, as though we hourly met. 
 36 
 
282 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 II. 
 
 Wealth and Glories, tell him, all are dim 
 To the sweet sunshine of one thought of him. — 
 And feelings, deeper than the tongue can tell, 
 Have grown even deeper since I sigh'd Farewell ! 
 
 FIRST LOVE. 
 
 How refin'd the feeling 
 O'er the .bosom stealing, 
 A new sense revealing. 
 
 In the heart's first love ! 
 
 Its soft spell extending, 
 Smiles to all things lending. 
 The whole world seems blending 
 
 With the heart's first love ! 
 
 If to new themes turning, 
 Soon, such lightness spurning 
 Stronger grows our yearning 
 
 For the heart's first love. 
 
 THE MEETINGS OF LOVERS. 
 
 Oh, how sweet, how sweet, 
 
 The rapture felt at last. 
 
 Wearisome exile past. 
 When lovers meet, when lovers meet ! 
 
 Then love's sorrow fleet ! 
 
 Hours so hard to bear between 
 Are as though they ne'er had been. 
 
 When lovers meet, when lovers meet ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 283 
 
 BEAUTY'S GLANCE! 
 
 WRITTEN FOR AN INTERLUDE. 
 
 Woe to the heart ! when Beauty's eye 
 O'er its unwaken'd pulse first rushes, 
 
 Kindling wild visions, — like the sky 
 New lighted up by morning's blushes. 
 
 For storm-clouds may convulse the air, 
 As the uncertain day advances ; 
 
 And Beauty's eye may flash despair 
 On the adorer of its glances. 
 
 Ne'er did a sigh this bosom swell 
 
 Till thy enchantments smil'd around it; 
 
 And, oh ! it trembles now to tell 
 
 Its throb to her whose spell has bound it 
 
 But do not, dearest ! do not blame 
 This fait' ring utt'rance of a feeling, 
 
 My tongue has not the strength to name 
 Nor my heart courage for concealing. 
 
 Cast one, — one rapturing glance, to end 
 The doubt I tremble to discover ; 
 
 I must — I must be — more than friend — 
 And may I not be — more than lover ? 
 
 THE FORSAKEN. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 Scenes of my childhood, the roseate hours, 
 ^ Passed in your shelter, are faded ! 
 < ne are the spirits which gladden'd your bowers, 
 Gone with the pleasures they shaded ! 
 Farewell ! 
 
284 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 Dove of the ark ! to thee Providence gave 
 
 Rest, once thy pilgrimage ended ! 
 Fate, which flings me on the world troubled wave, 
 
 Dooms me to toss there unfriended ! 
 Ah me ! 
 
 Eyes of aff'ection ! Life's pathway no more 
 
 Beams, with your radiance lighted ! 
 Hope, Love, and Friendship, which shone there before. 
 
 Leave me to wander benighted ! 
 All's dark ! 
 
 SUNRISE. 
 
 Hail to thee, orb of morning ! 
 
 O'er the darkness breaking. 
 Earth with thy smile adorning, 
 
 Man to his Grod awaking ; 
 Hail ! Hail ! may our devotion be 
 Warm as the light we hail in thee ! 
 
 THE CONSOLATION. 
 
 Comfort, mourner ! why despair ? 
 Storm, like sunshine's from on high — 
 Tempest only clears the sky — 
 
 Man is Heaven's peculiar care — 
 Heaven brings joy from misery ! 
 
 Comfort, mourner ! why despair ? 
 Woe a part is of a plan 
 Ending in the bliss of man — 
 
 Whereof but a little share 
 Our imperfect sight may scan ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 285 
 
 Comfort, mourner ! why despair ? 
 All that is disclos'd we find 
 Proveth an All-bounteous mind — 
 
 Impious is it then to dare 
 Deem what's undisclos'd unkind ! 
 
 Arouse thee ! comfort ! Learn to bear ! 
 No ill is cureless hut dispair ! 
 
 UNHALLOWED AND VIRTUOUS LOVE. 
 
 Unhallow'd love's a withering flame 
 Which kills the heart and blasts the name, 
 
 By its wild flashes risen ; 
 While virtuous love, like sunlight showers. 
 But wakes the heart's most lovely flowers 
 
 And opens them to heaven. 
 
 THE WORLD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh ! no ! I have no wish to try 
 
 Those heartless mockeries of joy 
 Whose charm is like the serpent's eye, 
 
 Which only dazzles to destroy ! 
 Ne'er let me be among the mad — 
 
 Nay, worse, — the guilty million hurl'd 
 I never yet have known the bad — 
 
 I never yet have known the world ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Can the world aught, for what is this 
 Seclusion I should lose, bestow ? 
 
 Our little home is full of bliss. 
 But the great world is full of woe ! 
 
286 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 My humble heart, like yonder vines 
 Around our lowly cottage curl'd, 
 
 With all I here have known, entwines, — 
 And here, oh, here shall be my world. 
 
 BEAUTY SLEEPING. 
 
 Sweet is her sleep ! 
 As moonlight that sleeps on the river 
 Where evening's soft sighs scarcely quiver. 
 
 Sweet is her sleep ! 
 
 The charm of that beautiful face 
 O'er the image of death beams a grace ! 
 Sweet is her sleep ! 
 
 The angel of slumber she seems, 
 Reclined in her heaven of dreams ! 
 Sweet is her sleep. 
 
 THE FRIENDLESS ORPHAN GIRL. 
 
 WOKDS TO AN OLD IRISH MELODY. 
 
 From slumbers that cheer not, with dawn's blush upspringing 
 
 Woe-worn, I wander o'er mountain and plain, 
 And hear parent birds to their little ones singing 
 Songs of aflFection in that touching strain, 
 From others 
 
 Than mothers / 
 
 We seek for in vain ! 
 There's many a tie 
 The world may supply, 
 But oh ! there's no other 
 The loss of a mother — 
 Oh none ! 
 Not one ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 287 
 
 But scenes of endearment which round me are thronging, 
 
 Bitterly teach me how much I'm alone ! 
 A parent's fond care to all beings belonging — 
 Tenderness ever in infancy shown 
 To others 
 
 By mothers "" 
 
 I never have known ! 
 There's many a tie 
 The world might supply, 
 But oh ! there's no other 
 The loss of a mother — 
 Oh none ! 
 Not one ! 
 
 THE HARP. 
 
 Oh Lady ! take the harp, 
 
 And let the silent string, 
 Exulting at thy touch, 
 
 Around its magic fling ! 
 Enshrin'd there, as in thee 
 
 Enchantments, slumb'ring deep, 
 Await a master hand 
 
 To break their bonds of sleep ! 
 
 Thanks, lady ! how the harp, 
 
 By thee awaken'd, beams 
 The light upon despair 
 
 Of soft Elysian dreams : 
 Could I but thus awake 
 
 The slumbering thrill in you. 
 The dreams your harp inspires 
 
 Your smile would render true. 
 
 PASSION AND PRAYER. 
 
 The holy prisoner doom'd to bear 
 Demoniac persecution's chain, 
 
 Hop'd humbly a protection where 
 Sincerity ne'er hopes in vain ! 
 
288 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 Lo ! on the darkness of his cell 
 The glory of an angel flash'd ! 
 
 The jailors slept ! the fetters fell ! 
 The bolted portals open dash'd. 
 
 Prisoner of passion ! if sincere 
 
 Your trust in Heaven's protection be, 
 An angel will to you appear, 
 And when least look'd for, set you free ! 
 
 THE HOPES OF YOUTH. 
 
 To youth, exulting, soon delighted. 
 
 The coming hours. 
 Seen by Hope's April sunshine, lighted, 
 
 Blooming with flow'rs 
 Ne'er to be blighted ! 
 
 Proudly the barque 
 Sails, when blue skies and blue seas flatter : 
 
 The storm comes. Hark — 
 A shriek ! her sides the wild waves shatter ! 
 
 She's gone ! — all's dark. 
 
 Such are youth' fairy dreams of gladness ', — 
 
 And thus they end 
 In tempests of unlook'd for sadness, — 
 
 Tortures, — that send 
 The soul to madness ! — 
 
 SLANDER DIES IN LIGHT. 
 
 I. 
 
 From the coward who stabs in the dark 
 What valor can give us protection ? 
 But once let me know 
 Where to fix on my foe. 
 
 And see how he'll shrink from detection ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 289 
 
 II. 
 
 The pride of the forest, whose strength 
 Bends not to the hurricane's fury, 
 May fall by the sting 
 Of the venomous thing 
 Which the least of its small leaves would bring. 
 
 III. 
 
 But, drag forth the reptile, he'll writhe, 
 
 He'll die where the day-beam is brightening, 
 As the mischievous lie 
 Of the imposture shall die 
 In the blaze of Truth's glorious lightning ! 
 
 TO MISS O'NEIL, THE ACTRESS. 
 
 [Written after sleeping in the room she had occupied the night before. Wate 
 Ireland, July, 1814.] 
 
 Oh deep was the gloom which my spirits deprest. 
 Till each object around breath' d the joy of the past; 
 
 And the charm of that room luU'd my sorrows to rest, 
 As pure as the bosom which beat in it last ! 
 
 Then my proud love exulted. It felt that the hour 
 Which succeeds common pleasure, is shrouded in woe, 
 
 But gloried in owing the sway of a power 
 Whose remembrance alone can such comfort bestow ! 
 
 'Twas a feeling extatic, I blest its control ; 
 And your image, still beaming on memory's gaze, 
 
 Sheds a twilight of joy on my desolate soul, 
 More soft, though less dear, than the noon of its blaze ! 
 37 
 
290 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 A SONG IN THE OPERA OF CLART. 
 
 In the promise of pleasure, the silly believer, 
 Home forsaking, to brave 
 The betraying world's wave, 
 Is soon taught by woe the truth friendship had spoken, 
 And virtue a wreck, — pleasure's promises broken, — 
 Lost at last, the world's scorn by the wily deceiver, 
 Finds out but too late, that where ever we roam, — 
 There's no pleasure abroad, like the pleasure of Home ! 
 
 But droop not, poor cast-away ! be not dejected ! 
 From the tempest-wave spring ! 
 To your wreck'd virtue cling ! 
 And be certain the angel ol mercy takes care 
 Of the virtue, though erring, that will not despair ! 
 Yes ! though from the world's heartless bosom rejected. 
 From your home upon earth tho' cast houseless to roam, 
 Throw your glance up to Heaven, and be sure of a Home ! 
 
 THE EXILE. 
 
 [A song written at the request of, and set to music composed by, the celebrated Mr. 
 Heinrich.] 
 
 Far from the land which gave him birth, 
 
 The lonely exile wandering weary. 
 Feels that the loveliest land on earth. 
 
 When look'd upon thro' tears, looks dreary. 
 For, oh ! when Fortune grew unkind, 
 
 And in the spell of sorrow bound him. 
 There came a shadow o'er his mind, 
 
 To darken every object round him. 
 
 But, as often the sunbeam breaks brilliant and warm 
 On the day whose beginning was coldness and storm, 
 Even thus unexpectedly, fortunes more bright 
 iNow light back the exile to home and delight ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 291 
 
 And though since his escape, he'll oft gaze from the shore 
 
 On the billows he saw with such terror before, 
 
 Yet to think of a peril that's happily past, 
 
 Only heightens the rapture which follows at last. 
 
 THE GIRL OP MY HEART. 
 
 There's nothing, there's nothing so lovely that lives 
 
 As thou art dear ! 
 There's nothing, there's nothing that pleasure gives, 
 
 And thou art near ! 
 
 When thou art away the world's brightest charms 
 
 Look — oh how drear 1 
 But a magic spell its form disarms 
 
 When thou art near ! 
 
 When thou art away, even summer's beams 
 
 All cold appear ! 
 But the coldest winter a summer seems 
 
 Beside thee dear ! 
 
 VALENTINE. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MISS FOOT, THE CELEBRATED ACTRESS. 
 
 Though other eyes have warn'd me, 
 Though other lips have charm'd me, 
 Yet transient was their pow'r, 
 Forgotten in an hour ! 
 
 Those brows of thine which darkle 
 O'er eyes which sweetly sparkle 
 With beams from mind of brightness, 
 And heart of jocund lightness; — 
 
292 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 Have wing'd, like Cupid's bow, 
 With secret shaft a blow 
 Which binds one, thine forever 
 In chains which cannot sever, 
 Ere this, a captive never. 
 
 Perhaps in untold anguish 
 
 That captive long will languish : — 
 
 Perhaps, a hidden stranger. 
 
 He'll guard thy youth from danger 
 
 Perhaps an unseen spirit. 
 
 He'll climb thy couch at night, 
 
 And rock himself to rest 
 
 Upon thy heaving breast. 
 
 Or drink the sighs which creep 
 
 Unconscious through thy sleep. 
 
 And then, like memory's gleams, 
 Glide softly through thy dreams. 
 And catch without control 
 The breathings of a soul 
 So unstain'd in whiteness, 
 Malice hates its brightness ! 
 
 Nymph, by whom all are charmed 
 
 Long ma/st thou live unharm'd ! 
 
 — Be world and Fortune kind ! 
 
 Be argus Envy blind, — 
 
 And every wish enjoy'd. 
 
 Save that which would discover 
 
 Thy Valentine and Lover ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 293 
 
 SCENE FROM AN UNPUBLISHED PLAY. 
 
 BY JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 
 
 Argument. 
 
 Early in life, Bianca of Naples returned the love of the reckless and enthosiastic 
 Hyppolito ; but his father thought a wealthier wife might be found, and sent the youth 
 abroad ; at sea he was wrecked, but saved by pirates and detained a captive. Being sup- 
 posed dead by his family and Bianca, she is at length prevailed on to listen to a new 
 suitor. She weds a Spaniard by the name of Alvar, equally a devotee to her and to the 
 fine arts, and who met her when he visited Italy on a tour of taste. Hyppolito, escaping, 
 returns and hears that his betrothed is lost to him. In madness he pursues her to her 
 dwelling in Barcelona; and being skilled in the pencil, obtains access to her husbaud by 
 spreading his &me abroad as an lulian painter of eminence, harrying through the city. 
 Alvar has seen his sketches and earnestly desires from him a portrait of Bianca. On a 
 camiTal night when she is masked for the festivities, Hyppolito consents, as a special 
 &vor to Don Alvar, to spare an hour for a sitting. His object may be guessed. It is a 
 delirious desire to disclose himself and carry her away with him in the confusion of the 
 masquerade. The scene here given describes the introduction of the imagined painter. 
 
 SCENE. 
 
 An apartment in Don Alvar's palace at Barcelona. Busts — 
 statues — an easel — swing glass — painting apparatus. 
 
 Don Alvar enters, leading Bianca, both sumptuously habited in mas- 
 querade dresses, Bianca as a Sultana. Hyppolito follows as a 
 painter, completely disguised. He takes his colors and pencils from 
 an attendant. While he arranges them and reconnoitres the room, 
 Alvar and Bianca converse apart at the front. 
 Bianca. (to Alvar aside.) Who is this painter ? Were 't not 
 well, my lord, 
 
 That he should come to-morrow, not to-aight ? 
 
 His look is strange. You must not leave me here — 
 
 I know not why — I feel a sudden dread — 
 
 His countenance is wild — What is his name ? 
 Alvae. And why so fanciful, my gentle love ? 
 
 The Signor's name is Manso — known to all 
 
 As a most famous artist. He has come 
 
 To Barcelona but this morn ; and flies 
 
 To-morrow — Heav'n knows where ! — (Jo Hyppolito.) 
 Sir, is this place 
 
 The one that suits your art ? — Sit here, Bianca, 
 
 (^Anide to her.) How your hand trembles I I'll stay with you, love ! 
 Hyp. (^Preparing to paint.) A little from the light — a little 
 
294 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 {Aside.) His glance is keen — Those lights will show uiy face — 
 {He tries to sketch and stops.) Pray you, my lord, a little farther 
 
 back — 
 The lights fall on your robe — or, take your place — 
 ( — Your pardon, lord) — behind me till the sketch 
 Is made — {he tries andjiings down the pencil in vexation.) 
 Oorpo di Giovo, wrong ! — This crowd of lights — 
 {Pointing with a fretted gesture to the lamps on the table.) 
 
 Alv. ( To Cariola.) Go — carry off those lamps — their vary- 
 ing blaze 
 Will mar the pencil. Benedetto ! 
 Order the train to hold themselves prepared 
 To wait upon your lady to the fete. 
 
 '[Benedetto and other servants go out, carrying the lamps and leaving 
 hut one light beside the easel. Hyppolito paints.'] 
 Hyp. Please you, fair lady, cast your eyes above — 
 Ha ! so — as if you gazed upon some star ! 
 {Looking at her. ) Now press your hand — deeply — upon your 
 
 heart 
 As if you vowed that heart's fidelity 
 And sealed it by your hopes of love in Heaven. 
 
 Alv. a most romantic painter ! But his art 
 Or finds men mad, or makes them so. — That touch 
 {Looking at the picture.) Is life — I see the master-hand ! How 
 
 fine 
 The power to fix the hue of beauty's cheek. 
 The sparkling of the diamond eye, — the look 
 That speaks without a tongue, yet speaks the soul 
 Quicker than tongue e'er uttered — Glorious art ! 
 That, with the power of miracle, defies . 
 The truth of time, the blight of worldly woe, 
 All earthly trouble ! On its tablet smiles 
 Beauty unsullied ; cheeks unwash'd by tears ; 
 Lips that will ne'er grow pale with anxious sighs -, 
 Youth, love, and loveliness, alike immortal ! 
 {He looks at the picture.) Magnificent ! Divine ! 
 The artist does you justice, my Bianca. 
 
 BiAN. My lord turn'd flatterer ! Nay, I fear I'll shame 
 The Signor Manso's pencil. 
 
 Hyp. 'Tis but honor'd 
 
 Too highly in its subject. — Now look down — 
 — Heavens, what a rich possession ! — {to her ) But one smile — 
 
John Howard Payne. 295 
 
 (As in soliloquy.') The arching of that brow — that dazzling eye — 
 That lip to which the budding of the rose 
 Were colorless and chill — Thou paragon ! — 
 
 BlAN. (Aside, agitated at half overhearing him ) 
 
 What words are those ? Some pressure on my soul 
 Tells me there 's evil nigh ! (Aside to Alvar.) Alvar ! My lord ! 
 Stay by me. — Will the Signor soon be done ? — 
 
 Alv. Disturb him not, my love. He touches now 
 The finest lines of his most lovely work. 
 
 (Looking over the sketch.) Bravo, Signor ! A Titian were outdone 
 With that delicious coloring. That glow 
 Is worthy the Venetian . 
 
 Hyp. I was his pupil — 
 
 An idle one — but worshipped at his feet 
 For some wild years, enamor'd of the fame, 
 The glory that he threw around his land ! 
 But, when he died, I hated Venice — fled — 
 And wander'd, on a painter's pilgrimage. 
 To every shrine of loveliness. 
 
 BiAN. (Aside.) He gazes on me strangely. If on earth 
 There's magic in a glance — delusion wild, 
 Or dangerous spell, 'tis in that fiery eye ! 
 Would that his work were done ! — 
 
 ( To Alvar.) How goes the hour, my lord ? Your noble friend 
 Will think his banquet scorn'd by our delay. 
 
 Hyp. (Gazing on her.) One look — but one look, gentle lady, 
 one 
 And all is finished. — Pray you, draw aside 
 That tress which hangs upon your brow like braids 
 Of silk on ivory. (Aside.) There's a living smile ! 
 A glance that strikes the soul like sudden flame ! 
 
 Alv. (Gazing on the picture.) It grows in light and beauty, as 
 the sky 
 Before th e rosy chariot the morn ! — 
 — Signor, your task is finish'd for to-night, 
 And richly finish'd. 
 My lady well reminds me 'twill be late 
 Before we reach our kinsman's. — (To Bianca.) Come, my love! 
 
 BiAN. (Aside.) Thanks, all ye saints that guard the heart 
 fwm ill ! 
 
 Hyp. One moment more. This must be done to-night, 
 Or may-be never. By to-morrow's dawn 
 
296 Poems of Later Days. 
 
 I leave the walls of Barcelona. 
 
 BiAN. Nay, Alvar, come — 'tis finish'd — lose no time — 
 (^Urging Mm.') We must not fail in courtesy. 
 
 Alv. (^Looking at the picture) 'Tis beautiful! — (^Then turn- 
 ing to Bianca.) Yet still, how feebly art 
 Contends with nature, when that nature 's thine ! 
 He that can thaw the ice with pictured flame, 
 Or banish darkness by a painted sun. 
 Or fill the summer sky with painted gold, 
 Or shower the spring's sweet lap with painted buds, 
 He may portray the living witchery 
 Of woman in her beauty — but none else ! 
 
 Hyp. Fair lady, look again — 
 
 Alv. Yes — rest awhile — 
 
 I will but go a moment, to command 
 That all be ready for our cavalcade. 
 
 ( To Hyppolito.) Signer ! the moment you sought is given — 
 I shall return — (7b Bianco) — as swift as thoughts of love ! 
 
 l^Exit Alvar. 
 
 Hyp. {LooMng after Alvar — aside.) He's gone ! — Now, 
 love and vengeance ! 
 (^Starts lip, throws off his disguise, and exclaims,) Bianca! 
 
 BlAN. ( Terrified and springing back,) Hyppolito ! — 
 
OUR 
 
 NEGLECTED POETS 
 
 JOm^ HOWARD PAYNE. 
 
 38 
 
OUR NEGLECTED POETS. 
 
 BY JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 WILLIAM MARTIN JOHNSON. 
 
 In the State of Massachusetts there are four towns rejoicing in the 
 quaint names of Needham, and Wareham, and Wrentham, and 
 Mendum. Modern refinement may perhaps have seen proper to 
 reform this expressive nomenclature, as there is no knowing what 
 it will stop at; it is to be hoped not, however. The town of Wrent- 
 ham, the one with which we have now to do, is in Norfolk 
 county, nearly midway between Boston and Providence ; and has 
 long been famous- for its manufactures, especially of cotton goods 
 and straw bonnets. About the year, 1775, a sea captain by the name 
 of Ebenezer Albee, though in low circumstances, had withdrawn 
 from active life, and settled down at Wrentham. He was a man of 
 great kindness of heart, but blunt in his manners, and boisterous in 
 his temper. He had no children. He was fond of reading, but, 
 unfortunately, with the revolutionary sentiments of the day in poli- 
 tics, he had also imbibed those which, in the general agitation of 
 ideas of the time, were too prevalent in religion. 
 
 A vagabond pair, concerning whose origin nothing can be learned, 
 were in the habit of prowling Massachusetts and Connecticut on 
 foot, sometimes together, sometimes apart, but in either case both 
 of them often reeling under the influence of the Bacchus of New 
 England, cider. They had all the tastes and habits of wandering 
 beggars. They had a child with them, a squalid, unhealthy, but 
 quick-witted, boy. No one knew whether they had ever been mar- 
 ried ; but they called themselves Johnson, and said the child was 
 theirs, ^and that his name was William Martin Johnson. The 
 father never took much notice of the boy. The mother always 
 seemed to have a stronir attachujcnt for him. 
 
300 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 These rovers frequently came to the house of Captain Albee. 
 The good-hearted captain had ceased to hope for children of his own. 
 Little Johnson's answers and observations delighted him. He pro- 
 posed to adopt the boy. The father was pleased with the chance 
 of getting rid of a burden. The mother was reluctant to give up 
 her child Finally, however, with tears, she consented. For awhile 
 she occasionally visited him ; but ere long was seen no more. Thus 
 did the subject of this narrative enter within the pale of civilized 
 and decent life. 
 
 Albee, by all accounts, among other habits of " a rude and bois- 
 terous captain of the sea," was somewhat given to the great vice of 
 our country, intemperance. This may account for outbreaks of un- 
 reasonable passion, succeeded by fits of equally unmeasured indul- 
 gence, which rendered the situation of his adopted favorite very 
 uneasy, and equally unpropitious to a sound formation of character. 
 Still, the boy was strongly attached to his protector. Albee im- 
 parted to him all the instruction he had to communicate, and John- 
 son repaid his pains with an unusual precocity He early learned 
 to Write his signature at full length, William Martin Johnson Albee. 
 But the affectionate captain had a sort of primitive, puritanical, as 
 well as maritime, respect for the efficacy of the rope's end and the 
 rod, in education ; and whenever he had nothing else to do, would 
 belabor his favorite so heartily, that the boy would run away, and 
 remain from home until there should be time for the paroxysm of 
 discipline to give place to one of endearment, and then, like a beaten 
 pet pup, he would creep back again to be caressed. It was not long 
 before the lad began to get ahead of his domestic teacher in accom- 
 plishment, and to add to his stock of solid and reputable knowledge, 
 from the spelling-book and the five first rules of ciphering, certain 
 acquirements of an extremely doubtful virtue, which greatly alarmed 
 the serious good people of Wrentham ; for it was discovered that he 
 could draw, and even that he could rhyme ; and nobody could divine 
 how these unhallowed arts could have been obtained by a child, in 
 his position, unless through some vestiges of the witchcraft, which 
 might have been still left, by imperfect exorcism, to disturb the but 
 recently achieved repose of New England from the spirits of mis- 
 chief. To this suspicion, it is likely, we may attribute divers mis- 
 adventures which materially influenced the future career of young 
 Johnson When his protector had taught out all he himself knew, 
 he considered the boy entitled to the advantage of such instruction 
 as was to be derived from certain peripatetic pedagogues who used 
 periodically to visit the villages of New England, for the purpose of 
 
John Howard Payne. 301 
 
 qualifyng youno; folks for college. Johnson was now about twelve 
 years of age. His progresfj in Latin was rapid, and he got a smat- 
 tering of Greek. But his teachers were often of the Dominie Samp- 
 son breed, and the boy had a quick sense of the ridiculous, and an 
 unfortunate talent for expressing it equally with the pen and pencil. 
 His tasks were dispatched with a rapidity perfectly inexplicable to 
 the duller scholars and to the obtuse master; and the leisure which 
 remained to him was usually devoted to the gratification of his taste 
 for the roguery of caricature. Though he was so far from ever 
 being found wanting in the fulfilment of his duties, that the rest of 
 the boys could never get at all near him, his instructors thought it 
 "peculiarly unfair that his merits should deprive him of the benefits 
 of flagellation ; and as he was too perverse to give himself a legiti- 
 mate claim to the birch, they would show their high consideration 
 by favoring him with it as a sort of gratuitous perquisite. After 
 any of these frequent scenes, the master would be greeted, either on 
 scraps of paper scattered about the school-room, or in a colossal 
 effigy charcoaled upon the wall, with a view of his own dignified 
 person, set off* by such grotesque additions as the artist's invention 
 could supply, and flourishing the awful wand of inspiration over 
 some screaming recipient of virtue and wisdom, most remorselessly 
 administered. This style of retribution was not very likely to bet- 
 ter his condition, and he was regarded as utterly irreclaimable. He 
 would continue to escape and to return; but was, nevertheless, every 
 day increasing his stock of knowledge ; and at sixteen had added a 
 very considerable progress in algebra, to his acquirements in the 
 languages. 
 
 As nearly as we can conjecture, it must have been about the year 
 1787, that young Johnson found employment with a store-keeper 
 in Boston. His hand-writing was very beautiful, and he was a ready 
 accountant. I am in possession of a sheet (anjongst a great variety 
 of interesting papers and relics of poor Johnson, which fell into 
 my hand by a series of strange accidents), covered with fragments 
 in his autograph of that period ; and among them the following 
 broken lines, which 1 can well imagine were scribbled at the shop- 
 counter, in the intervals of the uncongenial task of posting the 
 account book. They may have an interest to the reader, as affording 
 an unconscious glimpse of his mind, and an illustration of the strange, 
 rambling, unbalanced child of genius that he was at the time. They 
 are all e^dently the desultory, extemporaneous eff'usions of the vary- 
 in<r mood of the hour. 
 
302 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 So the proud bubble strikes the eye, 
 With hues that with the diamond vie ; 
 But search beyond its surface fair, 
 There's nothing found but empty air. 
 
 * * * 
 
 Pleas'd tlius, to worth the muse her tribute pays, 
 To worth, that well deserves a nobler praise — 
 
 * * * 
 
 As northern lights dance o'er the evening sky. 
 And strike with transient charms the admiring eye. 
 So o'er her face the hast'ning blushes flew — 
 
 * * * 
 
 Oh, follow then where nonsense leads the way, 
 Like idle flies that in the sunbeams play — 
 
 * * * 
 
 On some good bit I'd always wish to dine. 
 And after dinner drink a glass of wine ; 
 That, too, I'd have of the most generous sort, 
 Madeira, Sherry, or the best of Port— 
 
 With perhaps a good heart, but the worst face in nature. 
 
 * * * 
 Where towering columns proudly rise, 
 And gilded spires invade the skies. 
 
 My humble wishes ne'er shall learn to rove. 
 Nor sigh for more than competence and love. 
 
 * * * 
 
 — ^■^— People who have no ideas out of the common road, are generally 
 the greatest talkers, because all their thoughts are low enough for common 
 conversation ; whereas, those of more elevated understandings have ideas 
 which they cannot easily communicate, except to persons of equal capacity 
 
 with themselves. 
 
 * * * 
 
 The glowing sun, with life-infusing beam, 
 Impregns the vegetable world ; the flowers. 
 Not coy, nor shrinking from the warm embrace. 
 But sweetly wanton, blushing soft desires, 
 To meet his kisses, turn their nectary lips. 
 Incessant sipping, with increasing heat. 
 Till mutual vigor and intenser love 
 Their nuptials crown. The silver rustling rills, 
 With knotted rushes fringed * * * * 
 ******* and to the sun 
 Far glittering o'er the meadow's fragrant breast, 
 Hangs graceful, quivering to the breeze — 
 
 * * * 
 
 The following stanza is given as an imitation, apparently, from 
 the French : 
 
 While thou art true, my fair, where'er I roam, 
 
 My heart shall sigh alone for thee ; 
 But if another's conquest you become, 
 Thy capture, Delia, sets me free. 
 
John Howard Payne. 303 
 
 Of the following two epigrams, the first is from the Greek, upon 
 a statue of Niobe : 
 
 To stone the Gods have cliang'd her, but in vain — 
 The Sculptor's art has made her breathe again. 
 
 Joe hates a hypocrite. It shows 
 Self-love is not a fault of Joe's. 
 
 With habits so desultory as those of young Johnson from the be- 
 ginning, and with his taste for literature, it was scarcely to have 
 been expected that he would remain, any very long time, the con- 
 tented drudge of a Boston shop ; and he did not. He was every 
 now and then heard of, teaching at some little school, now here, now 
 there, in Connecticut, at intervals returning to his first friends, the 
 Albees, at Wrentham, sometimes in rags, sometimes in comfort and 
 almost elegance ; but in either case, always with a welcome. On one 
 occasion he is recollected to have appeared there in the garb of a 
 sailor-boy, bearing, both in his dress and person, marks of ill usage 
 at sea. The following scrap, scribbled on a fragment of paper, in his 
 early handwriting, seems to refer to his disastrous adventure : 
 
 God's miracles I'll praise ou shore, 
 And there his blessings reap ; 
 
 But from this moment seek no more 
 His wonders on the deep ! 
 
 From the next intelligence we can gather concerning him, he is, in 
 the year 1790, at the head of a little school at Bridgehampton, on 
 Long Island. He must then have been about nineteen. At this 
 time, he had, no one could conjecture by what means, become a very 
 excellent player on the violin, and had attained to remarkable skill in 
 architectural planning and drawing. His musical acquirements were, 
 of course, a great recommendation to the society of the rural belles ; 
 and his scraps of verse exhibit more susceptibility than constancy, 
 for he had already begun to adore each and every pretty Nancy, and 
 Phoebe, and Keturah, of each and every village, as a Venus for 
 whom Jupiter would have forsaken all his other infidelities. He 
 remained at Bridgehampton during the winter; when, having 
 gathered together a little money, he seems to have first formed a re- 
 solution to undertake the study of medicine. At this time he found 
 his way to the village of East Hampton, also on Long Island, where 
 he placed himself under the instruction of a very worthy and intel- 
 ligenlfphysician, by the name of Sage. So much of his time was 
 taken up here between making verses and making love, that his 
 amiable tutor was entirely at a loss to account for the progress he 
 
304 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 actually gained in his professional studies. By the close of the 
 summer, his small stock of money being exhausted, Dr. Sage pro- 
 cured a school for him at Smithtown, on another part of the Island, 
 where he passed the following winter, returning with his savings in the 
 spring, to resume his medical course at East Hampton, which place 
 seemed to have fastened itself more strongly around his heart than 
 any other, before or after, to the end of his life. 
 
 This attachment I can readily account for. I have myself visited 
 East Hampton ; and, as it may assist my readers to enter into the 
 feelings of the young poet who now took up his abode there, I will 
 endeavor to give them such a knowledge of its characteristics, as 
 that passing glance enabled me to obtain. It was settled, history 
 says, at a very early period, from the opposite shores of Connecticut. 
 It is situated on a gently undulating plain, some score of miles from 
 the extreme eastern point of Long Island, and about seven from Sag 
 Harbor. Within twenty minutes' walk is the Atlantic ocean, the 
 waves of which may be always heard throughout the valley, " swing- 
 ing slow with sullen roar," and the influence of which upon the 
 trees is pointed out to the visitor, in the withered and discolored 
 foliage of the two, among those lining the street, that stand exposed 
 to the direct sweep of the sea-breeze. East Hampton is a beautiful 
 oasis, so surrounded by sands and barrenness, that the inhabitants 
 are confined to farms barely suflBcient to enable them, with patient 
 industry and rigid economy, to draw thence the means of sustaining 
 their families. The village is built on the two sides of a very wide, 
 grass-grown street; the most of its houses low, with one end to 
 the street, and the roof of that old-fashioned and unintellectual form, 
 which may be compared to a face without a forehead, shooting 
 abruptly backward from the eyebrows, to the high phrenological 
 bump of veneration, on the apex of the skull. The rooms are not 
 lofty, and their walls are wainscoted, and their ceilings crossed with 
 massive beams ; and as you stand up on some superannuated millstone, 
 ' fallen from its high estate ' into a door-step, you occasionally open 
 upon a three-cornered closet under the stairway, containing the vene- 
 rable saddle and bridle, often not yet divorced from the social and 
 affectionate pillion of the olden time, for the lady ; the respectable 
 seat of which aforesaid saddle has sustained divers generations to 
 tea-parties, at the neighboring towns, or to Sag Harbor, to look 
 after the news, or to Montauk, to look after the cattle One small 
 abode was pointed out to me on a rising ground, as having been, 
 within the memory of some of the townspeople, on its first erection, 
 the wonder of its day ; for the panels of the wainscoting were 
 
John Howard Payne. 306 
 
 not only painted, but painted sky blue, and the panes of glass in the 
 windows, were actually so vast that the new-born child of the owner 
 was once, to astonish the natives, put through a broken one; the 
 magnificent magnitude of which, considering it was at least half the 
 size of those now in common use, must have been looked upon with 
 no little amazement. In the open way, and leaning against the 
 side of a house, you will ever and anon encounter most creditable 
 evidence of the universal honesty of the inhabitants, in long logs of 
 fire-wood, standing on end to be taken down, and cut, and split as 
 wanted ; and the foot of the pilfi always strewn about with a semi- 
 circle of chips, proving how steadily the healthful exercise of the 
 axe is kept up in the family. But it must not be inferred that there 
 are no modern, and even comparatively splendid, mansions in East 
 Hampton, for there are some of later date, which render the quiet 
 antiquity of the rest even yet more striking. Nor must I omit to 
 name the public edifices. Of these, a one-story wooden building, 
 possibly at least eighteen feet square, is, perhaps, the oldest ; and it 
 has, from time immemorial, been alternately made use of as a school 
 house and town hall. The presiding divinity of this temple of 
 learning, in ancient times, was a celebrated dame who used to threaten 
 her male and female little ones with the terrors of " sarpints and scorp- 
 ings " in an awful cellar underneath, if they did not mind their letters 
 and their sewing. There is another more towering edifice, called Clin- 
 ton Hall ; this is an academy, and surmounted by a cupola and bell ; and 
 has held a high rank among establishments for education. I need 
 scarcely add, there is a meeting-house, too, put up more than a cen- 
 tury since, and still retaining the very steeple, bell, and clock, un- 
 changed, which graced it on its first erection, in the good old times 
 of the Province and King George the Second. A few years ago, 
 after numerous town assemblies, and perplexing and prolonged de- 
 bates, it was solemnly concluded that the interior of the old meet- 
 ing-house should, for the first time, pass under the brush ; and when 
 adorned with new colors within, it seemed, like little Rip Van Winkle, 
 with his antediluvian outside and his new perceptions, as if actually 
 exclaiming, " Is this really me ? " It is asserted, that upon this oc- 
 ca.sion an ancient maiden, whose sympathies with the meeting-house 
 were those of a coeval, and who could not bear to look upon her 
 mother-church as a painted Jezabel, cried out in an agony of pious 
 chagrin, " Aye, aye ! jest like East Hampton folks ; all for show ! " 
 At each end of the village stands a wind-mill; and near one, a pond 
 and nell- both, an un fenced grave-yard ; in the larger of which the 
 first minister is buried, being laid in such a position, by his own 
 39 
 
306 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 desire, it is said, as to enable him on his uprising to face his beloved 
 flock ! So endeared is this spot by the remembrance of the generations 
 of the good whose remains repose in it, that it is scarcely less coveted 
 for a last home by the humble here, than is Westminster Abbey by 
 the great in England. I have heard of but one exception, and that 
 in the case of an eccentric old man of the vicinity, vyho caused his 
 remains to be deposited in his own orchard, that the rascally boys 
 whom he had found so troublesome about the fruit-trees all his life- 
 time, might be kept at a due distance by the dread of his ghost 
 after he was gone. 
 
 The traditions of the place are few, but mystei'ious. I first sought 
 them in the town records ; but vast, indeed, was my perplexity on 
 only encountering notices of various inexplicable hieroglyphics 
 granted to Zephaniahs, and Ichabods, and Jeremiahs, through many 
 generations, for the respective " ear-mark " of each. Eventually, 
 however, it was relieved. I found out that these mystical " ear-marks" 
 were merely registers of the stamps upon the ears of their cattle, 
 under which the towns-people entered them, for a proportion of 
 pasturage at Montauk, to which each freeholder had a right. In 
 my further researches for less matter-of-fact antiquariauisms, I 
 was more fortunate ; and from unwritten history I learned that 
 there is a spot, in the road through the pine woods to Sag Harbor, 
 which is called the " Whooping Boy's Hollow," because in the olden 
 time, it was the scene of a child-murder ; ever since which, after 
 nightfall, screams are said to be heard there, to the infinite discom- 
 fiture of stage-drivers and belated urchins. There is a small exca- 
 vation, also, on the same wayside, said to be the very spot touched 
 by the head of the last Indian sachem, as his corpse was set down 
 by its bearers to the burial ; and in which neither pebble, nor dust, 
 nor raindrop, nor fallen leaf, ever remains, although the most untiring 
 watchfulness has not been able to detect any human hand approach- 
 ing it. There is a Lebanon cedar-tree, also, on the wide, sandy 
 heath, midway to Montauk, uprising amid tall, and thorny, and tan- 
 gled bushes, and whose close-knit branches can sustain the ominous 
 number of thirteen persons, as on a platform ; and which is immor- 
 talized by some wild tale of Indian massacre and miraculous escape. 
 But the recollections concerning the succession of clergymen, and 
 especially those touching Dr. Buell, who was famous there during, 
 and immediately after, the revolutionary war — and whose flowing 
 gown and full bottomed white wig still flourish in his portrait, and 
 are still gazed upon with undiminished reverence — form the most 
 prolific and acceptable theme of conversation among the aged ; 
 
John Howard Payne. 307 
 
 whose stories of him prove how richly he was entitled to the grati- 
 tude and the respect in which the honest-hearted villager ever holds 
 the good man's memory. 
 
 This worthy pastor, and the little old meeting-house, of which he 
 was the unforgotten ornament, and the worship there, as it is main- 
 tained even to the present duy, can never find such a chronicler as 
 they merit, unless they should meet with some new Oliver Grold- 
 smith, like our own Washington Irving. The verse-poet of sweet 
 Auburn, or the prose-poet of the Sketch Book, could have brought 
 the Sunday of this village vividly before the mind's eye; and none 
 but they. Either could have shown the congregation assembling 
 from far and near; either could have pictured the ancient wagons, 
 filled with families, jolting onward in their high-backed chairs, of 
 the fashion of the days of the Lord Protector Cromwell. The old 
 horses stop, without a hint from the rein, at the very spot — and each 
 pair plant themselves under the very tree — to which they have been 
 for so many years respectively accustomed. The cross-board is 
 drawn out of the back of the wagon , and a chair dropped to the ground , 
 upon which the grandmothers, and mothers, and aunts, are first 
 carefully helped down ; and then the younger wives and daughters 
 spring over the seat jauntily, with a light touch on the husband's, or 
 the favored suitor's, hand or shoulder, and post themselves in readi- 
 ness to catch the little ones of the latest generation, as they jump 
 into their arms, and are thence lightly launched by them upon the 
 ground. The train move slowly to their places, and the old dogs of 
 the establishment follow and stretch themselves in silent and reve- 
 rential slumber during the whole service. Every hearer — from 
 the laborer and the common sailor-boy, who is on his return to pass 
 the interval between two whaling voyages in his humble cottage 
 home, up to the solemn and consequential justice of the peace — 
 appears neatly clad, and all join in the exercises with at'ention and 
 devoutness. There is one parishioner, a respectable towns-man, 
 who could be seen driving a stage-wagon of a morning, and on the 
 evening of the same day showing the hospitalities of the village to 
 some of his stage-passengers, at his own comfortable cottage — and 
 whom I have noticed shining brilliantly on these occasions, in 
 black pantaloons, of what is called " everlasting." I was told that 
 this worthy person, when commissioned by his wife, to make a pur- 
 chase of the stuff for this garment at New York, being puzzled to 
 remenil^r its appellation, told the shopkeeper — " well, I think it 
 is tarnity cloth, or some name o' the sort ;" and upon this de- 
 scription got the material with which he dignified himself on Sua- 
 
308 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 days, and at funerals, and at merry-makings. In the psalmody of 
 the meeting-house, every voice seems to join ; and though the sing- 
 ing may sometimes seem like the motions of the down-easter, who 
 said his dancing was " not for pretty, but for tough," nevertheless 
 it is sincere ; and sincerity, however unadorned, is always impressive. 
 I have observed the ancient deacon of the congregation — whose 
 venerable locks, now grown thin and white, have been swept by a 
 hundred winters — during the entire exercises, stand in the pulpit, 
 just below the preacher, with the best of his twin listening organs 
 so upturned as to enable his dulled hearing not to lose a single syl- 
 lable of the long prayer, nor of the longer sermon ; and have also 
 been amused with the struggle upon the lip, and in the eye, of some 
 roguish little damsel, as the long, windmill arms of the excited divine, 
 with an unconscious sweep, would force the deacon, of a sudden, to 
 duck down his aged head, in order to evade the risk of an uninten- 
 tional box-on-the-ear. The very dogs of the village know the pre- 
 cise length of the service, by instinct, and at the regular moment for 
 the benediction, rise up and depart, never committing the irreverence 
 of shaking themselves, until they get outside of the great door. 
 
 Though on the way to and from the meeting-house, on Sundays, 
 the wide street of East-Hampton looks thronged and sparkling with 
 cheerful faces and bright dresses, the habits of the people are too 
 industrious to break its silence and solitude much during the week. 
 Excepting on Sundays, you will scarcely meet any groups of prome- 
 naders throughout the day-time, unless it be large flocks of geese. 
 The same multitudes of the tribe of saviours of the Roman capital, 
 which are remembered as strutting over the grass a century ago, 
 are still conspicuous there ; and a visitor, aiter an absence of at 
 least thirty years, fancied he could recognize among the numbers 
 that were engrossing the area, as if theirs by prescription, some of 
 the acquaintances from whose disdainful beaks he had often sheered 
 away in great terror and tribulation, when a child. 
 
 That quaint good feeling — that exemplary ambition to do their 
 best, in their own quiet and domestic way — which marks the man- 
 ners of the East-Iiamptoneis at the meeting-house, also appears in 
 their mode of showing hospitality to each other and to strangers ; 
 to the most welcome of whom their highest compliment is, that they 
 ^re as happy to see him as if he were General George Washington, 
 At the little parties made by ladies, there is a minute observance of 
 their own notions of fashion, both in dress and etiquette ; and per- 
 haps there is no place in the world where the tea-table epicure could 
 be gratified with equal variety in the forms of tea-table luxury. 
 
John Howard Payne. 309 
 
 Every cake, and tartlet, and tart, and pie is made at home — and for 
 the most part by the fair hands of the lady hostess herself; whose 
 ambition to outrival her neighbors in cookery, is only comparable 
 with her anxiety to make her attentions acceptable to her guests. 
 It is delightful to mark the triumphant gladness which glistens in 
 the good lady's eyes, as she sees her dainties devoured; and it is 
 curious to observe how character, and even the eflFects of local, and 
 sometimes political, partisanship, may be read in the silent, but elo- 
 quent, eagerness with which some of the kind-hearted neighbors 
 will show their friendship, by eating away most unconquerably, 
 though they are full ; and others, their jealousy and ill will, by most 
 invidiously and slanderously only nibbling, though they are empty. 
 The various dishes, and the various degrees of skill shown in pre- 
 paring them, are of course a subject of animated gossip the next 
 day, especially if there be a quilting party anywhere ; and estab- 
 lished in her domestic glory, indeed, is the newly-settled-down young 
 wife, after her first tea-party, if she escape unscathed the ordeal of 
 the prophecying, petticoat critics upon it. She may then hope for 
 the standard epitaph, whenever she shall take her place in the grave- 
 yard by the pond, that she was " a virtuous woman, and a crown to 
 her husband." 
 
 There is another form in which honest pride displays itself 
 among the female villagers — that of excelling each other in the 
 manufacture of their own bed-quilts, and curtains, and fringes, and 
 carpets, and rugs. At a house furnished by the handiwork of 
 beautiful young girls — a homestead where, from the very sheet 
 upward, every material was home-made — I could not resist the 
 desire to seek a sight of the fair artists and their famed productions ; 
 and, although half afraid of a repulse upon such an errand, I found 
 the grace and the good nature of my reception quite on a par with 
 the surpassing beauty of the work I was asked to look at. Tbere 
 was a manifest pride in this evidence of a reputation for industry ; 
 and how much more in character with the republican spirit of our 
 institutions is such a pride, than that of an heiress in her diamonds, 
 and equipage, and millions ! And with all the devotedness of these 
 village females to domestic duties, and the love of order and of 
 neatness, no lack appears among them of mental acquirement. A 
 young girl, capable of adorning the best society, has been seen there 
 scrubbing her floor with one hand, and pushing forward one of Miss 
 Edgewyth's volumes, which she was reading, to keep it in a dry 
 spot, with the other : and I have perused, from the pen of another 
 native female, yet resident there, scraps of sentimental, and of satiri- 
 
310 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 cal, and of patriotic poetry, which sweet L. E. L., in her happiest 
 inspirations, might have been proud of producing. 
 
 The entertainments of the men at East- Hampton are, of course, 
 of a severer character. The greatest among them is that of draw- 
 ing the seine on the Atlantic. A horn is sounded at day-break, 
 whenever the sea gives promise of abundance, and all the men, of 
 all orders and conditions, hurry to the beach in their boat toggery; 
 from head to foot all " suffer a sea-change," so thorough that the 
 well-dressed yeoman of the preceding night is not to be recognized. 
 The boats put off, and ere long all hands are pulling at the net-ropes, 
 waist-deep in the water, and the sands are swarming with heaps of 
 fish of every description, the greater part of which are used for the 
 purpose of being left to decay upon the fields for manure. The 
 hideous and poisonous sting-ray is usually among the captives ; and 
 I have seen from fifteen to twenty sharks strewn upon the shore 
 from a single haul. Even the whale will occasionally appear in the 
 distance, completing the majesty of the ocean prospect. These 
 scenes are ever sources of no ordinary excitement on this part of 
 the coast; and such is the inspiration of the sound of the horn-call 
 to the sea, that all the male creation of the village rush forth on the 
 instant. A Connecticut notion-monger who announced the arrival 
 of his peddling cart there one morning by the sound of his own 
 horn, was astonished to find every house suddenly depopulated of all 
 the holders of the purse-strings. The signal had been mistaken 
 for a call to the seine-drawing. It may be, that a taste for the ad- 
 ventures of the ocean is awakened in the younger villagers by these 
 sights of grandeur, and the stir of these minor dangers ; for their 
 first thoughts are generally turned to a ship-board life, and they 
 early wander far, most frequently upon whaling voyages. " There 
 lives a man," said a young East-Hamptoner to nie, as we rode by a 
 cottage a few miles from the village, " who has made a competency by 
 whaling, and retired from public life !" I have listened upon the 
 sands, as the surf was dashing and sparkling at our feet, to harrow- 
 ing narratives of bright hopes, broken by this irrepressible thirst to 
 tempt fortune on the deep. I have heard a warm-hearted and intel- 
 ligent sister disclose, in faltering accents, the sad story of her young 
 brother, who would not be dissuaded from the peril, even by a lovely 
 relation, who, when yet a mere child, remonstrated with him in a 
 letter, of which the ready memory of the sister retained the follow- 
 ing sweet burst of artless eloquence : " Recollect, a mariner's life is 
 one of hardship, toil and danger. Think of the many anxious 
 hearts you will leave among your friends. Even I, in some cold. 
 
John Howard Payne. 311 
 
 stormy night, when the wind whistles so mournfully about the 
 house, and seems to bid defiance to the other elements — even I shall 
 then think of my poor little cousin, exposed to all the inclemencies 
 of the weather, rocked by Boreas in his hammock, and, perhaps, 
 thinking or dreaming of his dear native village and the cheerful 
 fireside he has left, to learn his lesson of life, and mayhap to find 
 his grave in its bosom, with nought but the billow to sing his death- 
 song " And the apprehension was prophetic. The poor lad, when 
 his ship was sweeping before a gale, through the Indian ocean, 
 ran aloft to furl a sail, as the mast broke, and he was heard to ex- 
 claim, " God save me !" when the ship, uncontrollably, dashed 
 onward, and he was seen no more ! Volumes might be filled with 
 the romances of real life, which sometimes beguile the evenings on 
 this wild ocean-border; and often have I desired the graphic power 
 to detain on paper a scene of the sort, in which I was once a sharer. 
 The gentle monitor of her lost cousin sat with his sisters and some 
 others on the beach. Anecdotes of the sea had made the time glide 
 away unperceived, and the conversation was wound up by an unaf- 
 fected song from the innocent girl, in which devotion so beautifully 
 mingled with touchingly appropriate allusion, that no taste, no 
 science, no execution of the finest melodists in the world, could 
 have rivalled the pathetic influence of the untaught music. To 
 imagine its spell, it must be associated with the impressive recol- 
 lections ; with the soft breeze rippling over the calm ocean ; with 
 the waves mildly breaking, then falling back in diamond sparkles, as 
 they met the moonbeam; and with the vast wilderness of out- 
 stretched waters beyond, gradually more and more confused by dis- 
 tance, till at length undistinguishably blended with the black mist 
 over the horizon, which seemed the only veil between the beholder 
 and eternity. 
 
 It may be readily inferred that, in such a village as I have de- 
 scribed, the aged must naturally feel extremely sensitive about any 
 omen of innovation. The old families are devoutly attached to their 
 old homes, and though I have known but fifteen dollars a year to 
 be asked for the only house to be hired at one time in the place, 
 the same cost and trouble which would secure a lot in East Hampton, 
 might obtain one of ten times the marketable value elsewhere, so 
 much beyond lucre do the inhabitants prize their modest independ- 
 ence. With such feelings, we cannot wonder at the distaste for all 
 intruder^ Hence it happened that when a steamboat from New 
 York to Sag Harbor made the seclusion readily accessible to city 
 rovers in quest of sea air and rurality, the irruption of the bar- 
 
312 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 barians of aristocracy and fashion gave the old settlers evident con- 
 cern ; and when an accident abruptly stopped the new-fangled facility 
 of approach, it was a source of exultation among some, that East 
 Hampton need no longer tremble for her purity, because the mad- 
 ness was over; the good old ways were returning; the old stage- 
 coach had gone out, as formerly, with a passenger and a portmanteau ; 
 and there were no more arrivals of the unknown from vicious large 
 cities, to stir up extravagant ideas in the well disposed, and unsettle 
 the husbandman from his dependence on his plough, by dreams of 
 speculation. It is true, there might have been grounds for uneasi- 
 ness. Some alarming cases of genius had actually broken out among 
 them. Many a head is even to this day shaken at the sad delusion 
 under which an old inhabitant, who invented a combined flour-mill 
 and threshing machine and another, who fashioned an orrery, imitat- 
 ing by mechanism the movements of our planetary system, in their 
 exact proportions, have both not only wasted time, but actually ex- 
 pended money ! For such prejudices, however, the generation in which 
 they prevail, is scarcely to be held accountable ; these good people 
 have communicated but little with the wider world, so little, that an 
 aged one among them, after having been inveigled in a mischievous 
 young friend's wagon, for the first time, to the neighbouring town 
 of Southhold, is said to have exclaimed in amazement, " Who could 
 have thought that Amerikey had been so big ! " This wonderer 
 may have been of the same tribe with the maiden of three-score and 
 ten, who, after a hurricane which succeeded a grand scholars' exhi- 
 bition of dialogues in the Clinton Hall Academy, cried out, with 
 sanctimonious consternation, " This is that plaguy 'cademy work, I 
 know! A judgment is fell upon the town!" But T apprehend 
 that it would be impracticable, for even much more potent jealousies 
 permanently to shut out the dreaded changes. The sweet solitude 
 of East Hampton is inevitably destined to interruption from the cityc 
 and many an eye, wearied with the glare of foreign and domesti; 
 grandeur, will, ere long, lull itself to repose in the quiet beauty of 
 this village. It will revel in its day-break ocean-sports. It will 
 delight in its summer sunset, which, as the gazer from the rising 
 ground, at the western extremity, looks down the long and ample 
 street, flings giant shadows upon the grass, and gilds the tree-tops 
 and the nearer wind-mill, and the chimneys, and the academy cupola, 
 and the little meeting-house spire opposite, and the distant tavern- 
 sign, swinging between two posts in the centre of the road, and the 
 far off wind-mill ; while the geese strut with slow and measured state- 
 liness to their repose, and the cottagers upon the benches, projecting 
 from before each side of many of the cottage-doors, talk news or 
 
John Howard Payne. 313 
 
 scandal, or pertinaciously bicker away about politics and religion, 
 though they are said never to have voted but on one side, and never 
 to have listened to a sermon out of their own sect. 
 
 Such, then, was East-Hampton, where the hapless, '* neglected 
 poet" of this narrative became naturalized, by one of the accidents 
 of his random kind of life, as a member of this quiet, simple and 
 primitive little community. Such, at least, it was a few years ago ; 
 and with the exception of the slight changes I have specifically re- 
 corded above, I may safely guarantee that such it was at the date 
 referred to. Another number will be necessary to complete the 
 narrative, of which it is the object to rescue from entire oblivion a 
 name well entitled to the tribute, by the double right of genius and 
 of misfortune. 
 
 PART n. 
 
 I hope the reader will be the more ready to receive this minute 
 picture of East-Hampton with indulgence, when he shall consider 
 the influence the place was calculated to exercise upon the mind of 
 our poet, and that it was here it began to disclose itself most vigor- 
 ously. When the small stock of money which Johnson had brought 
 with him from his last school-speculation, was again exhausted, he 
 made a bargain, which, after the view I have given of the modes of 
 thinking in East-Hampton, it will be seen, must have raised him 
 considerably in the public estimation ; he contracted to pay his board 
 there with a cabinet-maker, by working for him two days in the 
 week, leaving the remainder of his time at his own disposal for study. 
 When it was seen with what readiness and finish the young poet- 
 schoolmaster could turn out chairs and tables, and all sorts of fur- 
 niture, it was admitted that the village had never been graced by 
 so miraculous a genius. Every door was opened to him, and he 
 was the pride and the favorite of all, and especially, it would seem, 
 of the young ladies. To his professional studies, however, he gave 
 but little time ; and how he could have derived the slightest benefit, 
 even from his miscellaneous reading, seems unaccountable, for 
 though he appeared to make extraordinary proficiency in every 
 branch of general knowledge, he was never known to give more 
 than half an hour to any one book, before he would fling it aside 
 and take to another. Some of the time which was not engrossed 
 by his mechanical labors, was passed in acquiring a little French and 
 Italian ; out the greater part of it in visiting from house to house, 
 in playing upon his violin, and sometimes in playing upon the hearts 
 40 
 
314 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 of the young girls of the village, which he attacked both in prose 
 and poetry, and, it would seem, not unfrequently with success. 
 
 The siege of a heart in the olden time, I believe, was apt to begin 
 with a rebus, and when affairs grew serious, it would come to an 
 acrostic ; for, especially in the latter case, the lady's name must be 
 so unalterably interwoven with the declaration, that there could be 
 no mistake, the lover was nailed, and so was the compliment ; even 
 were the lady insensible, the verses could not be transferred to 
 any new object. Of these rebuses and acrostics, I find not a few 
 bearing the date of the period now in question, all of which are pe- 
 culiarly easy and graceful ; yet 1 shall quote but one specimen, and 
 that not of a set of love-couplets, but an address to a worthy clergy- 
 man, the Reverend Herman Dagget: 
 
 Happy the soul, which, on religion's wings, 
 
 Exalts her glorious flight to worlds above, 
 Bapt from the sinful ties of earthly things, 
 
 Melts into transports of celestial love, 
 And ev'n on earth makes Heav'n her blest abode, 
 
 Nor know^s a wish that centres not in God ! 
 Dauntless this soul, this soaring soul, shall sing, 
 
 As, eagle-like, it gazes on the sky, 
 " Great king of terrors, Where's thy vaunted sting? 
 
 Grave ! boasting grave ! where is thy victory ! 
 Exert your pow'rs ! ye can but brush away 
 
 The dust that soils my robes, — th'indecent clay, 
 That keeps me from the realms of bliss and endless day ! " 
 
 In one of his love-poems at this time we find the following happy 
 application of the incident at the marriage feast of Cana. The reader 
 must bear in mind, in appreciating the merits of my quotations, the 
 youth, the imperfect and desultory education, and circumstances of 
 the author, as also the material fact of the different tone and style 
 characterizing the poetry of the present day from that of half a 
 century ago. Without here discussing the respective merits of the 
 two, I merely allude to the fact, to designate the school with which 
 the verses of poor Johnson, to which a public notice is now for the 
 first time extended, must be compared. 
 
 Stern fate, severely cruel, fills 
 
 Life's bitter and disgusting cup, 
 With drops of joy, to seas of ills. 
 
 And we must drink the potion up. 
 
 But love corrects the nauseous draught, 
 
 And makes it nectar all divine, 
 As he whose blood our souls has bought, 
 
 Transformed the water into wine ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 315 
 
 The following beautiful couplet, which I find among his papers 
 of the present date, written as an epitaph on a lady, I cannot refrain 
 from quoting : 
 
 Here sleep in dust, and wait the Almighty's will, 
 Then rise unchang'd, and be an angel still. 
 
 Among his various amatory stanzas, are the following upon the 
 falling of some flakes of snow into the bosom of one of the village 
 belles, whom he was escorting through a storm : 
 
 To kiss my Celia's fairer breast, 
 
 The snow forsakes its native skies, 
 But proving an unwelcome guest. 
 
 It grieves, dissolves in tears, and dies. 
 
 Its touch, like mine, but serves to wake 
 Through all her frame a death-like chill, — 
 
 Its tears, like those I shed, to make 
 That icy bosom colder still. 
 
 I blame her not ; from Celia's eyes 
 
 A common fate beholders proved — 
 Each swain, each fair one, weeps and dies, — 
 
 With envy these, and those with love I 
 
 But whatever Celia may have been, the poet's assiduities seem not 
 to have been eventually wasted, for ere long we find him addressing 
 " Celia Jealous : " 
 
 What earthquake heaves those hills of bliss ? 
 
 That breast, th'Elysium of my soul ? 
 Into that more than Paradise 
 
 What fiend accurst has stole ? 
 
 Now, from th' accustom'd kiss away 
 That opening rose-bud quivering shrinks ; — 
 
 And now these precious fountains play ; 
 The liquid pearl now sorrow drinks ! 
 
 Like sapphires seen in melting snow, 
 Those eyes through tears new radiance dart, 
 
 Each brow is Cupid's bended bow, 
 Each glance his arrow to my heart, &c., &c. 
 
 With half a dozen more stanzas which I refrain from quoting, as 
 they exhibit the impudence of justifying his numerous infidelities, 
 as the best evidences of the constant afiection which always brings 
 him bacK to the true home of his heart. 
 
 Ilis love-effusions, addressed to different shrines, at about this 
 time, arc very numerous, and many of them very happy. By way 
 
316 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 of variety, however, he is occasionally found addressing the colder 
 Goddess of Friendship, whom in several of the former he treats very 
 unceremoniously : 
 
 Friendship, sweet power ! whose fires divine 
 
 Our souls exalt, unite, and bless, 
 I kneel before thy sacred shrine. 
 
 And with this verse thine altar dress. 
 
 'Tis not in thee, the crimson shame 
 
 O'er cheeks of innocence to bring ; 
 But sweet thy joys, and pure thy flame 
 
 As the flow'r-scented breath of spring. 
 
 Through boundless nature's various plan 
 
 Thy spreading charm diffus'd we see, 
 From insect-atoms up to man. 
 
 And heaven were joyless but for thee. 
 
 Thou fair ! whose fiat shapes my doom, 
 What's love without this softening pow'r ? 
 
 A fire, that kindles to consume ! 
 A savage, conquering to devour ! 
 
 First, love should fix the welcome chain. 
 Then calmer friendship claim its turn, — 
 
 For rapture, long intense, is pain, 
 
 But souls should glow that cease to burn. 
 
 Presently, however, he gets exclusively tender again, and despair- 
 ingly addresses a new goddess, deploring that his poverty should 
 make his love so hopeless : 
 
 See ! where to its maternal stem 
 
 Yon filial flow'ret fondly clings — 
 The poet's sweet, unconscious theme — 
 
 And heedless of the lay he sings : 
 
 More fragrant far than parent bush. 
 
 Than flowery Hybla's scented gale ; 
 And sweeter far that flow'ret's blush 
 
 Than May's first morning's dew-gemm'd veil. 
 
 And shall some blest triumphant swain, 
 How blest, — how more than doubly blest, — 
 
 Win this wild empress of the plain, 
 And wear it on his raptur'cl breast ? 
 
 Were I — but, ah ! no cultur'd plains 
 
 Nor gardens for such sweets I boast ! 
 My locks are drench'd with driving rains, 
 
 Nor hous'd my head from winter's frost. 
 
John Howard Payne. 317 
 
 'Tis mine, uncottag'd and unclad, 
 
 Chill storms, with purpled breast, to brave, 
 And struggle onward, faint and sad. 
 
 To sink into my home, the grave I 
 
 But still thus humbly and remote, 
 
 I sure may view a flower so fair, 
 And bless the too distinguish' d lot 
 
 That bids me breathe the ambient air. 
 
 The two following descriptive pieces will serve to give a just idea 
 of the development of his mind at that period. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 Now grim amidst his gathering glooms, 
 
 Lo ! angry Winter rushes forth : 
 Destruction with the despot comes, 
 
 And all the tempests of the north. 
 
 What time he thunders o'er the heath, 
 
 Each scene that charm'd, in terror flies, 
 Creation feels his gelid breath, 
 
 Affrighted nature shrieks and dies. 
 
 Perplex'd and sad, these scenes among, 
 
 The pondering soul, with fainting steps, 
 Quite sick of being, plods along, 
 
 And o'er the mighty ruin weeps ; 
 
 Or lifts the longing eye, and sighs 
 
 For milder climes and lovelier meads, 
 A vernal hour, that never flies. 
 
 And flowers, that rear immortal heads ; 
 
 Where ne'er, unchain'd, the maniac blast 
 Scours the bleak heavens, with hideous scream ; 
 
 Where skies of sapphire, ne'er o'ercast, 
 Incessant pour the golden beam. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 'Tis May ! no more the huntsman finds 
 
 The lingering snow behind the hill ; 
 Her swelling bosom pregnant earth unbinds, 
 
 And love and joy creation fill. 
 
 ^ Over the glassy streamlet's brink. 
 
 Young verdures peep, tliomsolvos to view; 
 At noon the tipsied insects sit and drink 
 From flowery cups the honeyed dew. 
 
318 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 Deep crimsoned in the dyes of spring, 
 
 On every side broad orchards rise, 
 Soft waving to the breeze's balmy wing, 
 
 Like dancing lights in northern skies. 
 
 In ditties wild, devoid of thought. 
 
 The robin through the day descants ; 
 The pensive whip-poor-will, behind the cot 
 
 Her dirge, at evening, sadly chants. 
 
 Queen of the months, soft blushing May ! 
 
 Forever bright, forever dear. 
 Oh, let our prayers prolong thy little stay, 
 
 And exile winter from the year ! 
 
 Life, love, and joy, to thee belong, — 
 
 Thee fly the storm and lurid cloud. 
 Thou givest the heavens their blue, the groves their song, 
 
 Thou com'st, and nature laughs aloud. 
 
 Let prouder swains forsake the cell. 
 
 In arms or arts, to rise and shine, — 
 I blame them not — alas! I wish them well — 
 
 But May and Solitude be mine ! 
 
 Dr. Sage, who was a person of amiability, intellect, skill and in- 
 tegrity, in a letter now before me describes the present crisis of 
 Johnson's career. He says that at the close of the two years passed 
 in so desultory a manner under him, at East Hampton, Johnson was 
 "well versed in the most common theories of physic, was a most 
 ready mathematician and natural philosopher, was master of the prin- 
 ciples of music." He " possessed," adds the doctor, " a most accu- 
 rate and grammatical knowledge of his own language, understood 
 French, had some knowledge of Italian, and could translate with the 
 greatest ease any Latin author, almost without having recourse to a 
 dictionary. He appeared to have considerable taste and knowledge 
 in architecture ; could use with skill almost all kinds of tools, and 
 even excelled in many of the mechanic arts ; in short, whatever he 
 undertook in mechanism, he executed with the neatness of a first- 
 rate workman." Dr. Sage afterwards remarks : " It has often sur- 
 prised me, that, at twenty years of age, and with such idle, unsteady 
 habits, Johnson should possess such variety and degree of knowledge. 
 Where and how he could acquire it all, unless by intuition, I could 
 never imagine. He was a runaway boy, and had been most of his 
 life traveling from one part of the country to another, without 
 friends, and the most of the time poor, dependent, and wretched. 
 When pinched with adversity, his feelings and temperament were 
 such, that he was wretched indeed ; and if his better stars, at any 
 
John Howard Payne. 319 
 
 time, should light up a little comfortable gleam of prosperity about 
 him, he was such a careless, wretched economist, that he wasted it 
 without an eflfort towards its continuation or enlargement. 'Tis true, 
 he was capable of enjoying, in a high degree, the blessing as it 
 passed, and without vexing himself with the probabilities, or even 
 certainties, of to-morrow's reverse. He was enthusiastic in his friend 
 ships J and, I believe, sincere. He was generous ; he felt for the 
 wretched and unfortunate; in his resentment he was quick, and, 
 from a certain impetuosity of temper, often inconsiderate and rash ; 
 but soon forgot these. He changed with rapidity from object to 
 object; for his feelings were so acute aud so easily excited, that he 
 was generally governed by the impressions of the moment." 
 
 With such a disposition, there was little probability that Johnson, 
 even with all the attractions he found in East Hampton, would have 
 remained there permanently. Indeed, perhaps those very attrac- 
 tions may have hastened his departure. His compositions, beside 
 the evidence of dissatisfaction at his present limited sphere of men- 
 tal action, and inglorious obscurity, indicate, as he proceeds, a 
 striking change in his personal words ; and it would almost seem 
 that he had not fluttered so long around the light of love, without 
 at last burning his wings. His temper was now evidently grown 
 morbid. As he ceased to write mere love-verses, he became more 
 and more sensitive and satirical : 
 
 The following epigram, written at this time, and which I find 
 among the poet's manuscripts, will serve as an instance of this bitter 
 spirit, like " moody madness laughing wild" at the idea of any pos- 
 sibility of happiness : 
 
 " Life is a jest," — but God himself must own 
 A sadder jest on earth was never known : 
 The sides of heav'n must split to see such fun, 
 In terrors ended, as in tears begun. 
 Lo ! there,^ a wretch, extended on the rack ; 
 See his veins spout, and hear Iiis sinews crack ; 
 And if a keener jest is your desire, 
 Go, take liis place, — and laugli till you expire ! 
 
 The views of our poet at this stage of his course, seem to have 
 been directed for some time towards a change of place ; and he at 
 length prepares to quit East Hampton, and try his fate in a larger 
 sphere than he has yet attempted He determines to plunge boldly 
 into tl^^ city of New York. Even supposing him to have been hurt 
 in his aff"ections, he must have contemplated, with intense anxiety, 
 his approaching departure from a spot endeared to him by so many 
 kindnesses, and where he had a home in every cottage. The thought 
 
320 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 of exchanging so kind a village for the dreariest of all solitudes, the 
 solitude of a crowd of strangers, must, to a miud constituted like 
 that of Johnson, have been withering indeed. 
 
 The popular verse-makers of New York city were, at that period, 
 Richard B. Davis, whose works have been preserved by one of the 
 Irvings; St. John Honeywood, whose writings appeared under the 
 patronage of the late Judge Hoffman ; Richard Alsop, advantage- 
 ously remembered, not only for original productions in great pro- 
 fusion, but for able translations from the Italian ; Mrs. Faugieres, 
 whose Tragedy of Belisarius, and whose lines upon various occasions, 
 especially one collection of them, illustrative of the Hudson river, 
 are spoken of with much praise ; and the memory of whose mother, 
 Mrs. Ann Eliza Bleeker, was still cherished equally for her genius 
 and her trials. A mind like that of Johnson must have met the 
 works and story of Mrs. Bleeker, which appeared somewhere about 
 the date of his arrival at New York, with no common interest. 
 Her wilderness-flight on foot, from the inroad of Burgoyne's army, 
 bearing her young daughters with her, one of them an infant ; her 
 garret-shelter, and the loss of her babe from the exposure ; her 
 despair afterwards, at the mysterious disappearance of her husband 
 when carried off from his farm by the British ; the almost fatal 
 effects of her rapturous surprise at his unexpected restoration ; and 
 her final crush in death from sensibility already fearfully shaken, 
 when, returning to her native city, she found it desolated by the 
 war, and bereaved of all her early friends, could not but excite 
 Johnson strongly. Nevertheless, he could not avoid noticing how 
 little the praises upon every tongue had contributed to the prosperity 
 of the subject of them ; and how utterly the genius of the mother, 
 aided by the influence of connections, and the spell of romantic as- 
 sociations, a genius which her surviving daughter had inherited and 
 improved, failed, notwithstanding it was honored with surpassing 
 homage, lamentably failed in benefiting the worldly fortunes of 
 Mrs. Faugieres. The inference was obvious; and Johnson cast 
 sternly away the hopes which he had brought with him to the me- 
 tropolis, of working out distinction and prosperity by means of his 
 poetical genius ; and, reduced to all the extremities of unfriended 
 youth and genius in the solitude of a city, we see him struggling for 
 a mere support of life, in any nameless occupation, such as, a news- 
 printer's and bookseller's drudge, an under teacher, in short, as any 
 thing which would enable him to pay his way in his studies to be- 
 come a physician. The person with whom he studied was Dr.Amasa 
 Dingley, to whose friendly kindness he appears to have cherished a 
 warm sense of gratitude, and whom he characterizes, in a poetical 
 
John Howard Payne. 321 
 
 epistle addressed to him, as possessed of the " heart of Howard, and 
 the head of Brown." 
 
 Nor was Dr. Dingley the only person of talent and worth with whom 
 he became a favorite. He seems to have been upon terms of great 
 cordiality, not only with all the distinguished persons of the time, in 
 his own destined profession, but with the most esteemed among the 
 authors and the artists. There are, no doubt, many still living in New 
 York, who, should these pages ever meet their view, may bring to 
 mind the subject of this sketch, and be ready to acknowledge the 
 truth of this testimony in his favor. His most intimate associate 
 was young Joseph Osborn, who being a profound classical scholar, a 
 critic of refined taste, and equally accomplished and amiable, was, 
 undoubtedly, a very valuable friend, as well as delightful companion, 
 to Johnson. 
 
 During the intimacy at New York between these young students, 
 Johnson's attention seems to have been directed principally to 
 studies of the Greek and Roman models in their original languages; 
 and his productions to have been confined to translations. Of these, 
 there are, among his papers, several of great vigor and beauty; be- 
 sides versions of passages in the sacred scriptures, and of parts of 
 Ossian. 
 
 But, agreeable, and intellectually profitable, as such intimacies 
 must have proved to Johnson, the persons with whom he found him- 
 self most at home, were all of them nearly as ill oflF in the world as 
 he was; and the occupation of newspaper paragraphing, and school 
 usherships, even in our improved times generally pre-occupied, and 
 never more than an exceeding lean and precarious resource, were, 
 in his, equally overstocked from the inexhaustible East, and still less 
 productive than at present to the incumbent ; and as for the pro- 
 pensity to rhyme, it seemed to be considered at best but an amiable 
 weakness, only tending to empty pockets; poetry was the most un- 
 marketable of all literary drugs. Though every one acknowledged 
 the promise Johnson gave of splendid powers ; though every one 
 confessed how disgraceful it would be to allow such powers to " rest 
 unused," and though the patriotic congratulated the country on the 
 splendid hopes afforded by such early excellence, it does not appear 
 that he was substantially fostered by those who could have turned 
 his qualifications into useful channels, and made them a blessing to 
 his age, and an honor to his character. It unfortunately happened, 
 too, that the period in question was one in which the effects of the 
 French Revolutionary effervescence were in full action among us, 
 and when the multitudes were on the alert to make the success of 
 41 
 
322 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 novelties in government a plea for extending them to religion. The 
 activity of error in seeking and promoting proselytes is proverbial : 
 it has been accounted for by the feverish and self-doubting anxiety 
 to fortify itself by the sanction of the enlightened ; and it is not to 
 be wondered at, that a mind like Johnson's should have been assidu- 
 ously courted by those who desired all the aids of enthusiasm and of 
 eloquence, to help onward a bad cause. Ridicule is the favorite 
 weapon exercised by such spirits upon the young and ambitious, and 
 there are few minds capable of resisting its influence. It happened, 
 moreover, unfortunately, that, at a time when Johnson was exposed 
 to the dangerous atmosphere described by the poet, when " The world 
 will call you fool^" was ringing in his ears, it was the evil destiny 
 of his destitution to cast him in the way of a New York publisher, 
 who had already given currency to many of the infidel works most 
 in vogue abroad, and who sought fresh fuel for the spreading flame. 
 ^-Ihere was a French work, by Boulanger, entitled Christiam'sme 
 Devoile. The publisher we allude to found Johnson, not only full 
 of talent and entirely out of funds, but well versed in French, and 
 desperate for want of employ. The rest may be easily imagined. 
 He was lured into a translation from Boulanger, enforced by an ori- 
 ginal preface ; and this is, unfortunately, the only work of his ever 
 printed with his name, unless it be a scrap or two of verse, in obso- 
 lete magazines, since his decease. The volume excited much atten- 
 tion. Johnson, was at first, dazzled by its popularity. But his 
 greatest gratfication seems to have arisen from his certainty that its 
 appearance would give so much delight to his first protector, Captain 
 Albee. He sent a fiuely ornamented copy of it to his early domicile, 
 at Wrentham. The old captain was enraptured at the remembrance; 
 and at such magnificent evidence, according to his mode of think- 
 ing, that the ancient flourishings of the rope's end over his pet pro- 
 teg6 had at last " done the state some service." 
 
 In a country where native fame of every sort is so transitory as 
 in ours, there is scarcely reason to wonder at the necessity for re- 
 minding the reader of the present day, that, some forty years ago, 
 a few distinguished persons of Connecticut were regarded as a 
 galaxy of the most brilliant stars of our literature and fine arts. 
 There were young aspirants who obtained praise for great promise ; 
 but Dwight, the TrumbuUs, Humphreys, Hopkins, and some others, 
 now entirely forgotten, were looked upon as established in imperish- 
 able glory. But the greatest of these temporary immortalities was 
 that of Joel Barlow. He, who from a poor eastern lad, had been a 
 soldier, an attorney, a Congregational minister, again a lawyer, and 
 who, having afterwards risen through the occupations of a shop- 
 
JouN Howard Payne. 323 
 
 keeper, vending in Connecticut his own edition of psalms and hymns, 
 of a land speculator, of an apostle of religious infidelity, of a politi- 
 cal reformer in Europe, up to that of an ambassador, representing 
 his native country abroad in diplomacy; was now also its representa- 
 tive in literature. The epic poem upon Columbus, at the epoch in 
 question, had been already published, not only in Paris, with a dedi- 
 cation accepted by the king, but in London, — a greater honor than 
 any American poem had received ; and its author was looked up to 
 as possessing that universal renown and influence which gave his 
 approval the potency of an oracle. To Joel Barlow, thus surrounded 
 with glory and with power, the translation of which we have spoken 
 was submitted by its publisher, who was his friend. Johnson's 
 general talents, of course, came under the notice of the momentary 
 Homer, and they were considered as too remarkable not to be encou- 
 raged for the darling purposes of the hour. In a letter written by 
 Mr. Barlow, from Hamburg on the 23d of May, 1795, he says : 
 
 ** I am glad to see a translation, and so good a one, of Boulanger's 
 Christianisme DevoiU. It is remarkably correct and elegant. I 
 have not had time to compare the whole of the translation with the 
 original, but so far as I have compared it, I never saw a better one. 
 I wish Mr. Johnson would go on and give us the next volume, the 
 history of that famous mountebank called St. Paul. I should think 
 these two works would give such a currency to the author in Ame- 
 rica, that the translator might be encouraged to go on and complete 
 his whole works, especially L' Antiquhe Devoile and his Oriental 
 Despotism. I do not know that these works have been translated; 
 if they have, they are probably not done so well as this translator 
 would do them." 
 
 Considering the immense weight of Mr, Barlow's opinion at that 
 time, and the prevalence of more levity upon subjects of vital import, 
 than has since been found to be compatible with either common sense, 
 or the real " age of reason," it is almost to be wondered at that John- 
 son did not become a sacrifice to this encouragement; but he did not. 
 The fact, that " his poverty, but not his will, consented " to this prosti- 
 tution of his talent, is evident from a letter written to a bosom friend, 
 even while under the full influence of his devotedness to the task : 
 " Far be it from me," observes he, " to suggest anything against true 
 religious experiences ! They are the most desirable, at all events ; 
 and may they increase till the millenium shall shed its heavenly 
 influence over a regenerated earth ! Would to God they might beam 
 through my soul, with the heat of the love, and the light of the 
 knowledge, of Jesus of Nazareth !" The right aspirations, of which 
 these words disclose a glimmering, gained strength. Johnson made 
 
324 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 no more publications of the sort recommended by Mr. Barlow. On 
 the contrary, he lamented bitterly the error he had already committed. 
 " 1 do not believe'' observes he, in a letter to a friend not long after- 
 wards, " that Boxdanger' s sentiments concerning the Christian religion 
 are just. I believe the most prominent features of the monster in 
 question are sophistry and rancour." The Roman Catholic notion, 
 mentioned by Addison, that an author's soul remains in purgatory so 
 long as his writings continue to do evil, conveys a striking image of 
 what a sensitive spirit like that of Johnson must have endured, from 
 the consciousness which these paragraphs prove to have been dawning 
 upon him, of the poison he had flung upon the winds, and could not 
 now recall and smother. It is impossible for the splendid sentiment 
 of Cowley, on the works of the poet being the last to perish in the 
 final wreck of matter, 
 
 " Now all the wide extended sky, 
 And all th' harmonious worlds on high, 
 And Virgil's sacred works, shall die," 
 
 to be too often impressed upon the minds of those who can make 
 an enchanter's wand of the pen, and yet not remember, while they 
 are so doing, the enormous responsibility involved in the power 
 which is the last conquerable by death in his last triumph, — the power 
 of genius. To any one who feels, with Milton, that books are "as 
 lively and as vigorously productive as those fabulous dragons' teeth ; 
 and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men," 
 how awful may be the conviction that even penitence for having 
 uttered a wrong book, cannot kill its destructiveness ; but the giant 
 to which a depraved fancy has given birth, will still go on, like 
 Frankenstein's fiend, mocking the impotent horror of its maker, when, 
 on beholding his own creation in life and action, his awakened rea- 
 son shows it to be malignant and a monster ! Even thus stinging 
 was the remorse of Johnson at his error, as is evident from another 
 passage of the letter already quoted : " Persuasion and Poverty in- 
 duced me to translate this work of Boulanger. I have risen the 
 steep of education at the expense of many a struggle, and, in mid- 
 air, [ avoided a fall, by seizing upon the first shrub that invited my 
 hand. It was a thorn, and do not imagine that 1 escaped without a 
 wound. My name was prefixed to the work, contrary to my wish, 
 and without my knowledge." 
 
 Three prominent events, not far apart, occurred after this in the 
 history of Johnson ; an attachment grew up between him and a 
 young lady of superior character and endowments ; he was near 
 becoming the victim of a malignant fever; and a proposal was sent 
 
John Howard Payne. 325 
 
 to him for commencing practice in partnership with an eminent 
 physician in Georgetown, South Carolina. Of the attentions he 
 received during the illness to which we now allude, in one of his 
 letters he speaks thus : " The New York epidemic conducted me to 
 the brink of the grave, and I am to thank Dingley, Osborn, and some 
 other friends that I did not tumble in. So soon as I could support 
 a removal, I went to Long Island, where I stayed until a few days 
 ago. Charles Goodrich came to see me while I was sick, and spoke 
 to me so kindly, that I was too deeply affected to make him any 
 answer, but what might be interpreted from my tears. Osborn 
 watched with me several nights, and exhibited the most impressive 
 proofs that his friendship for me was not to be shaken by any con- 
 siderations of personal danger. The young gentlemen, also, of my 
 medical acquaintance showed me every kindness that generosity 
 and friendship could dictate. Doctor Dingley effected my removal, 
 and Doctor McLean resigned to me his own furnished apartment. 
 How wrong are those who preach the universal and total depravity 
 of human nature ! Who in my situation could, without indignation, 
 hear it asserted that mankind are naturally in a state of perpetual 
 hostility, and that human nature always inclines to vice and malig- 
 nity ? Unite with me, my friend, in undeceiving those who calum- 
 niate our race ! " Upon his convalescence, it was supposed that an 
 entire change of place would do him service; and he was now more 
 anxious than ever for an establishment, that he might entitle him- 
 self to the hand of one who had watched with equal solicitude and 
 success over the diseases of his body and of his mind. The nego- 
 tiation between him and Doctor Robert Brownfield, of Georgetown, 
 South Carolina, for his removal to the latter place, was marked by a 
 frank and manly style on both parts, which makes me regret being 
 precluded by space from quoting the letters. The mutual friend 
 who had made the character of each known to the other, was Dr. 
 Wickham. It resulted in Johnson's accepting Dr. Browufield's in- 
 vitation, which he did without any stipulation as to the terms of 
 their professional connection ; and accordingly we find in one of 
 his manuscript books the following entry : 
 
 " Left New York, Sunday, 7th February, 1796, in the ship Fame, 
 my friend Captain G. Havens, master. My fellow-passengers were 
 Mr. Russel, of New York, Mr. Powers, a printer, and his journey- 
 man. We arrived at Savannah, on Saturday, the 20th of the same 
 montl^ at which place T was politely received by my old acquaint- 
 ance, Mr. P. Havens, who had recently established himself there as 
 a merchant. He insisted on my lodging with him at Mr. Dillon's," 
 
326 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 where I stayed until the next day, when I took passage with a Cap- 
 tain Dickinson, in a packet for Charleston, where we arrived the 
 next morning. This day I dined with Mr. John G. Mayer, to whom 
 I had a letter from the house of Gardiner, Thompson & Co. of New 
 York. Lodged at the Globe Tavern while in Charleston, which 
 place I left on Friday, and arrived at Georgetown the next morning, 
 where I met a most cordial and endearing reception from Doctor 
 Brownfield. On Sunday evening he generously proposed to take 
 me into partnership on terms of equality. I hesitated not to accept 
 his generous offer, and the bargain was immediately closed for one 
 year." 
 
 Among bis papers, we find some verses inscribed on a blank page 
 of a volume of Godwin's Caleb Williams^ which appears to have 
 been presented to the object of his affections, on the eve of his de- 
 parture to fulfill this engagement; which I quote as expressive of 
 the rational and subdued views of life and the future, which had 
 now succeeded to the wild visions of his earlier youth. 
 
 Clad with the moss of gathering years, 
 
 The stone of fame shall moulder down, 
 Long dried from soft aflfection's tears ; 
 
 Its place unheeded and unknown. 
 Ah ! who would strive for fame that flies 
 
 Like forms of mist before the gale ? 
 Renown but breathes before it dies, — 
 
 A meteor's path ! an idiot's tale ! 
 Beneath retirement's sheltering wing, 
 
 From mad conflicting crowds remote, 
 Beside some grove-encircled spring, 
 
 Let wisdom build your humble cot : 
 There clasp your fair one to your breast, 
 
 Your eyes impearl'd with transport's tear, 
 By turns caressing and carest, — 
 
 Your infant prattler sporting near. 
 Content your humble board shall dress, 
 
 And poverty shall guard your door, — 
 Of wealth and fame, if you have less 
 
 Than monarchs, you of bliss have more. 
 
 Dr. Brownfield, in a letter written after Johnson's death, observes : 
 " As a physician he very soon gained the confidence of his fellow- 
 citizens in an extensive practice. His geuiiis and erudition com- 
 manded the admiration of the learned, and his social virtues secured 
 him the love and esteem of all those with whom he was most inti- 
 mately acquainted. To know the strength and universality of his 
 genius, required a long acquaintance. The longer I knew him, the 
 more reason I found to admire his talents. To a strong and elevated 
 
John Howard Payne. 327 
 
 imagination were added a sound judgment and correct taste. To 
 an elegant and refined taste for the fine arts, he was one of the few 
 who united a profound knowledge of the more abstruse sciences of 
 philosophy and the mathematics. As well in execution as design, 
 his abilities were unrivalled. Indeed, there are few objects of hu- 
 man knowledge, of which he appeared to be ignorant. Intellectual 
 brightness is sometimes obscured by degrading vices ; but John- 
 sou's character had no stain of this sort. His expanded soul em- 
 braced the interests of all mankind. Often I have seen, the tear of 
 sympathy for the suffering bedew his cheek. Indeed, in every 
 part of his conduct he displayed that tenderness, that generous bene- 
 volence, which, in my mind, exalts the character more than all the 
 brilliancy of science, or energy of genius." 
 
 That there is no exaggeration in this picture of the impression 
 made by Johnson at his new residence, may be very easily believed. 
 In our southern regions, so accomplished a person could not remain 
 uncourted. He was in every society, and wherever he appeared, 
 he was the brightest star. A long poem, written by him at the time, 
 gives a humorous picture of a convivial musical party at which he 
 was present. It is somewhat in the spirit of Goldsmith's Retalia- 
 tion. It portrays the character of each guest, in a witty couplet, 
 closed with a line from the particular song which each had sung, 
 and which line is very humorously wrought into the story of the 
 jeu-d'esprit. He was, of course, applied to on all occasions when 
 poetry wjs desired ; and among others a Fourth-of-July address, 
 written at this period, possesses high poetical merit, at the same 
 time that it breathes a noble spirit of patriotism and love of liberty. 
 A streamlet in the neighborhood of Georgetown, which the poet's 
 manuscript cjUs the river Sampit, but which is laid down in the 
 maps as a creek, presently afterwards excited his muse; and his 
 lines in its praise circulated at the time with an applause, which 
 cannot be denied to them even in our most fastidious day. The lines 
 are these : 
 
 Fair Goddess of the pensive wave, 
 
 That calmly tend'st thy little urn, 
 Than Tempo's lovelier vales to lave, 
 
 And quench the potent beams that burn 
 Thy tender offspring's verdant forms, — 
 
 Nor dost forsake thy rising care, 
 When Jove descends in awful storms. 
 
 And bolted thunders singe the air ! 
 ♦ What though, along tliy lonely banks. 
 
 Not oft the tuneful sisters rove. 
 Nor, tripping liglit in twiliglit ranks. 
 
 The fairies fill the neigliboring grove ; 
 
328 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 Though thou on no Etruscan shore 
 
 Hast seen a thousand villas smile, 
 Nor e'er, like rapid Hebrus, bore 
 
 An Orpheus to the Lesbian isle ; 
 Nor dost thou, number'd with the gods, 
 
 Like Nile, from Heaven derive thy source, 
 Nor visit Pluto's dark abodes. 
 
 Like Arethusa's latent course ; 
 Yet hast thou charms my muse to fire. 
 
 And though her voice not long shall live, 
 Her trembling hand shall wake the lyre, 
 
 And give what fame her strains can give ! 
 While the old bounds the Thunderer gave. 
 
 Thy boisterous brothers oft despise, 
 And, rising fierce, with impious wave, 
 
 O'erwhelm the earth, and threat the skies,— 
 To hoary Neptune's coral throne, 
 
 Thou duteous lead'st thy limpid race, 
 While pleas'd to meet his meekest son. 
 
 The monarch melts in thy embrace. 
 Diana oft withdraws her gaze 
 
 From dull Endymion's slumbering charms. 
 And flies to keep, with brighter blaze, 
 
 A tenderer vigil in thj'^ arms. 
 Like fairy knights, in silver clad, 
 
 To sportive war advancing gay, 
 A shiver'd beam each radiant blade, 
 
 Thy waves, in bright confusion, play. 
 Along thy banks, where canes compose 
 
 The humid bower, and tiny grove, 
 Thy naiads through the day repose, 
 
 And consecrate the night to love, — 
 If, chance, no monster from the deep. 
 
 In scaly terrors grim, invade. 
 And, stretch'd immense in dragon sleep. 
 
 Fright the fair tremblers from the shade. 
 To catch the breeze and court the muse, 
 
 At jocund dawn, or evening grey. 
 Oft shall my sandals brush the dews 
 
 That richly gem the devious way : 
 But thee, staid eve, most sweet I prove. 
 
 When, gently led by insect light. 
 Thought wanders wild with hapless love, 
 
 And sadness sighs along the night. 
 Yes, sweet thy cells and rayless groves. 
 
 Where lonely woes delight to haunt, 
 And wounded hearts, like dying doves. 
 
 With pangs too big for utterance pant ! 
 Yon gloomy pines, that stand aloof. 
 
 With thick and darkly waving locks. 
 
John Howard Payne. 329 
 
 Amidst whose shades, with silent hoof, 
 
 The trembling deer, wild gazing, stalks ; 
 The thickening cloud, the screeching storm. 
 
 The flashing lightning's lurid glare, 
 The gliding phantom's half-seen form. 
 
 Though sad, not all unlovely are. 
 The nerve by pity interwove, 
 
 Pale grief low bending o'er the bier. 
 The poignant sympathies of love, 
 
 And suffering friendship's confluent tear ; 
 All these their mingled pleasures know, — 
 
 A little gold amidst the alloy. 
 And from the poisonous mass of woe, 
 
 Extract a melancholy joy. 
 In fate's worst cup of bitterest spite, 
 
 Some drops of comfort still are found ; 
 In pain itself there is delight, 
 
 If love and pity bathe the wound ; 
 Thus some pale flowers in deserts bloom, 
 
 Where never pierc'd the solar beams ; 
 Thus some lone star, through midnight's gloom, 
 
 With tremulous radiance, dimly gleams. — 
 Curst be the passions' stoic sleep, 
 
 The marble heart, the nerve of steel I 
 Give me to suffer and to weep. 
 
 But let, ah ! ever let me feel ! — 
 But see ! what goddess yonder moves I 
 Is it the silver-shafted queen. 
 
 Or Venus, with attendant loves 
 And graces, gliding o'er the green ? 
 
 Sweet stream ! assist my fearful muse, 
 O, make her mine, — and thou shalt be 
 
 To future years a new Vaucluse, 
 Thy Petrarch I, my Laura she. 
 So still may each less sacred rill. 
 
 From thee its turbid tribute turn, 
 And Heaven its purest dews distil, 
 
 To feed thy ever-flowing urn ! 
 Soft blushing, to thy vales and bowers 
 
 May spring her earliest visits bend, 
 Deck first thy brow with new-born flowers, 
 
 And in her bosom, warm thee and defend ! 
 Neglectful of Pierian streams, 
 
 The muse shall drink thy richer wave, 
 And fir'd to fancy's sweetest dreams, 
 
 Upon thine urn, an annual verse engrave. 
 
 ThefBeeds of the illness which has already been mentioned, and 
 which Johnson complained to one of his friends, " had produced an 
 42 
 
330 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 irritability both in body and mind, which was unknown to him 
 before/' were yet lurking in his frame ; and in the autumn of the 
 same year, at Georgetown, he was again much reduced by a bilious 
 remittent, from which he did not perfectly recover during the winter. 
 Early in June, 1797, he was again seized by a fever. As it appeared 
 slight at first, he resisted the urgent advice of his friend, Dr. Brown- 
 field, to try the eflFects of a northern climate ; and preferred retreating 
 to a sea-island. Here, however, his spirits forsook him — he pined 
 for the society of those who were precious to him, and especially for 
 the one comforting smile which had cheered him during his first 
 disorder. Under these feelings, he dictated from his sick-bed, the 
 following version from Ovid's Tristia, which seems to have been 
 intended for the object of his affection, and is probably the last of 
 his productions : 
 
 Since trembling illness has unnerv'd my own, 
 I must address thee in a hand unknown. 
 'Midst savage strangers in a foreign land, 
 On life's extremest verge aghast I stand ; 
 'Midst cruel climes and people more unkind, 
 What objects, think you, occupy my mind? 
 Here, gloomy clouds the cheerless landscape load, 
 And air and earth proclaim the unus'd abode. 
 Stretch'd, sick and unregarded, here I lie, 
 And wildly cast around an hopeless eye : 
 No friendly face, with cheering smile, appears ; 
 No eye-balls stream with sympathetic tears ; 
 No voice of music bids my pangs retire, 
 Rekindling in my breast th' accustom'd fire ; 
 No gentle accents through the tedious day, 
 Recite sweet tales to cheat the time away. 
 In all I feel or hear a foe I find. 
 And ev'ry object round me seems unkind ; 
 With mingled thorns offends the bed of down, 
 And in the hangings angry demons frown. 
 
 Here as I pine, all friendless and remote. 
 The pleasing past o'erwhelms my laboring thought, — 
 By turns lost pleasures pass in sad review. 
 And all those pleasures yield by turns to you ; 
 To you my feeble voice incessant cries, — 
 I see your phantom with deluded eyes ; 
 And when a thousand tender things I've said, 
 I blame the silence of th' unanswering shade ; 
 And then thy friendship is esteemed a cheat, — 
 I curse the name my lips so oft repeat ! 
 But if the damps of death my brow bedew'd, 
 \nd to the roof mv palsied tongue were glued, 
 
John Howard Payne. 831 
 
 And skill were pos'd and remedies were vain, 
 Tiiy soft approach would vanquish all my pain ; 
 Tliy healing voice would all my strength replace, 
 And I should rise in health to thy embrace. — 
 
 While dire disease u.y feeble frame destroys, 
 Borne round the giddy whirl of thoughtless joys, 
 Dost thou forget thy lover's faithful name ? 
 Or glows thy bosom with another flame ? 
 Oh, no ! too sure, while I remain unblest. 
 All joys are strangers to thy anxious breast. 
 
 Soon shall the gods resume the life they gave. 
 Nor can thy prayers thy parting lover save ; — 
 But sure the gods might grant this small demand. 
 At least to perish in my native land. 
 Where pious hands my cold remains might burn. 
 And seal my ashes in th' unconscious urn, — 
 'Twere better than in foreign lands, alone. 
 To perish thus, a fugitive unknown, 
 Had death at once th' unerring weapon cast. 
 And one misfortune been my first and last ! 
 Not death itself can now afford relief. 
 And life is lengthen'd to prolong my grief. 
 Yet well I know the last, sad, closing day, 
 With all its horrors, is not far away, 
 And I must die upon a foreign shore, 
 Nor see that face, nor press that bosom more ; 
 Give up my spirit on this lonely bed. 
 No friendly arm beneath my languid head ; 
 Nor with my closing eye's last trembling beam, 
 Behold the tears of sorrow round me stream ; 
 Nor pour my latest sighs, with faltering sound, 
 In blessings, on my sobbing friends around : 
 And when, at last, my soul reluctant flies, 
 No hand to close my sunk and sightless eyes ; 
 Vultures and wolves shall on my body prey, 
 And my bones whiten in the blaze of day ! 
 
 At the sad news I see thy frenzied air. 
 Thy hands outstretched to Heav'n in fruitless pray'r ; 
 I hear thee call my name and tell our loves, 
 Wild rushing through resounding vales and groves ; 
 But, ah ! to wound that snowy breast forbear. 
 Nor scatter to the winds that flowing hair ; 
 And think scarce less from other each was torn. 
 When my first absence thou wert doom'd to mourn : 
 'Twas death itself to wander far from thee, 
 And more, far more than this, a death to me ! 
 But that I knew thy breast could ne'er obey. 
 
332 Our Neglected Poets. 
 
 I could command thy fruitless griefs away ; 
 Nay, bid thee joy that all my ills are o'er, 
 And grief, disease and exile, vex no more ; 
 At least with firmness meet relentless fate, 
 Nor sink at once beneath a lessening weight ; 
 With patient meekness all thy woes endure. 
 Which time may soften, though it cannot cure ! 
 
 In August, 1797, Johnson was prevailed upon to return to New 
 York, and thence he went over to Jamaica, on Long Island. Here 
 his old friends again flocked around him. Joseph Osborn and his 
 brother, Charles Osborn, were unremitting in their attentions. " In 
 my acquaintance with the world," observed he, "I have seen no 
 parallel to their friendship and generosity." Of his southern friends, 
 he spoke with enthusiasm to the last ; and especially of the frank 
 and liberal treatment he met with in every respect from his partner, 
 Dr. Brownfield. His eyes, it is believed, were closed by Joseph 
 Osborn, in whose hand-writing, there is the following simple inscrip- 
 tion upon a page of a manuscript book which had been the property 
 of his friend : " Wm. M. Johnson died at Jamaica, L. I., Tuesday 
 morning, five o'clock, the twenty-first of September, 1797." His 
 tomb-stone may still be seen in a grave yard at Jamaica. His age 
 did not exceed six and twenty. 
 
 Such was the obscure career of one of the earliest of our neglected 
 poets. That he was " a poet born " there can be no doubt, on a con- 
 sideration of his character and temperament as evinced by his life, 
 and attested by those who knew him, and of the genius manifested 
 in those of his writings, which a happy chance has preserved and 
 placed in my possession. Notwithstanding the difi'erence of fashion 
 in poetry between our day and that of the subject of this memoir, 
 all readers, capable of appreciating that essential spirit of poetry 
 which is independent of the exterior fashion of phrase and style, will 
 recognize, even in some of the specimens which I have quoted, a deli- 
 cacy of sentiment, combined with a passionate ardor ; an enthusiasm 
 for natural beauty, with that deep yearning after the good, the true 
 and lovely in moral nature which most strongly characterizes spirits 
 of the highest order, — "with, at the same time, a melody of language, 
 and graceful ease of style, united to strength and directness, — abun- 
 dantly sufficient to establish his claim to a high place among the poets 
 of our country. His writings have never been published, and his 
 name is an unknown sound to the present generation. His life was 
 passed in obscurity, and that perpetual and exhausting struggle with 
 penury, which has so often and so sadly withered the noble promise 
 
John Howard Payne. 333 
 
 of young genius ; and by the time that his superior talents and ex- 
 cellence of character had raised him to a social position, which pro- 
 mised a more prosperous future career, we see him sinking beneath 
 a premature blight of 'disease. In the preceding sketch, I have 
 attempted to make the narrative tell at once the story of Johnson's 
 genius and qualities of character. To render him justice, in both 
 points of view, his attainments and conduct must be compared with 
 his chances ; and, when we consider his nameless origin, the desultory 
 scraps of education which his early circumstances permitted him, 
 the many temptations to which he was subjected, both from his poverty 
 and the society into which he was necessarily often cast, the former 
 must be acknowledged to have been such as to entitle his memory 
 at least to this slight and tardy attempt to rescue it from oblivion. 
 
TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS 
 
THE TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS. 
 
 This Tragedy is sabmitted to the publick with the most grateful sense of the kindness 
 with which it has been honoured. It was originally intended to be published as sent to 
 the Theatre ; but the omissions and changes consequent on its being performed, were 
 numerous. The reader will now find it in every respect- a copy from the prompt book. 
 The imperfect lines which sometimes occur in the verse have arisen from the determina- 
 tion to make the conformity complete. 
 
 Seven plays upon the subject of Brutus are before the publick. Only two have been 
 thought capable of represenution, and those two did not long retain possession of the 
 stage. In tne pres-- nt play I have had no hesitation in adoptiug the conceptions and lan- 
 guage of my predecessors wherever they seemed likely to strengthen the plan which I had 
 prescribed. This has been so done as to allow of no injury to personal feelings or private 
 property. Such obligations, to be culpable, must be secret ; but it may be observed that 
 no assisunce of other writers can be available without an effort, almost, if not altogether, 
 as laborious as original composition. 
 
 I am reluctant to select peculiar objects of praise, when I found zeal and politeness so 
 universal, — But I must be permitted to add my gratitude to the publick admiration of 
 Mr. Kkajj's most masterly and splendid performance of the principal character. — Mrs. 
 Glovkb, too, has claims on me which must not be forgotten. — The play was introduced 
 by her to the Theatre, and its share of publick favour must be largely attributed to the 
 critical taste of this very amiable and intelligent woman. 
 
 To the Sub UoMMiTTEK and the Manaseb, I also beg to return my grateful thanks, 
 
 JoHK HowABD Payne. 
 
 SouUiampton-gtreet, Uovent Garden, 
 December 9, 1818. 
 
 PROLOGUE, 
 
 WRITTEN BY A FRIEND, SPOKEN BY MR. H. KEMBLE. 
 
 Time rushes o'er us ; thick as evening clouds, 
 Ages roll back : — what calls them from their shrouds ? 
 What in full vision brings their good and great, 
 The men whose virtues make the nation's fate. 
 
 The far-forgotten stars of human kind ? 
 The ST AG-E, — the mighty telescope of mind ! 
 If later, luckless arts that stage profane, 
 The actor pleads — not guilty of the stain : 
 He, but the shadow flung on fashion's tide — 
 Yours, the high will that all its waves must guide : 
 Your voice alone, the great reform secures, 
 His, but the passing hour — the age is yours. 
 
 Our pledge is kept. Here, ,ye^ no chargers wheel, 
 Ifo foreign slaves on ropes or scaflFolds reel, 
 No Gallic amazons, half naked, climb 
 From pit to gallery, — the low sublime ! 
 43 
 
;38 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 In Shakespeare's halls, shall dogs and bears engage ? 
 
 Where brutes are actors, be a booth the stage ! 
 
 And we shall triumph yet. The cloud has hung 
 
 Darkly above — but day shall spring — has sprung — 
 
 The tempest has but swept, not shook, the shrine ; 
 
 No lamp that genius lit, has ceased to shine ! 
 
 Still lives its sanctity. Around the spot 
 
 Hover high spirits — shapes of burning thought — 
 
 Viewless — but, call them ; on the dazzled eye 
 
 Descends their pomp of immortality : 
 
 Here, at your voice, Rowe, Otway, Southern come, 
 
 Flashing like meteors thro' the age's gloom. 
 
 Perpetual here — king of th' immortal band, 
 
 Sits Shakespeare crown'd. He lifts the golden wand, 
 
 And all obey ; — the visions of the past 
 
 Rise as they lived, — soft, splendid, regal, vast. 
 
 Then Ariel harps along the enchanted wave, 
 
 Then the Weird sisters thunder in their cave, — 
 
 The spell is wound. Then shows his mightier art, 
 
 The Moor's lost soul ; the hell of Richard's heart, 
 
 And stamps, in fiery warning to all time, 
 
 The deep damnation of a tyrant's crime. 
 
 To-night we take our lesson from the tomb : 
 'Tis thy sad cenotaph, colossal Rome ! 
 How is thy helmet cleft, thy banner low, 
 Ashes and dust are all thy glory now ! 
 While o'er thy wreck, a host of monks and slaves. 
 Totter to "seek dishonourable graves." 
 
 The story is of Brutus : in that name 
 Tower'd to the sun her eagle's wing of flame ! 
 When sank her liberty, that name of power, 
 Pour'd hallow'd splendors round its dying hour. 
 The lesson lived for man — that heavenward blaze 
 Fixed on the pile the world's eternal gaze. 
 
 Unrivall'd England ! to such memories thou 
 This hour dost owe the laurel on thy brow : 
 Those fixed, when earth was like a grave, thy tread. 
 Prophet and warrior ! 'twixt the quick and dead. 
 Those bade thee war for man, — those won the name 
 That crowns thee — famed above all Roman fame. 
 
 Now, to our scene — we feel no idle fear. 
 Sure of the hearts, the British justice here; 
 If we deserve it, sure of your applause — 
 Then hear for Rome, for England, for "our cause !" 
 
BRUTUS 
 
 THE FALL OF TARQUI:N' 
 
 ACT L 
 
 Scene I. — A Street in Rome. 
 
 Enter Valerius and Lucretius. 
 
 Val. Words are too feeble to express the horror 
 With which my soul revolts against this Tarquin. 
 By poison he obtaia'd his brother's wife, 
 Then, by a baser murder, grasp'd the crown. 
 These eyes beheld the aged monarch thrown 
 Down from the senate house, — his feeble limbs 
 Bruis'd by the pavement, — his time-honor'd locks 
 Which, from the very robber would have gain'd 
 Respect and veneration, — bath'd in blood! 
 With difficulty rais'd, and tottering homeward, 
 The murderers follow'd — struck him — and he died ! 
 
 Luc. Inexpiable crime ! 
 
 Val. High in her regal chariot, Tullia came — 
 The corpse lay in the street. The charioteer 
 Turn'd back the reins in horror. " On, slave, on ! 
 " Shall dead men stop my passage to a throne ?'' 
 Exclaira'd the parricide. The gore was dash'd 
 From the hot wheels up to her diadem ! 
 
 Luc. And Heaven's avenging lightnings were withheld ! 
 Here rules this Tullia, while the king, her husband 
 Wastes our best blood in giddy, guilty war ! 
 Spirit of Marcus Junius ! — Would the gods 
 Deign fo diflFuse thy daring through the land, 
 Rome from her trance with giant spirit would start. 
 Dash off her fetters, and amaze the world ! 
 
340 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Val. Junius, didst say ? Oh ! tyranny long since 
 Had sunk — chain'd — buried in its native hell — 
 But Tarquin, trembling at his virtues, murder'd 
 Him and his elder son. The younger, Lucius, 
 Then on his travels, 'scaped the tyrant's sword, 
 But lost his reason at their fearful fall, 
 
 Luc. Aye, the same Lucius who now dwells with Tarquin, — 
 The just, the fool, the laughing stock o'th' court, 
 Whom the young princes always carry with 'em. 
 To be the butt of their unfeeling mirth. 
 
 Val. Hold ! I hear steps. Great things may yet be done. 
 If we are men and faithful to our country. [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 The Camp be/ore Ardea. 
 Enter Claudius and Aruns, laughing. 
 
 Aruns. There is no doctor for the spleen like Lucius ! 
 What precious scenes of folly did he act 
 When, lately, through the unknown seas of Greece, 
 He went with us to Delphi ! — But behold ! 
 Where, full of business, his wise worship comes ! 
 
 Enter Lucius Junius. 
 
 Claud. Whither so fast, good Junius, tell us whither ? 
 
 Luc. To Rome, to Rome — the queen demands my presence. 
 The state needs aid and I am call'd to court. 
 Am I a fool ? If so, you cannot say 
 I'm the first fool grac'd by a monarch's favor. 
 
 Aruns. Why, Junius, travel has improv'dthy wit : 
 Thou speakest shrewdly. 
 
 Luc. Do I so, my lord ? 
 I'm always glad when you and I agree ; 
 You have just such a wit as I should choose. 
 Would I could purchase such ! — though it might split 
 My head, as confin'd air does — water bubbles ! 
 
 Claud. How say you ? Purchase ? Pr'ythee, what would'st give ? 
 
 Luc. What would I give ? — ten acres of my land ! 
 
 Aruns. Thy land ! Where lies it ? 
 
John Howard Payne. 341 
 
 Luc. Ask the king, my cousin : 
 He knows full well. I thank him, he's my steward, 
 And takes the trouble off ray hands. 
 
 Claud. Who told thee so ? 
 
 Luc. The king himself. Now twenty years are past. 
 Or more, — since he sent for me from my farm. 
 ^^ Kinsman'' said he, with a kind, gracious smile, 
 ^^For the black crime of treason which was charg'd 
 ^^ Against thy father and thy elder brother, 
 ^^ Their lives have paid : for thee, as Hove mercy, 
 '■^Live and be happy : simple is thy mind " — 
 
 Aruns. True, kinsman, true — • i'faith, 'tis wondrous simple. 
 
 Luc. " And that simplicity will be a pledge 
 " That thou wilt never plot against thy sovereign." 
 
 Claud. Indeed, for that I'll be thy bondsman, Junius. 
 
 Luc. " Live in my house, companion of my children, 
 "As for thy land, to ease thee of all care 
 "I'll take it for thy use ; all that 1 ask 
 " Of thee, is gratitude." 
 
 Aruns. And art thou not 
 Grateful for goodness so unmerited ? 
 
 Luc. Am I not ? Never, by the holy gods 
 Will I forget it ! 'Tis my constant pray'r 
 To heaven, that I may one day have the pow'r 
 To pay the debt I owe him. But stay — stay — 
 I brought a message to you from the king. 
 
 Aruns. Thank the gods, then, for thy good memory, fool ! 
 
 Lv^. The king your father sends for you to council, 
 Where he debates how best to conquer Ardea. 
 Shall I before, and tell him ye are coming ? 
 
 Claud. Aye, or behind, or with us, or stay here — 
 As thy wit prompts, — as suits thy lofty pleasure. 
 
 [^Exeunt Aruns and Claudius laughing. 
 
 Luc. (alone) Yet, 'tis not that which ruffles me — the gibes 
 And scornful mockeries of ill-govern'd youth — 
 Or flouts of dastard sycophants and jesters — 
 Reptiles, who lay their bellies on the dust 
 Before the frown of majesty ! — All this 
 I but expect, nor grudge to bear ; — the face 
 I carrji^ courts it ! — Son of Marcus Junius ! 
 When will the tedious gods permit thy soul 
 To walk abroad in her own majesty 
 
342 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 And throw this vizor of thy madness from thee ? 
 
 To avenge my father's and my brother's murder ! 
 
 (And sweet, I must confess, would be the draught!) 
 
 Had this been all — a thousand opportunities 
 
 I've had to strike th« blow — and my own life 
 
 I had not valued as a rush. — But still — 
 
 There's something nobler to be done — my soul ! 
 
 Enjoy the strong conception. Oh ! 'tis glorious 
 
 To free a groaning country — 
 
 To see Revenge 
 
 Spring like a lion from its den, and tear 
 
 These hunters of mankind ! Grant but the time, 
 
 Grant but the moment, gods ! If I am wanting, 
 
 May I drag out this idiot-feigned life 
 
 To late old age, and may posterity 
 
 Ne'er hear of Junius but as Tarquin's fool ! 
 
 {^Exit Lucius Junius. 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Rome. 
 
 A State Apartment in the Palace of Tullia. 
 
 Enter "Im AAA., preceded hy Guards, Bannek-Bearers, Ladies, — 
 and followed hy Valerius. She appears perturbed, and speaks 
 apart. 
 
 Tul. (apart.') Why should the steady mind to shadows yield ? 
 And yet this vision shakes my frame with horror ? 
 I thought his spirit thunder'd in my ear : 
 ^^ Remember, when, with wild am,bition*s frenzy, 
 '■^And all Romeh empire in your view, you drove 
 ^^Yoiir chariot wheels o'er your dead father's body, 
 *' Up to the shouting forum ! " Why, my soul. 
 Dost thou not shun remembrance of that hour ? 
 'Twas but the cause — the cause — For this base clay, 
 How diflFers it from the dull earth we tread on 
 When the life's gone ? — But, next, the Sybil came. 
 W^hose mystic book at such a price we bought 
 And cried, " The race of Tarquin shall be kings 
 *' Till a fool drive them hence, and set Rome free ! " 
 Strange prophecy ! — What fool ? — It cannot be 
 
John Howard Payne. 343 
 
 That poor dolt, the companion of my sons — 
 Hark thee, Valerius — Know'st thou that same fool 
 Now in the camp ? 
 
 Val. I know him well. — A man 
 Who, when he had a name, was Lucius Junius : — 
 A braver citizen Rome never boasted. 
 And wise and learn'd withal ; now chang'd, alas ! 
 A spectacle which humbles me to look on ! 
 
 Tul. But is he harmless in his moody humors ? 
 
 Val. Tame as my horse, which though devoid of reason 
 Shall turn, shall stop, and at my angry bidding 
 Shall kneel, till I am throned on his back ! 
 And this shall Junius ; the like instinct stirs 
 Junius and him, — no more. 
 
 Tul. {Apart.) Hence, idle fears ! 
 Yet, when he went to Delphi, 'tis giv'n out 
 The oracle address'd him with strange portents 
 And each night since, my dreams have been disturb'd 
 By a wild form, too much resembling his, 
 Leading our soldiers forth with sword and flame, 
 Revolters from the camp, to storm the palace. 
 But he is sent from thence, and shall be watch'd. 
 
 JEJnter HoRATlUS. 
 
 Hor. Your orders are obey'd. Lucius awaits. 
 
 Tul. Set him before us. [^Exit Hob. 
 
 ( To Valerius.) Tell me, will he answer 
 If we do question him ? 
 
 Val. I think he will : 
 Yet sometimes when the moody fit doth take him, 
 He will not speak for days ; yea, rather starve 
 Than utter nature's cravings ; then anon, 
 He'll prattle shrewdly, with such witty folly 
 As almost betters reason. 
 
 HoRATius returns with Lucius Junius. 
 
 Tul. Hark thee, fellow, 
 How art thou call'd ? 
 
 Liicius. A fool. 
 
 7\u. Fool for thy nature ; 
 Thou answerest well, — but I demand thy name. 
 
 Lucius. Nothing but fool. 
 
344 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Tul. His faculties are brutish ; — 
 BRUTUS shall be thy name. 
 
 Brutus. Thanks to your grace ! 
 
 Hor. Dost like thy new name, gentle brute ? 
 
 Br. So well, 
 Who will may take the fool. I care not who — 
 Your highness, an it like you, 
 
 Hor. I the fool ! 
 Sirrah, good words, or I will have thee beaten. 
 
 Br. A fool thou wilt not beat — a brute thou dar'st not, 
 For the dull ass will kick against his striker, 
 If struck too harshly. 
 
 Tul. Let me hear no more ; 
 There's mischief in his folly. Send him hence. 
 But stay — I'll search him farther. — Hark thee, Brutus, 
 Thou wast at Delphi, with our sons the princes — 
 Tell me — what questions put they to Apollo? 
 
 Br. Your sons did ask who should be chief in Rome. 
 
 Tul. Ha ! What replied the oracle to that ? 
 
 Br. With pains and strugglings the prophetic dame 
 This destiny reported from her god — 
 
 " Great and most glorious shall that Roman he, 
 " Who first shall greet his mother with a kiss." 
 
 Tul. That is fulfill'd by Sextus. 
 
 Hor. Aye, he straight 
 Hasten'd from thence, and kissed the queen his mother. 
 
 Br. Woe for me, I have no mother ! — 
 And yet I kiss'd her first. 
 
 Tul. Thou kiss'd her ? Thou ? 
 
 Br. Yea, madam, for just then my foot did slip 
 In the fresh blood of a new-slaughter'd victim. 
 And, falling, I did kiss my mother — earth. 
 
 Tul. Oh, that the earth had swallow'd thee outright 
 Till thou hadst kiss'd the centre ! I perceive, 
 The gods are leagued with folly to destroy us. 
 My very blood chills at my heart. — Away. 
 
 [Exit TuLLiA, with Guards and Ladies. 
 
 JSor. Hark thee, thou Brutus ; I in part suspect 
 Thou ap'st this folly ; if I find thee trifling 
 Or juggling with the Pythia for predictions, 
 By all the gods I'll have thee flay'd, thy skin 
 Strip'd into thongs, to strangle thee withal. 
 Dissembling varlet ! — Strikes Brutus, who seizes him. 
 
John Howard Payne. 346 
 
 Val. Shame, my lord ! forbear ! 
 Threat'ning a fool you do but wrong yourself. 
 
 Ebr. But that the princes love his son, brave Titus, 
 My dagger should have pierc'd his throat ere now 
 And sent him to his mother earth for ever ! 
 He shall be watch'd. — Come, come with me, Valerius. 
 
 [Exit HORATIUS. 
 
 Val. The gods restore thee, Brutus, to thyself. 
 And us to thee ! Farewell ! 
 
 Br. (Alone.') A little longer, 
 A little longer yet support me, patience ! 
 The day draws on : it presses to the birth — 
 I see it in the forming womb of time — 
 The embryo liberty. — Ha ! — 'tis my son — 
 Down, rebel nature, down — 
 
 Enter TiTUS. 
 
 Tit. Welcome to Rome! 
 Would I might welcome thee to reason too ! 
 
 Br. Give me thy hand — nay, give it me — 
 
 Tit. What would'st thou ? 
 Speak to thy son. 
 
 Br. I had a thing to say. 
 But I have lost it. Let it pass — no matter. 
 
 Tit. Look not upon me with those eyes, but speak ; 
 What is it that annoys thee '/ tell thy friend — 
 How can I serve thee ? What dost lack ? 
 
 Br. Preferment. 
 Thou can'st do much at court. 
 
 Tit. Ah, this is nothing ! 
 
 Br. So much the fitter for a, fool's petition. 
 And a court-promise 
 
 Tit. Oh, this trifling racks me. 
 
 Br. Lend me thine ear : I'll tell a secret to thee 
 Worth a whole city's ransom. This it is ; 
 Nay, ponder it, and lock it in thy heart — 
 There are more fools, my son, in this wise world 
 Than the gods ever made. 
 
 Tit. Say'st thou, my father? 
 Expouna this riddle. If thy mind doth harbor 
 Aught that imports a son like me to know. 
 Or, knowing, to achieve, declare it. 
 44 
 
346 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Br. Now, my son, 
 Should the great gods, who made me what thou see'st. 
 Repent, and in their vengeance cast upon me 
 The burden of my senses back again — 
 What would'st thou say ? 
 
 Ti. Oh, my lamented father, 
 Would the kind gods restore thee to thy reason — 
 
 Br. Then, Titus, then I should be mad with reason. 
 Had I the sense to know myself a Roman, 
 This hand should tear this heart from out my ribs 
 Ere it should own allegiance to a tyrant. 
 If, therefore, thou dost love me, pray the gods 
 To keep me what I am. Where all are slaves. 
 None but the fool is happy. 
 
 Ti. We are Romans — 
 Not slaves — 
 
 Br. Not slaves ? Why, what art thou ? 
 
 Ti. Thy son. 
 Dost thou not know me ? 
 
 Br. You abuse my folly. 
 I know thee not — Wert thou my son, ye gods ! 
 Thou would'st tear off this sycophantic robe. 
 Tuck up thy tunic, trim these curled locks 
 To the short warrior-cut, vault on thy steed ; 
 Then scouring through the city, call to arms, 
 And shout for liberty — 
 
 Ti. (starts) Defend me, gods ! 
 
 Br. Ha ! does it stagger thee ? 
 
 Ti. For liberty? 
 Said'st thou for liberty ? — It cannot be. 
 
 Br. Indeed ! — 'tis well — no more. 
 
 Ti. What would my father ? 
 
 Br. Begone, you trouble me. 
 
 Ti. Nay, do not scorn me. 
 
 Br. Said I, for liberty ? I said it not : 
 The awful word breath'd in a coward's ear, 
 Were sacrilege to utter. Hence, begone ! 
 Said I, you were my son ? — 'Tis false : I'm foolish ; 
 My brain is weak and wanders ; you abuse it. 
 
 Ti. Ah, do not leave me; not in anger leave me. 
 
 Br. Anger ! What's that ? I am content with folly ; 
 Anger is madness, and above my aim ! {Music heard.') 
 
JouN Howard Payne. 347 
 
 Ilark ! here is music for thee, — food for love, 
 
 And beauty to serve in the rich repast. 
 
 Tarquinia comes. Go, worship the bright sun, 
 
 And let poor Brutus wither in the shade. (^Exit Brutus.) 
 
 Ti. Oh, truly said ! bright as the golden sun 
 Tarquinia's beauty beams, and I adore ! 
 
 Soft music. Tarquinia enters, preceded hy damsels bearing a 
 crown of gold, some with censers, &c., proper for the ceremonials of 
 a dedication to Fortune. 
 
 What dedication, or what holy service 
 Doth the fair client of the gods provide ? 
 In the celestial synod is there one 
 Who will not listen to Tarquinia's prayer ? 
 
 Tar. I go to Fortune's Temple, to suspend 
 Upon the votive shrine, this golden crown. 
 While incense fills the fane, and holy hymns 
 Are chanted for my brother's safe return, 
 What shall I ask for Titus ? 
 
 Ti. Tho' the goddess. 
 In her blind bounty should unthrone the world, 
 To build me one vast empire, my ambition, 
 If by thy love unblest, would slight the gift : 
 Therefore, of Fortune I have nought to ask — 
 She hath no interest in Tarquinia's heart. 
 Nature, not Fortune, must befriend me there. 
 
 Tar. Thy gentle manners, Titus, have endear'd thee, 
 Although a subject Roman, to Tarquinia; 
 My brother Sextus wears thee next his heart; 
 The Queen herself, of all our courtly youth 
 First in her favor holds the noble Titus ; 
 And though my royal father well may keep 
 A jealous eye upon thy Junian race, — 
 A race unfriendly to the name of king, — 
 Yet, thee he cherishes ; with generous joy 
 The monarch sees thy early virtue shoot. 
 And with a parent's fondness, rears its growth. 
 
 Ti. Oh ! neither name, nor nature, nor the voice 
 Of my lost father, could he wake to reason. 
 Not all t1!e wrongs that tyranny could pile 
 On my afflicted head, — not all the praise 
 That patriot gratitude could shower upon me, 
 
348 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Can shake the faithful purpose of my soul 
 To sever it from love and my Tarquinia. 
 
 Tar. Approve that firmness in the shock of trials, 
 And if my love can recompense thy virtue, 
 Nor tortures, nor temptations, nor the wreck 
 Of Rome and empire, shall divide me from thee. 
 To this I pledge my hand. Now to the Temple ! 
 
 [^Exeunt omnes.'] 
 
 END OF THE FIRST ACT. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. — The Tent o/Sextus in the Camp hefore Ardea. 
 A magnificent Banquet. 
 
 Sextus, Collatinus, Claudius, and Aruns, discovered drinldng. 
 
 Sex. Come, then, here's to the fairest nymph in Italy ; 
 And she's in Rome. 
 
 Ar. Here's to the fairest nymph in Italy ; 
 And she is not in Rome. 
 
 Sex. Where is she then ? 
 
 Ar. Ask Collatine ; he'll swear she's at Collatia. 
 
 Sex. His wife ! 
 
 Ar. Even so. 
 
 CI. Is it so, Collatine ? 
 Well, 'tis praiseworthy in this vicious age 
 To see a young man true to his own spouse. 
 Oh, 'tis a vicious age ! When I behold 
 One who is bold enough to steer against 
 The wind of tide and custom, I behold him 
 With veneration ; 'tis a vicious age. 
 
 Col. Laugh on ! though I'm the subject ! If to love 
 My wife's ridiculous, I'll join the laugh; 
 Though I'll not say if I laugh at or with you ! 
 
 Ar. (^Ironically. ^ The conscious wood was witness to his sighs ; 
 The conscious Dryads wiped their watery eyes, 
 For they beheld the wight forlorn, to-day. 
 And so do I ; — but I shall not betray. 
 Here now he is, however, thanks to me, 
 That is, his semblance, for his soul dwells hence. 
 How was it when you parted ? {Mimiching.') She, — " My love, 
 '• Fear not, good sooth, I'll very constant prove." 
 
John Howard Payne. 349 
 
 He: — "And so will I, — for, whereso'er I steer, 
 
 " 'Tis but my mortal clay, my soul is here." {All laugh.) 
 
 Sex. And pr'ythee, Collatine, in what array 
 Did the God Hymen come to thee ! How dress'd, 
 And how equipp'd ? I fear me much, he left 
 His torch behind, so that thou could'st not see 
 A fault in thy belov'd ; or was the blaze 
 So burning bright, that thy bedazzled eyes 
 Have since refused their office ? 
 
 Col. And doth Sextus 
 Judge by his own experience, then, of others ? 
 To him, I make no doubt, hath Hymen's torch 
 Discover'd faults enough ! what pity 'twas 
 He had not likewise brought i'th' other hand 
 A mirror, where the prince might read himself. 
 
 Sex. I like thee now ; thou'rt gay, and I'll be grave. 
 As to those dear, delicious creatures, women. 
 Hear what my own experience has taught me. 
 I've ever found 'em fickle, artful, amorous. 
 Fruitful in schemes to please their changeful fancies, 
 And fruitful in resources when discover'd. 
 They love unceasingly — they never change — 
 Oh, never ! — no ! — excepting in the object. 
 Love of new faces is their first great passion. 
 Then love of riches, grandeur, giddy sway ! 
 Knowing all this, I seek not constancy, 
 But, to anticipate their wishes, rove. 
 Humor their darling passion, and am bless'd ! 
 
 Col. This is the common cant; the stale, gross, idle, 
 Unmeaning jargon, of all those who, conscious 
 Of their own littleness of soul, avoid 
 With timid eye the face of modest virtue : 
 Who, mingling only with the base, and flush'd 
 With triumphs over those they dare attack, — 
 The weak, the forward, or deprav'd, — declare, 
 (And fain would make their shallow notions current ) 
 That womankind are all alike, and hoot 
 At virtue, whereso'er she passes by them. 
 I have seen sparks like these, — and I have seen 
 A little Worthless village cur, all night 
 Bay with incessant noise the silver moon, 
 While she, serene, throned in her pearled car, 
 Sail'd in full state along. — But Sextus' judgment 
 
350 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Owns not his words, — and the resemblance glances 
 On others, not on him. 
 
 Sex. Let it glance where and upon whom it will, 
 Sextus is careless of the mighty matter. 
 Now hear what I have seen. I've seen young men 
 Who, having fancied they have found perfection — 
 
 Col. Sextus, no more — lest I forget myself, 
 And thee. — I tell thee, Prince — 
 
 Ar. Nay, hold ! 
 Sextus, you go too far. 
 
 Sex. Why, pray, good Sir, may I not praise the wife 
 Of this same testy, froward husband here, 
 But on his cheek offence must quivering sit, 
 And dream of insult ? 
 
 Col. I heed you not; jest on, I'll aid your humor : 
 Let Aruns use me for his princely laughter, 
 Let Claudius deck me with ironic praise ; 
 But when you touch a nearer, dearer subject. 
 Perish the man, nay, may he doubly perish, 
 Who can sit still, and hear with skulking coolness, 
 The least abuse, or shadow of a slight. 
 Cast on the woman whom he loves ! though here 
 Your praise or blame are pointless equally, 
 Nor really add the least, nor take away 
 From her true value more than they could add 
 To th' holy gods, or stain them on their thrones ! 
 
 Ar. If that a man might dare to ope his lips 
 When Collatinus frowns, I would presume 
 To say one word in praise of my own wife, 
 And I will say, could our eyes stretch to Rome, 
 In spite of the perfections of Lucretia, 
 My wife, who loves her fireside and hates gadding, 
 Would prove far otherwise employ 'd — and better, — 
 Aye, better, as a woman, than the deity 
 Residing at Collatia. 
 
 Sex. {Aside.) Well timed ; — I'll seize th' occasion : 
 View this Lucretia ere I sleep, and satisfy 
 My senses whether fame has told the truth. 
 (^Aloud) I'll stake my life on't, — let us mount our horses 
 And post away this instant towards Rome, — 
 That we shall find thy wife, and his, and his, 
 Making the most of this, their liberty. 
 Why, 'tis the sex : enjoying to the full 
 
John Howard Payne. 351 
 
 The swing of licence which their husbands' absence 
 AflFords. ril stake my life that this is true ; 
 And that my own, (ill as I may deserve it) — 
 Knows her state best, keeps best within the bounds 
 Her matron duties claim ; that she's at home, 
 While yours are feasting at their neighbors' houses. 
 What say'st thou, Collatine ? 
 
 Col. Had I two lives, I'd stake Ihem on the trial, 
 Nor fear to live both out. 
 
 Sex. Let us away then. 
 Come, come, my Collatinus, — droop not thus, — 
 Be gay. 
 
 Col. I am not sad. 
 
 Sex. But fearful for th' event. 
 
 Col. Not in the least. 
 
 Sex. A little. 
 
 Col. Not a whit. 
 
 You do not know Lucretia. 
 
 Sex. But we shall. 
 Let's lose no time. Come, brothers ! Let's away. 
 
 \_Exeunt owines.] 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 EoME. — An Apartment in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Brutus. 
 
 Br. {Alone.") Oh, that some light would beam from heav'n to teach 
 me 
 When to burst forth, and how to gain my purpose. 
 For Rome I would resign all other bonds. 
 And tear each private tie from my fix'd heart. 
 Ha ! — Some one comes ! It is my son ! He seems 
 Rapt in Elysium, and elate with joy I [^Retires.'] 
 
 Enter TiTUS. 
 
 Tit. 'Tis done ! 'tis done ! auspicious are the fates, 
 Tarquinia's word is pledg'd, and all its brightness ! 
 
 Br. ( Coming down.) That exclamation was too lofty, boy : 
 Such raptures ill become the troubled times — 
 Of such, no more. 
 
 Ti. Oh ! at an hour like this. 
 Who could repress the thrill of grateful joy ! 
 
362 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Br. (^Eagerly.') What dost thou mean ? 
 
 TL Tarquinia. 
 
 Br. What of her? 
 
 Ti. Her vows are pledg'd, 
 And heaven's propitious smile will make her mine. 
 
 Br. Thine? What! Thine? Heav'n make Tarquinia thine? 
 Away ! away ! Heav'n spurns the race she springs from ! 
 
 Ti. How ! — Father, wert thou to thyself restor'd, 
 Thou would'st exult to see thy son thus blest. 
 Our vows are past. They cannot be recall'd ; 
 And soon the nuptial altar will behold her 
 My own for ever. 
 
 Br. No, Titus, not for ever ! 
 If thou art mine, thou can'st not be Tarquinia's. 
 Renounce thy father, — or renounce thy love. 
 
 Ti. Nay, loose me, father, this is frenzy all. 
 E'en hadst thou spoken the dictates of thy soul, 
 (For sure thou can'st not know what thou requir'st,) 
 I must not, would not, could not, yield Tarquinia. 
 Nay — let me go — or my rack'd heart will break. 
 
 Br. Leave me. Retire. Thine is no Roman heart. 
 Ere long the moon will change — the moon — my goddess — 
 And then thou may'st behold a change in Brutus. 
 
 Ti. 'Tis as I thought. Folly resumes its reign. 
 Look on him, oh ye gods ! 
 
 Grant him once more the treasure now withheld, 
 And to his son restore a long-lost father ? \_Exit Titus.] 
 
 Br. (Alone} I was too sudden. I should have delay'd 
 And watch'd a surer moment for my purpose. 
 He must be frighted from this dream of love. 
 What ! shall the son of Junius wed a Tarquin ! 
 As yet I've been no father to my son, — 
 I cGuld be none : but, through the cloud that wraps me, 
 I've watch'd his mind with all a parent's fondness, 
 And hail'd, with joy, the Junian glory there. 
 Could I once burst the chains which now enthral him. 
 My son would prove the pillar of his country. 
 Dear to her freedom as he is to me. 
 
 The time may come when heaven will heal our wrongs — 
 To your hands, mighty powers, I yield myself — 
 I will not doubt heaven's goodness or Rome's virtue — 
 Then, hence, despair ! Still, thou and I are twain ! 
 
 [Exit Brutus.] 
 
John Howard Payne. 353 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The home of Collatinus at Collatia. 
 
 An apartment^ lighted up. LuCRETiA discovered., mrrounded hy her 
 maids, all employed in embroidery and other femah occupations. 
 Lavinia is hy the side o/Lucretia. 
 
 Luc. How long is it, Lavina, since ray lord 
 Hath chang'd his peaceful mansion for the camp 
 And restless scenes of war ? 
 
 Lav. Why, in my simple estimation, madam, 
 'Tis some ten days, or thereabout, for time 
 Runs as it should with me, — in yours, it may be 
 Perhaps ten years. 
 
 Luc. I do not understand thee. 
 Say'st thou, with me time runs not as it should ? 
 Explain thy meaning — What should make thee think so? 
 
 Lav. All that I mean, is, that if I were married, 
 And that my husband were call'd forth to th' wars, 
 I should not stray through the grove next my house, 
 Invoke the pensive solitude, and woo 
 The dull and silent melancholy, — brood 
 O'er my own thoughts alone, or keep myself 
 Within my house mew'd up, a prisoner. 
 'Tis for philosophers 
 
 To love retirement; women were not made 
 To stand coop'd up like statues in a niche. 
 Or feed on their own secret contemplations. 
 
 Luc. Go to ; thou know'st not what thou say'st, Lavinia, 
 I thank the gods who taught me that the miud 
 Possess'd of conscious virtue, is more rich 
 Than all the sunless hoards which Plutus boasts ; 
 And that the chiefest glory of a woman 
 Is in retirement — that her highest comfort 
 Results from house-born and domestic joys, — 
 Her noblest treasure, a deserving husband ! 
 Who, not a prisoner to the eye alone, 
 A fair corfiplexion or melodious voice, 
 Shall read her deeper, — nor shall time, which palls 
 The rage of passion, shake his ardent love, 
 45 
 
354 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Increasing by possession. This, (again I thank 
 The gracious gods,) — this husband, too, is mine ! 
 Soft — I hear footsteps ! Hour of rapture ! Look ! 
 My life, my love, my Collatinus comes ! 
 
 Enter Collatinus, Sextus, Aruns, and Claudius. Lucretia 
 rushes into the arms of Collatinus. 
 
 My lord, most welcome ! 
 
 Col Welcome these, my friends, 
 Lucretia ! — our right royal master's sons ; 
 Passing this way, I have prevail'd with them 
 To grace our humble mansion. 
 
 Luc. Welcome yourself ! 
 And doubly welcome, that you bring such friends. 
 Haste, maidens, haste — make ready for our guests ! 
 My heart is full of joy ! [^Exeunt Attendants] 
 
 Ar. Rather, fair lady. 
 You should be angry, that unseasonably. 
 And with abrupt intrusion, we've thus broke 
 Upon your privacy. 
 
 Luc. No, my good lord ; 
 Those to whom love and my respect are due, 
 Can ne'er intrude upon me ; — had I known 
 This visit, you, perhaps, might have been treated 
 With better cheer — not a more kind reception. 
 This evening, little did I think my house 
 Would have possess'd such lodgers. 
 
 CL Rather, lady. 
 Such birds of passage, — we must hence to-night. 
 
 Luc. To-night ? Doth not my lord say no to that ? 
 
 Col. I would, Lucretia ; but it cannot be. 
 If aught the house affords, my dearest love, 
 To set before your guests, I pray, prepare it : 
 We must be at the camp ere morning dawn. 
 An hour or two will be the utmost limit 
 AUow'd us here. 
 
 Luc. With all the speed I can 
 I'll play the caterer ; though I am tempted. 
 Would that delay your journey, to be tardy 
 And prove a sluggish housewife. [^Exit Lucretia.] 
 
 Sex. This is indeed a wife ! Here the dispute 
 Must end; — 
 And, Collatinus, we must yield to thee ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 355 
 
 Ar. I will not envy thee, — but 'tis a wife 
 Of wives, — a precious diamond, pick'd 
 From out the common pebbles. To have found her 
 At work among her maids at this late hour. 
 And not displeas'd at our rude interruption, — 
 Not to squeeze out a quaint apology, 
 As, "7 am quite asham'd; so unprepared ; 
 " Who could have thought ! Would I had known of it ! " 
 And such like tacit hints, to tell her guests 
 She wishes them away — thou'rt happy, Collatine. 
 
 Col. Enough, enough. 
 The gods forbid I should affiect indiflFerence, 
 And say you flatter me. I am most happy. — 
 But Sextus heeds us not. He seems quite lost. 
 
 Sex. Pray, pardon me. 
 My mind was in the camp. How wine could heat us 
 To such a mad exploit, at such a time, 
 Is shameful to reflect on ; let us mount 
 This instant, and return. 
 
 Col. Now we are here, 
 We shall encroach but little on our time 
 If we partake the slender fare together 
 Which will, by this, await us. Pray, my lords. 
 This way. {^Exit Collatings.] 
 
 Sex. Along — I'll follow straight. 
 
 [^Exeunt Aruns and Claudius.] 
 
 Sex. {Apart.) Had she staid here till now, I should have done 
 Nothing but gaze. Nymphs, goddesses, 
 Are fables ; — nothing can, in heave n or earth 
 Be half so fair ! — But there's no hope ! — Her face. 
 Her look, her eye, her manners, speak a heart 
 Unknowing of deceit ; a soul of honor. 
 Where frozen chastity has fix'd her throne, 
 And unpolluted nuptial sanctity. 
 
 Peace, undigested thoughts ! — Down — down ! till ripen'd 
 By further time, ye bloom. lExit."] 
 
 END OP ACT THE SECOND. 
 
356 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. — Rome. 
 
 The Capitol. Equestrian Statue o/Tarquinius Superbus. 
 Night. Thunder and Lightning. 
 
 Enter Brutus. 
 Br. {Alone.) Slumber forsakes me and I court the horrors 
 Which night and tempest swell on every side. 
 Launch forth thy thunders, capitolian Jove ! 
 Put fire into the languid souls of men ; 
 Let loose thy ministers of wrath amongst them 
 And crush the vile oppressor ! Strike him down, 
 Ye lightnings I Lay his trophies in the dust ! 
 
 (^Storm increases') 
 Ha ! this is well ! — flash, ye blue-forked fires ! 
 Loud-bursting thunders, roar ! and tremble, earth ! 
 
 A violent crash of thunder , and the statue of Tarquin. struck hy a 
 Jlash, is shatter' d to pieces. ' 
 
 What '■ fallen at last, proud idol ! struck to earth ! 
 
 I thank you, gods ! I thank you ! When you point 
 
 Your shafts at human pride, it is not chance, 
 
 'Tis wisdom levels the commission'd blow. 
 
 But I — a thing of no account — a slave — 
 
 I to your forked lightnings bare my bosom 
 
 In vain — for what's a slave, a dastard slave ? 
 
 A fool, a Brutus ? (Storm increases) Hark ! the storm rides on ! 
 
 The scolding winds drive through the clattering rain, 
 
 And loudly screams the haggard witch of night. 
 
 Strange hopes possess my soul. My thoughts grow wild, 
 
 Engender with the scene and pant for action. 
 
 With your leave, majesty, I'll sit beside you. 
 
 (^Sits on the fragment of the statue.) 
 Oh, for a cause ! A cause, ye mighty gods ! 
 
 Enter \ aJjErivs followed hy a Messenger. 
 
 Val. What! CoUatinus sent for, did'st thou say ? 
 Mes. Aye, CoUatinus, thou, and all her kinsmen. 
 To come upon the instant to Collatia, 
 
John Howard Payne. 357 
 
 She will take no denial. Time is precious, 
 And I must hasten forth to bring her husband. 
 
 [Exit Messenger.] 
 
 Br. {Apart.) Ha ! Collatinus and Lucretia's kinsmen ! 
 There's something dark in this — Valerius too — 
 Well met — Now will I put him to the test — 
 Valerius — Hoa ! 
 
 Vol. Who calls me ? 
 
 Br. Brutus. 
 
 Val Go, 
 Get thee to bed ! [Valerius is departing.'] 
 
 Br. Valerius ! 
 
 Val. Peace, I say, 
 Thou foolish thing ! Why dost thou call so loud ? 
 
 Br. Because I will be heard. The time may come 
 When thou shalt want a fool. 
 
 Val. Pr'ythee, begone ! 
 I have no time to hear thy prattle now. 
 
 Br. By Hercules, but you must hear. {^Seizing his arm.'] 
 
 Val. You'll anger me. 
 
 Br. Waste not your noble anger on a fool. 
 'Twere a brave passion in a better cause. 
 
 Val. Thy folly's cause enough. 
 
 Br. Rail not at folly — 
 There's but one wise, 
 And him the gods have kill'd. 
 
 Val. Kill'd! Whom? 
 
 Br. Behold. 
 Oh, sight of pity ! — Majesty in ruins ! 
 Down on your knees — down to your kingly idol ! 
 
 Val. Let slaves and sycophants do that ; not I. 
 
 Br. Wilt thou not kneel ? 
 
 Val. Begone ; you trouble me. 
 Valerius kneels not to the living Tarquin . 
 
 Br. Indeed! — Belike you wish him laid as low. 
 
 Val. What if I do ? 
 
 Br. Jove tells thee what to do — 
 Strike ! — Oh ! the difference 'twixt Jove's wrath and thine ! 
 He, at the crowned tyrant aims his shaft, 
 Thou, mighty man, would'st frown a fool to silence, 
 And spurn poor Brutus from thee. 
 
 Val. What is this ? 
 Let me look nearer at thee. Is thy mind, 
 
368 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 That long-lost jewel, found, — and Lucius Junius, 
 Dear to my heart, restor'd ? or art thou Brutus, 
 The scoflF and jest of Kome, and this a fit 
 Of intermittent reason ? 
 
 Br. I am Brutus. 
 Folly, be thou my goddess ! I am Brutus, 
 If thou wilt use me so ! — If not, farewell. 
 Why dost thou pause ? look on me ! I have limbs. 
 Muscles and sinews, shoulders strong to bear. 
 And hands not slow to strike. What more than Brutus 
 Could Lucius Junius do ? 
 
 Vol. A cause like ours 
 Asks both the strength of Brutus, and the wisdom 
 Of Lucius Junius. 
 
 Br. No more. We're interrupted. 
 
 Vol. Farewell. Hereafter we'll discourse. 
 And may the gods confirm the hope you've waken'd. 
 
 [^Exit Valerius.] 
 
 Br. {Alone.') My soul expands ! my spirit swells within me 
 As if the glorious moment were at hand ! 
 Sure, this is Sextus — why has he left the camp ? 
 Alone — and muffled ! — 
 
 Enter Sextus wrapped in a mantle. 
 
 Welcome, gentle prince ! — 
 
 Sex. Ha ! Brutus here ! — Unhous'd amid the storm ? 
 
 Br. Whence com'st thou, prince ? from battle ? from the camp ? 
 
 Sex. Not from the camp, good Brutus — from Collatia — 
 The camp of Venus, — not of Mars, good Brutus. 
 
 Br. Ha! 
 
 Sex. Why dost thou start ! — thy kinswoman, Lucretia — 
 
 Br. {Eagerly.) Well — what of her ? speak ! 
 
 Sex. Aye, I will speak ! 
 And I'll speak that shall fill thee with more wonder. 
 Than all the lying oracle declar'd. 
 
 Br. Nay, prince, not so, — you cannot do a deed 
 To make me wonder. 
 
 Sex. Indeed ! Dost think it ? — 
 Then let me tell thee, Brutus, — wild with passion 
 For this fam'd matron, — tho' we met but once, — 
 Last night I stole in secret from the camp 
 Where, in security, I left her husband. 
 
John Howard Payne. 359 
 
 She was alone. I said aflfairs of consequence 
 Had brought me to Collatia. She received me 
 As the king's son, and as her husband's friend — 
 
 Br. {Apart.') Patience, oh heart — a moment longer patience ? 
 
 Sex. When midnight came, I crept into her chamber — 
 
 Br. {Apart.) Inhuman monster ! 
 
 Sex. Alarm'd and frantic 
 She shriek'd out " Collatinus ! Husband ! Help ! " 
 A slave rush'd in — I sprung upon the catiflF, 
 And drove my dagger through his clamorous throat ; 
 Then, turning to Lucretia, now half dead 
 With terror, swore, by all the gods at once, 
 If she resisted, to the heart I'd stab her, 
 Yoke her fair body to the dying slave, 
 And fix pollution to her name for ever ! 
 
 Br. And and the matron ? 
 
 Sex. Was mine ! 
 
 Brutus [with a hurst of frenzy.) 
 
 The furies curse you then ! — Lash you with snakes ! 
 
 When forth you walk, may the red, flaming sun 
 
 Strike you with livid plagues ! — 
 
 Vipers that die not, slowly gnaw your heart ! 
 
 May earth be to you but one wilderness ! 
 
 May mankind shun you — may you hate yourself — 
 
 For death pray hourly, yet be in tortures 
 
 Millions of years expiring ! 
 
 Sex. Amazement ! What can mean this sudden frenzy ? 
 
 Br. What ? Violation ! Do we dwell in dens 
 In cavern'd rocks — or amongst men in Rome ? 
 
 [ Thunder and lightning become very violent."] 
 Hear the loud curse of heaven ! 'Tis not for nothing 
 The thunderer keeps this coil above your head ! 
 
 \_Points to the fragments of the statue.] 
 Look on that ruin ! See your father's statue 
 Unhors'd and headless ! Tremble at the omen ! 
 
 Sex. This is not madness. Ha ! my dagger lost ! — 
 Wretch ! — thou shalt not escape me ! — Ho ! a guard ! — 
 The rac^shall punish thee ! A guard, I say ! 
 
 \^Exit Sextus.] 
 
 Br. {Alone.) The blow is struck ! The anxious messages 
 To Collatinus and his friends explain'd, 
 
360 Tragedy op Brutus. 
 
 And now, Rome's liberty or loss is certain ! 
 
 I'll hasten to Collatia — join my kinsmen — 
 
 To the moon, folly ! — Vengeance, I embrace thee ! 
 
 [^Exit Brutus.] 
 
 SCENE TI. 
 
 An apartment in the house of Collatinus. Collatinus enters 
 wildly^ a bloody dagger in his hand, followed by Valerius and 
 Lucretius. 
 
 Col. She's dead.^ Lucretia's dead ! I pluck'd this steel 
 From my Lucretia's heart ! This is her blood ! 
 Howl, howl, ye men of Rome, Look ! there she lies 
 That was your wonder. 
 
 Ye mighty gods, where are your thunders now ? 
 Ye men and warriors, have you human hearts ? 
 But who shall dare to mourn her loss like me ! 
 
 Unter Brutus. 
 
 Br. I dare, — and so dare every honest Roman. 
 
 Luc. Whence comes this mad intrusion ! hence, begone ! 
 
 Br: The noble spirit fled ! How died Lucretia ? 
 
 Val. By her own hand she died. 
 
 Br. Heroic matron ! 
 Now, now the hour is come ! By this one blow 
 Her name's immortal, and her country sav'd ! 
 Hail ! dawn of glory ! (^Snatching the dagger) Hail, thou sacred 
 
 weapon ! 
 Virtue's deliverer, hail ! This fatal steel 
 Empurpled with the purest blood on earth. 
 Shall cut your chains of slavery asunder ! 
 Hear, Romans, hear ! did not the Sybil tell you 
 A fool should set Rome free ? I am that fool ; 
 Brutus bids Rome be free ! 
 
 Val. What can this mean ? 
 
 Br. It means that Lucius Junius has thrown off 
 The mask of madness, and his soul rides forth 
 On the destroying whirlwind, to avenge 
 The wrongs of that bright excellence- and Rome ! 
 
 ^ The scene which was omitted after the first representation, and for which 
 this introductory speech of Collatinus is substituted, will be found in a note 
 at the end of the play. 
 
John Howard Payne. 361 
 
 lAUi. Can this be Lucius Junius ? 
 
 Yah Ha I The voice 
 Of inspiration speaks ! 
 
 Col. Oh, glorious Brultts, 
 Let me in tears adore the bounteous gods, 
 Who have restor'd thee to redress my woes ; 
 And in my woes, my country. 
 
 Br. No more of this. 
 Stand not in wonder. Every instant now 
 Is precious to your cause. Rise ! Snatch your arms ! 
 
 (Brutus kneels.^ 
 Hear me, great Jove ! and thou, paternal Mars, 
 And spotless Vesta ! To the death, I swear 
 My burning vengeance shall pursue these Tarquins ! 
 Ne'er shall my limbs know rest till they are swept 
 From oflF the earth, which groans beneath their infamy ! 
 This, from the bottom of my soul I swear ! 
 (^He rises.) 
 
 Valerius, Collatine, Lucretius, — all — 
 Here, I adjure ye by this fatal dagger. 
 All stain'd and reeking with her sacred blood. 
 Be partners in my oath, revenge her fall ! 
 
 All. We swear ! 
 
 Br. Well have ye said : and, oh ! methinks I see 
 The hovering spirit of the murder'd matron. 
 Look down and bow her airy head to bless you ! 
 Summon your slaves, and bear the body hence, 
 High in the view, through all the streets of Rome, 
 Up to the Forum ! — On ! The least delay 
 May draw down ruin, and defeat our glory ! 
 On, Romans, on ! The fool shall set you free ! 
 
 [^Exeunt omnes.'] 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 The Palace o/Tullia. 
 
 Enter Flavius Corunna, in haste, meeting HoRATius. 
 
 Cor. My lord, my lord ! Quick, tell me, where's the queen? 
 ffor. Whence this alarm ? What wouldst thou ? 
 Cor. Rebellion rages — 
 Hor. Rebellion ! 
 
 46 
 
362 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Cor. Lucretia, 
 The wife of Collatinus, is no more. 
 The furious multitude have borne her body 
 With shouts of vengeance through the streets of Rome, 
 And " Sextus Tarquin," is the general cry. 
 
 Hor, Where are the troops ? why dost thou dally here, 
 When thou shouldst pay their insolence with death. 
 
 Cor. The soldiers join the throng — the gates are clos'd, 
 And the mad crowd exclaim, " We banish Tarquin." 
 Brutus, all wild with vengeance, leads them on. 
 
 Hor. What miracle is this ? How sayest thou, Brutus ? 
 
 Cor. Aye, the fool Brutus. Now, before the rostrum. 
 The body of Lucretia is expos'd, 
 And Brutus there harangues assembled Rome. 
 He waves aloft 
 
 The bloody dagger ; all the people hear him 
 With wildest admiration and applause ; 
 He speaks as if he held the souls of men 
 In his own hand, and moulded them at pleasure. 
 They look on him as they would view a god, 
 Who, from a darkness which invested him. 
 Springs forth, and, knitting his stern brow in frowns. 
 Proclaims the vengeful will of angry Jove. 
 
 Hor. Fly thro' the city ; gather all the force 
 You can assemble, and straight hasten hither. 
 I'll to the queen — Lose not a moment. Hence ! 
 I tremble for Rome's safety ! haste — begone ! 
 
 \Exeunt at opposite 81(168.1 
 
 SCENE IV. 
 The Forum. 
 
 The populace Jill the stage. Brutus is discovered upon the Forum. 
 The dead body o/Lucretia is on a bier beneath. Collatinus, 
 Lucretius and the Female Attendants of Lucretia, stand 
 around the corpse. Valerius and others are seen. 
 Br. Thus, thus, my friends, fast as our breaking hearts 
 
 Permitted utterance, we have told our story : 
 
 And now, to say one word of the imposture, — 
 
 The mask necessity has made me wear. 
 
 When the ferocious malice of your king, — 
 
 King do I call him ? When the monster, Tarquin 
 
 Slew, as you, most of you, may well remember. 
 
 My father Marcus and my elder brother, 
 
John Howard Payne. 363 
 
 Envying at once their virtue and their wealth, 
 How could I hope a shelter from his power, 
 But in the false face I have worn so long ? 
 
 Ist. Rom. Most wonderful ! 
 
 2c?. Rom. Silence ! he speaks again. 
 
 Br. Would you know why I summon'd you together ? 
 Ask ye what brings me here ? Behold this dagger, 
 Clotted with gore ! Behold that frozen corse ! 
 See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death ! 
 She was the mark and model of the time, 
 The mould in which each female face was form'd, 
 The very shrine aud sacristy of virtue ! 
 Fairer than ever was a form created 
 By youthful fancy when the blood strays wild, 
 And never-resting thought is all on fire ! 
 The worthiest of the worthy ! Not the nymph 
 Who met old Numa in his hallow'd walks. 
 And whisper'd in his ear her strains divine, 
 Can I conceive beyond her ; — the young choir 
 Of vestal virgins bent to her. 'Tis wonderful 
 Amid the darnel, hemlock, and base weeds 
 Which now spring rife from the luxurious compost 
 Spread o'er the realm, how this sweet lily rose, — 
 How from the shade of those ill-neighboring plants 
 Her father shelter'd her, that not a leaf 
 Was blighted, but, array'd in purest grace. 
 She bloom'd unsullied beauty. Such perfections 
 Might have call'd back the torpid breast of age 
 To long-forgotten rapture ; such a mind 
 Might have abash'd the boldest libertine. 
 And turn'd desire to reverential love 
 And holiest aflFection ! Oh, my countrymen ! 
 You all can witness when that she went forth, 
 It was a holiday in Rome ; old age 
 Forgot its crutch, labor its task, all ran, 
 And mothers turning to their daughters cried, 
 " There, there's Lucretia ! " Now, look ye where she lies ! 
 That beauteous flower, that innocent sweet rose 
 Torn up by ruthless violence — gone 1 gone ! 
 
 AU. Sextus shall die 1 
 
 Br. But then — the king — his father — 
 
 1st R. What shall be done with him ? 
 
 2d R. Speak, Brutus ! 
 
364 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 2d R. Tell us ! 
 
 Br. Say, would ye seek instruction ? would ye ask 
 What ye should do ? Ask ye yon conscious walls 
 Which saw his poison'd brother, saw the incest 
 Committed there, and they will cry, " Revenge ! " 
 Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove 
 O'er her dead father's corse, 'twill cry, " Revenge ! " 
 Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple 
 With human blood, and it will cry, " Revenge ! " 
 Go to the tomb where lies his murder'd wife, 
 And the poor queen who lov'd him as her son. 
 Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, " Revenge ! " 
 The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heavens. 
 The gods themselves, shall justify the cry 
 And swell the general sound, " Revenge, Revenge !" 
 
 All. Revenge ! Revenge ! 
 
 Br. And we will be reveng'd, my countrymen ! 
 Brutus shall lead you on ; Brutus, a name 
 Which will, when you're reveng'd, be dearer to him 
 Than all the noblest titles earth can boast. 
 
 Is R. Live, Brutus ! 
 
 MR. Valiant Brutus ! 
 
 Zd R. Down with Tarquin ! 
 
 2d R. We '11 have no Tarquins ! 
 
 \st R. We will have a Brutus ! 
 
 Zrd R. Let's to the Capitol, and shout for Brutus. 
 
 Br. I your king ! 
 Brutus your king ! — No, fellow citizens ! 
 If mad ambition in this guilty frame 
 Had strung one kingly fibre, — yea, but one — 
 By all the gods, this dagger which I hold 
 Should rip it out, though it entwin'd my heart. 
 
 Val. Then I am with thee, noble, noble Brutus, 
 Brutus, the new-restor'd ! Brutus, by Sybil, 
 By Pythian prophetess foretold, shall lead us ! 
 
 Br. Now take the body up. Bear it before us 
 To Tarquin's palace ; there we'll light our torches, 
 And, in the blazing conflagration, rear 
 A pile for these chaste relicts, that shall send 
 Her soul amongst the stars. On ! Brutus leads you ! 
 
 [^Exeunt; the moh shouting.'] 
 
 END OP THE THIRD ACT. 
 
John Howard Payne. 365 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I — Rome. 
 
 A court belonging to Tarquin's palace. In the front a grand en- 
 trance, with folding gates closed. 
 
 Enter TuLLIA. 
 Tul. (Alone.) Gods ! whither shall a frantic mother fly ? 
 Accursed siege of Ardea ! Tarquin, Tarquin, 
 Where art thou ? Save thy wife, thy son, thy city ! 
 
 Enter Titus. 
 Ti. Where is the prince j where's Sextus ? 
 Tul. Where ? Oh, heavens ! 
 His madness hath undone us ! Where is Sextus ? 
 Perhaps ev'n now the barbarous ruffians hurl him 
 Alive into the flames, or piecemeal drag 
 Along the rebel streets his mangled trunk — 
 Ti. No more. I'll save him, or avenge — 
 
 ( Going. Horatius meets and stops him.) 
 
 Hor. Turn, noble Roman, turn ; 
 Set not your life upon a desperate stake. 
 Hark, they are at thy gates ! 
 
 Tul. Does my son live ? 
 
 Hor. Furious he sprang upon the rabble throng 
 And hew'd his desperate passage ; but the time 
 Admits no further question — Save yourself ! 
 
 Tul. Let the tide enter ! 
 Let the vile rabble look upon the eyes 
 Of majesty, and tremble. Who leads them on ? 
 
 Hor. Your new-nam'd fool, your Brutus. 
 
 Ti. Death ! my father ! 
 
 Tul. Brutus in arms ! 
 Oh, Sybil ! Oh, my fate ! farewell to greatness ! 
 I've heard my doom. 
 
 Ti. Earth, earth, inclose me ! 
 
 Tul. Hark ! it bursts upon us ! [^Shouts are heard."] 
 
 Hor. Ha ! nearer yet ! now be propitious. Mars ! 
 Now, nerve my arm with more than mortal fury 
 Till the dissembler sink beneath its vengeance. {^Exit HoR.] 
 
366 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Tul. Fly ! save my child — save my — save your Tarquinia. 
 Ti. Or die, defending. ^Exit Titus.] 
 
 Tumult becomes very violent, and the battering at the gate and loall 
 commences. 
 
 Tul. Ah ! if amidst my legions I might fall 
 Death were not then inglorious ; but to perish 
 By the vile scum of Rome — hunted by dogs — 
 Baited to death by brawling, base mechanics — 
 Shame insupportable ! 
 
 The gate and walls are shattered down. The palaces behind are in 
 Jlames. The soldiers and populace rush over the ruins. Brutus 
 appears in the midst of them, and advances to the front. 
 
 Br. Seize the parricide ! ( They advance and surround her.) 
 
 Tul. Avaunt ! I am your queen. 
 
 Br. Tarquins ! we cast you from us. 
 
 Tul. Give me a sword, and let me fall like Tullia. 
 
 Br. No, we reserve our swords for nobler uses 
 Than to make war with women : to the Tarquins, 
 To your adulterous son we leave that shame. 
 
 Tul. If then 'twill better sate thy cruelty. 
 Precipitate me quick into those flames. 
 And with the wreck of empire mix my ashes. 
 
 Br. Take her to Rhea's Temple, take her hence 
 And lodge her with her ancestors. 
 
 Tul. Ye gods ! 
 My father's sepulchre ! — I'll not approach it. 
 
 Br. 'Twill furnish wholesome recollection. Hence ! 
 
 Tul. Not to that fatal place ! Send me not thither ! 
 
 Br. 'Tis fix'd. 
 
 Tul. Choose the most loathsome dungeon — there confine me, 
 Or give me death instead. My heart recoils 
 Against that temple. 
 
 Br. There, and only there, 
 By your dead father's tomb, you must abide 
 The judgment of the state. 
 
 Tul. Then, by the gods 
 Whom, for the last time, I invoke, — whose shrines 
 I've incens'd o'er and o'er, though now forsaken, 
 Now at my utmost need, — if no means else 
 Of ready death present themselves, 
 No particle of food shall pass these lips, 
 
John Howard Payne. 367 
 
 Till, in the void of nature, hungry madness 
 
 With blank oblivion entering, shall confound 
 
 And cancel all perception. \_Exit TuLLiA, guarded.'] 
 
 Enter TiTUS, who meets Bbutds as he is going off. 
 
 Ti. Turn, oh my father, 
 And look upon thy son. 
 
 Br. What wouldst thou? speak ! 
 
 Ti. If thou hast reason, oh, have mercy, also ! 
 But if in madness thou hast done this deed — 
 
 Br. I am not mad, but as the lion is. 
 When he breaks down the toils that tyrant-craft 
 Hath spread to catch him. Think not we will suflfer 
 These monsters to profane the air of Heaven. 
 Shall Titus, then, oppose our great design ? 
 Shall Brutus meet a recreant in his son ? 
 Banish this folly ! — have a care — I know thee, 
 There is a lurking passion at thy heart 
 Which leaves but half a soul for Home and me ! 
 
 Ti. You wrong me. Like a Roman, I exult 
 To see Lucretia's murder thus aveng'd — 
 And, like a son, glory in such a father ! 
 Yet hear me through. — Nay, do not frown, but hear me — 
 
 Br. Go on ; confess thy weakness, and dismiss it. 
 
 Ti. 'Twas in the sleep of my dear father's reason, 
 When Tarquin's freed man in a saucy mood 
 Vented vile jests at thy unhappy weakness. 
 Stung to the quick, I snatch'd a weapon up, 
 And fell'd him to my foot. 
 
 Br. Why, 'twas well done. 
 The knave was saucy, and you slew him. — On ! 
 
 Ti. 'Twas on this very spot Tarquinia stood. 
 And when the wrathful father had denounc'd 
 Immediate death on this my filial act^ 
 She with the tongue of interceding pity. 
 And tears that stream'd in concert with her suit, 
 Implor'd, prevailed, and gave me life — and love. 
 
 Br. 'Tis well. Behold, I give her life for life : 
 Rome may be free, altho' Tarquinia lives — 
 This I concede ; but more if thou attemptest, — 
 By all the gods ! — Nay, if thou dost not take 
 Her image, though with smiling cupids deck'd. 
 
368 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 And pluck it from thy heart, there to receive 
 
 Rome and her glories in, without a rival, 
 
 Thou art no son of mine, thou art no Roman. [^Exit Brutus.] 
 
 Enter Tarquinia. 
 
 Tar. Save, save me, Titus ! Oh, amid the crash 
 Of falling palaces, preserve Tarquinia. 
 Or, do I meet in thee a double rebel, 
 Traitor alike to me and to your king ? 
 Speak, I conjure thee ! Will the son of Brutus 
 Now take me to his pity and protection, 
 Or stab with perfidy the heart that loves him ! 
 
 Ti. Cruel suspicion ! Oh, ador'd Tarquinia ! 
 I live but to preserve you. You are free : 
 I have my father's sanction for your safety. 
 
 Tar. I scorn a life that is preserv'd by Brutus ! 
 I scorn to outlive parents, brothers, friends ! 
 I'll die with those 
 Whom this dire night hath murder'd. 
 
 Ti. Who are murder'd ? 
 Whom hath the sword of Brutus slain ? Not one 
 Of all thy kindred — 
 
 Tar. Say'st thou ? Lives my mother ? 
 
 Ti. She lives — and Sextus, — even he escapes 
 The storm which he has rais'd, and flies to Ardea. 
 
 Tar. Speed him, ye gods, with eagles' swiftness thither ! 
 And may those thunders which now shake the walls 
 Of tottering Ardea, like a whirlwind, burst 
 On this devoted city, whelm its towers, 
 And crush the traitorous hive beneath their ruins ! 
 Now, Titus, where is now thy promis'd faith ? 
 Didst thou not swear no danger should divide us ? 
 
 Ti. I did ; and constant to my oath, behold me 
 Thy faithful guardian in this night of terrors. 
 
 Tar. Be still my guardian j snatch me from these terrors. 
 Bear me to Ardea, be the friend of nature, 
 And give the rescued daughter to the arms 
 Of her protecting parent ; thus you gain 
 The praise of men, the blessing of the gods, 
 And all that honor, all that love can grant. 
 
 Ti. Despair ! Distraction ! Whither shall I turn me ! 
 
 Tar. Why do you waver? Cast away this weakness; 
 
John Howard Payne. 369 
 
 Be glorious in your cruelty, and leave me. 
 
 By all the demons who prepare the heart 
 
 To rush upon the self-destroying steel, 
 
 The same dire moment which gives thee to Brutus, 
 
 Gives me to death. 
 
 Ti. Horror I Tarquinia, hold ! 
 
 Tar. Lo ! I am arm'd. — Farewell ! — How I have loved you 
 My death shall witness, — how you have deceiv'd me 
 Let your own conscience tell. — Now to your father ! 
 Now go and mingle with the murderers ; 
 Go, teach those fiends what perjury can do, 
 And show your hands bath'd in Tarquinia's blood : 
 The filial deed shall welcome you to Brutus, 
 And fill his gloomy soul with savage joy. 
 
 Ti. Take, take me hence for ever ! Let me lose 
 In these dear arms the very name of son, 
 All claims of nature, every sense of love ! 
 
 Tar. The gods that guard the majesty of Rome, 
 And that sweet power, whose influence turns thy heart 
 To pity and compliance, shall reward 
 And bless thee for the deed ! 
 
 Ti. Can he be blest 
 On whom a father's direful curse shall fall ? 
 
 Tar. A madman's imprecation is no curse. 
 Be a man. 
 
 Ti. Oh, while thy love upholds me, I can stand 
 Against the world's contempt; remember, only, 
 For whose dear sake I am undone ; remember 
 My heart was honor's once. 
 
 Tar. And shall be ever. 
 Come, I will show thee where bright honor grows, 
 Where thou shall pluck it from the topmost branch, 
 And wear it in its freshest, fairest bloom. 
 
 [^Exeunt TiTUS and Tarquinia.] 
 
 SCENE IL— A Street in Rome. 
 
 Enter Horatius and Celius. 
 Hor. Brutus and CoUatinus are appointed 
 To sovereign sway, as consuls for the year. 
 Their selff-elected senate meets to-morrow. 
 Tho' some remain, too honest for their views, 
 These for security exact conditions — 
 They ask a chief whose well-establish'd fame 
 47 
 
370 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 May win the hearts of this inconstant people ; 
 A chief so brave, that, should we prove victorious, 
 He may compel the king to keep his faith ; 
 Or, if we fall, boldly revenge our deaths — 
 And such a chief I've found. 
 
 Cel. Indeed ! — In whom ! 
 
 Hor. The consul's son — his much lov'd son — young Titus. 
 
 Cel. What ! to rebel against his father's power ! 
 
 Hor. Aye he is ours. This very night, Tarquinia 
 Will lead him forth to the Quirinal gate 
 Whence they straight hasten to the camp at Ardea. 
 Impetuous youth is wrought upon with ease. 
 Though 'tis his father's frown upon his love, 
 And early vows pledg'd to the fair Tarquinia, 
 Alone, which prompt him thus to head our band, 
 Once in our pow'r, we'll mould him to our ends; 
 His very name will prove a tower of strength. 
 And Rome, once more, shall be restor'd to Tarquin. 
 
 Cel. Bravely resolv'd ! — But tell me — where's the queen ? 
 
 Hor. A captive and confin'd in Rhea's temple, 
 Watch'd by the vestals who there guard the flame 
 Upon the tomb where lies her murder'd father. 
 Unhappy queen ! our sword shall soon release thee ! 
 Come ! Hence at once ! The hour draws near — away — 
 Ere two days pass these reptiles shall be crush' d, 
 And humbled Rome sue for its monarch's pardon. 
 
 [Exeui\t HoRATius and Celius.] 
 
 Enter Lucretius and Valerius. 
 
 Val. That was Horatius parted, was it not ? 
 
 Imc. The same. 
 
 Val. Am I deceiv'd ? Methinks I heard 
 Something like discontent and treason muttcr'd. 
 
 Luc. I fear all is not safe. Assembled groups 
 Of Tarquin's friends have been seen close in conference, 
 Muttering his name aloud. Aye, and some base, 
 Degenerate Romans call'd for a surrender. 
 
 Val Horatius' arts may justly wake suspicion. 
 And Rome, we know, is still disgrac'd by many 
 Too base, too sordid, to be bravely free. 
 Let us go forth and double all the guards, 
 See their steps watch'd and intercept their malice. 
 
 Liic. Nay — there's a safer course than that — arrest them ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 371 
 
 Val. The laws and rights we've sworn to guard, forbid it ! 
 Let them be watch'd. We must not venture farther. 
 To arrest a Roman upon bare surmise 
 Would be at once to imitate the tyrant 
 Whom we renounce, and from his throne have driven ! 
 
 lExit Lucretius and Valerius.] 
 
 SCENE IIL— Rome. 
 
 The temple of Rhea, with a large central door leading to the tomb 
 of Servius TuLLius, late King of Rome. On one side of the 
 stage a statue of KiiEA, a7id on the ^ other a statue 0/ Vesta, 
 with altars, and incense burning before each. 
 
 Friestess of Ehea. Virgins of the Temple. 
 
 Pr. Daughters of Rhea, since the lords of Rome 
 Have to your holy hands consign'd the charge ^ 
 
 Of their now captive queen, inform the Priestess 
 How your sad prisoner abides her durance. 
 Is her proud soul yet humbled, or, indignant, 
 Doth it still breathe defiance and contempt ? 
 
 Vir. Sullen and silent, she resolves on death : 
 She will not taste of nourishment. She comes. 
 Enter TuLLiA. 
 
 Pr. I pray you, royal lady, be entreated — 
 
 Tul. I tell you, no ! 
 
 Pr. Think what a train of weary hours have pass'd 
 Since you had taste of food. 
 
 Tul. 'Tis well ! 
 The fewer are to come. 
 
 Pr. How can you live to meet your royal husband, 
 To fold your children in your arms again. 
 If you resist support ? 
 
 Tul. Ha ! well remember'd ! 
 What news from Ardea ? Will he march for Rome ? 
 Hark ! Do you hear his trumpet ? Is he coming ? 
 Aye, this is hope and worth the feeding. 
 'Tis well. 'Tis well. 
 But, tell me — doth the king know of this kindness? 
 
 Pr. What king ? we comprehend you not. 
 
 Tul. What king? 
 Brutus, tke king of Rome, — knows he of this ? 
 
 Pr. He does. 
 
 Tul. And would he I should live ? 
 
 Pr. He would. 
 
372 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Tul. Merciful villain ! 
 Yes, he would have me live to page his triumphs : 
 I know the utmost of his mercy — 
 Subtle traitor ! 
 
 I'll not taste food, tho' immortality 
 Were grafted to each atom — Hark ! What's that ? 
 Heard you that groan ? 
 
 Pr. It is your fancy's coinage. 
 
 Tul. Again ! 'Tis deep and hollow : 
 It issues from the vault — Set the door open ! 
 Open, I say. 
 
 Pr. It is your father's sepulchre. 
 
 Tul. My father ! righteous gods, I kill'd my father ! 
 Horrible retribution ! 
 
 Pr. Wretched daughter, 
 If thou hast done this deed, prepare thy spirit 
 By wholesome meditation for atonement, 
 And let no passion interrupt the task 
 Of penitence and prayer. 
 
 Tul. I'll pray no more. 
 There is no mercy in the skies for murder, 
 Therefore no praying, none. 
 I have a plea for my impenitence — 
 Madness ! 
 
 These groans have made me mad ; all the night through 
 They howl'd distraction to my sleepless brain ! 
 You've shut me up with furies to torment me, 
 And starv'd me into madness. Hark ! again ! 
 Unbar the door ! Unbar it ! By the gods ! 
 The voice is more than human which I hear ! 
 I'll enter there — I will be satisfied, 
 Altho' the confirmation should present 
 His awful form — 
 She rushes forward. The Priestess and Vestals in confusion 
 
 and alarm, spring to the bar, which falling with a crash, the door 
 
 files open, and discovers a monumental figure a/SERViUS TuLLlUS, 
 
 with lamps burning on each side of it. TuLLiA recoils, shrieks, 
 
 and exclaims. 
 Tis he ! It is my father ! 
 
 She falls and expires. The others group around her, and the cur- 
 tain falls to soft music. 
 
 END or ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
John Howard Payne. 373 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. — A Street in Rome, with the Temple of Mars in view. 
 
 Enter Brutus and Collatinus, as Consuls, with Lictors, Vale- 
 rius, Lucretius, and numerous followers. 
 
 Br. You judge me rightly, friends. The purple robe, 
 The curule chair, the lictors' keen-edged axe. 
 Rejoice not Brutus; — 'tis his country's freedom : 
 When once that freedom shall be firmly rooted, 
 Then, with redoubled pleasure, will your Consul 
 Exchange the splendid miseries of power 
 For the calm comforts of a happy home. 
 
 F7iter a Messenger. 
 
 Mess. All health to Rome, her Senate and her Consuls. 
 
 Br. Speak on — What message hast thou to impart ? 
 
 JUess. I bring intelligence of Sextus Tarquin, 
 Who, on arriving at a neighboring village 
 Was known, and by the people ston'd to death. 
 
 Br. Now, Lucretia ! 
 Thy ghost may cease to wander o'er the earth, 
 And rest in peace ! 
 
 Luc. Heaven's ways are just ! 
 
 Col. Yet I regret the villain should be slain 
 By any hand but mine ! 
 
 Enter a Centurion. 
 
 Cent. Health to Brutus ! 
 Shame and confusion to the foes of Rome ! 
 
 Br. Now, without preface, soldier, to your business. 
 
 Cent. As I kept watch at the Quirinal gate 
 Ere break of day, an armed company 
 Burst on a sudden through the barrier guard, 
 Pushing their course for Ardea. Straight alarm'd, 
 I wheel'd my cohort round and charg'd 'em home : 
 Sharp was the conflict for awhile, and doubtful, 
 Till, on the seizure of Tarquinia's person, 
 A young patrician — 
 
 Br. Ha ! Patrician ? 
 
 Cent. Such 
 His dress bespoke him, though to me unknown, 
 
374 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Br. Proceed — What more ? 
 
 Cent. The lady being taken, 
 This youth, the life and leader of the band, 
 His sword high waving in the act to strike, 
 Dropt his uplifted weapon, and at once 
 Yielded himself my prisoner. — Oh, Valerius, 
 What have I said, that thus the Consul changes ? 
 
 Br. Why do you pause ? Go on. 
 
 Gent. Their leader seiz'd. 
 The rest surrender'd. Him, a settled gloom 
 Possesses wholly, nor as I believe 
 Hath a word pass'd his lips, to all my questions 
 Still obstinately shut, 
 
 Br. Set him before us. [Exit Centurion.] 
 
 Val Oh, my brave friend, horror invades my heart. 
 
 Br. Silence. Be calm. 
 
 Val I know thy soul 
 A compound of all excellence, and pray 
 The mighty gods to put thee to no trial 
 Beyond a mortal's bearing. 
 
 Br. No, they will not — 
 Nay, be secure, they cannot. Pr'ythee, friend. 
 Look out, and if the worst that can befal me. 
 Be verified, turn back, and give some sign 
 What thou hast seen — Thou can'st excuse this weakness. 
 Being thyself a father. [Valerius gives the sign.'\ 
 
 Ha! — Enough: 
 
 I understand thee : — Since it must be so, 
 Do your great pleasure, gods ! Now, now it comes ! 
 
 Titus and Tarquinia are brought in, guarded. TiTUS advances. 
 Tarquinia remains in the back ground. 
 
 Ti. My father ! — Give me present death, ye powers ! 
 
 Cent. What have I done — Art thou the son of Brutus ? 
 
 Ti. No — Brutus scorns to father such a son ! 
 Oh, venerable judge, wilt thou not speak ! 
 Turn not away ; hither direct thine eyes. 
 And look upon this sorrow-stricken form, 
 Then to thine own great heart remit my plea. 
 And doom as nature dictates. 
 
 Val. Peace, you'll anger him — 
 Be silent and await ! Oh, suffering mercy, 
 Plead in a father's heart, and speak for nature ! 
 
John Howard Payne. 375 
 
 Brutus turns away from his son, loaoes his hand to the Centurion 
 
 to remove him to a farther distance, and tlien walks forward and 
 
 calls COLLATINUS down to him. 
 
 Br. Come hither, Collatinus. The deep wound 
 You suflFer'd ia the loss of your Lucretia, 
 Demanded more than fortitude to bear ; 
 I saw your agony — I felt your woe — 
 
 Col. You more than felt it ; — you reveng'd it, too. 
 
 Br. But, ah, my brother Consul, — your Lucretia 
 Fell nobly, as a Roman spirit should — 
 She fell, a model of transcendent virtue. 
 
 Col. My mind misgives. What dost thou aim at, Brutus ? 
 
 Br. (^Almost overpower' d.) — That youth — my Titus — was my 
 age's hope — 
 I lov'd him more than language can express — 
 I thought him born to dignify the world. 
 
 Col. My heart bleeds for you — He may yet be sav'd — 
 
 Br. (^Firmly.) Consul, — for Rome I live, — not for myself; 
 I dare not trust my firmness in this crisis 
 Warring 'gainst every thing my soul holds dear ! 
 Therefore return without me to the senate — 
 I ought not now to take a seat among them — 
 Haply my presence might restrain their justice. 
 Look that these traitors meet their trial straight, — 
 And then dispatch a messenger to tell me 
 How the wise fathers have dispos'd of Go ! — 
 
 Collatinus goes out on one side, attended : — and as Brutus is 
 departing on the other side, Tarquinia rushes forward. 
 
 Tar. Stop, — turn and hear the daughter of your king ! 
 I speak for justice — mercy thou hast none. 
 For him, your son, 
 
 By gratitude and love I drew him off ! 
 I preserv'd his life — 
 Who shall condemn him for protecting mine ? 
 
 Br. We try the crime ; the motive, Heaoen will judge. 
 My honor he hath stabb'd — I pardon that. 
 He hath done more — he hath betray'd his country. 
 That is a crime which every honest heart 
 That beat3*for freedom, every Roman feels, 
 And the full stream of Justice must have way. 
 
 Tar. Because thy soul was never sway'd by love. 
 Caii'st thou not credit what his bosom felt ? 
 
376 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Br. I can believe that beauty such as thine 
 May spread a thousand fascinating snares 
 To lure the wavering, and confound the weak ; 
 But what is honor, which a sigh can shake ? 
 What is his virtue, whom a tear can melt ? 
 Truth, — valor, — justice, — constancy of soul, — 
 These are the attributes of manly natures : — 
 Be woman e'er so beauteous, man was made 
 For nobler uses than to be her slave. 
 
 Tar. Hard, unrelenting man ! Are these the fruits 
 Of filial piety, — and hath thy son 
 Wearied the gods with pray'rs, till they restor'd 
 A mind, and gave thee reason ? Would to Heaven 
 They'd given thee mercy, too ! 'twould more become thee 
 Than these new ensigns, Brutus ; more than all 
 Thy lictors, haughty consul, or thy robes 
 Dipt in the blood, — oh horror ! — of a son ! — 
 
 Br. No more — By all the gods ! I'll hear no more. 
 
 Ti. A word for pity's sake. Before thy feet, 
 Humbled in soul, thy son and prisoner kneels. 
 Love is my plea : a father is my judge ; 
 Nature my advocate ! — I can no more : 
 If these will not appease a parent's heart, 
 Strike through them all, and lodge thy vengeance here ! 
 
 Br. Break off! I will not, cannot hear thee further. 
 The affliction nature hath impos'd on Brutus, 
 Brutus will suffer as he may. — Enough 
 That we enlarge Tarquinia. Go, be free ! 
 Centurion, give her conduct out of Rome ! 
 Lictors, secure your prisoner. Point your axes. 
 To the senate — On ! \^Exit Brutus.] 
 
 Cent. Come, lady, you must part. 
 
 Tar. Part ! Must we part ? 
 You shall not tear him from me ; I will die 
 Embracing the sad ruin I have made. 
 
 Cent. You've heard the consul. 
 
 Tar. Thou hast heard the king, 
 Fought for him while he led you on to conquest. 
 Thou art a soldier, and should'st spurn an office 
 Which malefactors, though condemn'd for murder, 
 Would rather die by torture than perform. 
 
 Ti. If thou dost wish 
 That I should 'scape the peril of my fate, 
 
John Howard Payne. 377 
 
 I conjure thee to accord 
 
 To Brutus, and accept his promis'd safeguard. 
 
 Your words, your looks, your beauty, feed his wrath. 
 
 In that fair face he reads my guilty love. 
 
 And pity flies his heart ; let passion pause ; 
 
 Leave me to solitude, to silence leave me ; 
 
 Then nature's gentlest whispers may be heard. 
 
 Tar. Say'st thou ? Conduct me to the dreariest waste 
 That ever melancholy madness trod, 
 And let my swelling heart in silence burst ; 
 Plunge me in darkness, shroud this fatal form 
 In everlasting night, I am content ! 
 Lo ! I obey ! This is the test of love ; 
 This is the sacrifice : — I part to save thee ! 
 
 Ti. See, I am warn'd. Farewell, my life's last joy ! 
 When my eyes lose thy image, they may look 
 On death without dismay. To those blest powers 
 Who gave thee every virtue, every grace 
 That can ensure perfection, I commit thee. 
 
 They embrace and are torn asunder. TiTUS is carried off hy the 
 LiCTORS on one side, and Tarquinia by the Centurion and 
 Guards, on the other. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Rome. — An apartment in the house q/ Brutus. 
 
 Enter Brutus. 
 
 Br. (^Alone). Like a lost, guilty wretch, I look aroun d 
 And start at every footstep, lest it bring 
 The fatal news of my poor son's conviction ! — 
 Oh Rome, thou little know'st — no more. It comes. 
 
 Enter Valerius. 
 
 Val. My friend, the senate have to thee transferr'd 
 The right of judgment on thy son's oflFence. 
 
 Br. To me ? 
 
 Val. To thee alone. 
 
 Br. Wha^ of the rest ? 
 
 Val. Their sentence is already pass'd. 
 Ev'n now, perhaps, the lictors' dreaded hand 
 Cuts oflF their forfeit lives. 
 48 
 
378 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 Br. Say'st thou the senate have to me referr'd 
 The fate of Titus ? 
 
 Vol. Such is their sovereign will : 
 They think you merit this distinguish'd honor; 
 A father's grief deserves to be rever'd' ; 
 Rome will approve whatever you decree. 
 
 Br. And is his guilt establish'd beyond doubt? 
 
 Vol. Too clearly. 
 
 Br. ( With a hurst of tears.) Oh, ye gods ! ye gods ! 
 ( Collecting himself.) Valerius ! 
 
 Vol. What would'st thou, noble Roman ? 
 
 Br. 'Tis said thou hast pull'd down thine own house, Valerius, 
 The stately pile that with such cost was rear'd. 
 
 Val. I have, but what doth Brutus then infer ? 
 
 Br. It was a goodly structure : I remember 
 How fondly you survey'd its rising grandeur, — 
 With what a — fatherly — delight you summon'd 
 Each grace and ornament, that might enrich 
 The — child — of your creation, — till it swell'd 
 To an imperial size, and overpeer'd 
 The petty citizens, that humbly dwelt 
 Under its lofty walls, in huts and hovels. 
 Like emmets at the foot of towering Etna : 
 Then, noble Roman, then with patriot zeal. 
 Dear as it was, and valued, you condemn'd 
 And level'd the proud pile; and in return 
 Were by your grateful country surnam'd, 
 And shall to all posterity descend, — 
 Poplicola. 
 
 Val. Yes, Brutus, I conceive 
 The awful aim and drift of thy discourse — 
 But I conjure thee, pause ! Thou art a father. 
 
 Br. I am a Roman Consul ! What, my friend, 
 Shall no one but Valerius love his country 
 Dearer than house, or property, or children ? 
 Now, follow me ; and in the face of Heaven 
 I'll mount the judgment-seat : there see, if Brutus 
 Feel not for Rome as warmly as Poplicola. 
 
 \_Exeunt Brutus and Valerius] 
 
John Howard Payne. 379 
 
 SCENE THE LAST. 
 
 Exterior of the Temple o/Mars. Senators, Citizens, COLLATINUS, 
 Lucretius, discovered. At the left of the stage a Tribunal, with 
 a Consular chair upon it. Brutus enters, followed by Vale- 
 rius; — he bows as he passes, and ascends the Tribunal. 
 
 Br. Romans, the blood which hath been shed this day 
 Hath been shed wisely. Traitors who conspire 
 Against mature societies, may urge 
 Their acts as bold and daring ; and tho' villains, 
 Yet they are manly villains — But to stab 
 The cradled innocent, as these have done, — 
 To strike their country in the mother-pangs 
 Of struggling child-birth, and direct the dagger 
 To freedom's infant throat, — is a deed so black, 
 That my foil'd tongue refuses it a name. {^A pause."] 
 
 There is one criminal still left for judgment. 
 Let him approach. 
 
 Titus is brought by the Lictors, with their axes turned edgeways 
 towards him. 
 
 Pris — on — er — 
 
 The voice of Brutus falters and is choked, and he exclaims with 
 violent emotion. 
 
 Romans ! forgive this agony of grief — 
 
 My heart is bursting — Nature must have way — 
 
 I will perform all that a Roman should — 
 
 I cannot feel less than a father ought ! 
 
 He becomes more calm. Gives a signal to the LiCTORS to fall bach, 
 and advances from the Judgment-seat to the front of the Stage, on 
 a line with his son. 
 
 Well, Titus, speak — how is it with thee now ? 
 Tell me, my son, art thou prepar'd to die ? 
 
 Ti. Father, I call the powers of heaven to witness 
 Titus dardi die, if so you have decreed. 
 The gods will have it so. 
 
 Br. They will, my Titus : 
 Nor hcav'n. nor earth, cuu have it otherwise. 
 
380 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 The violated genius of thy country 
 
 Rears its sad head, and passes sentence on thee ! 
 
 It seems as if thy fate were pre-ordain'd 
 
 To fix the reeling spirits of the people, 
 
 And settle the loose liberty of Rome. 
 
 'Tis fix'd ; — oh, therefore, let not fancy cheat thee : 
 
 So fix'd thy death, that 'tis not in the power 
 
 Of mortal man to save thee from the axe. 
 
 Ti. The axe ! — Oh heaven — Then must I fall so basely ? 
 What, shall I perish like a common felon ? 
 
 Br. How else do traitors sufi'er ? — Nay, Titus, more — 
 I must myself ascend yon sad tribunal — 
 And there behold thee meet this shame of death, — 
 With all thy hopes and all thy youth upon thee. — 
 See thy head taken by the common axe, — 
 All, — if the gods can hold me to my purpose, — 
 Without a groan, without one pitying tear. 
 
 Ti. Die like a felon ? — Ha ! a common felon ! — 
 But I deserve it all : — Yet here I fail : — 
 This ignominy quite unmans me ! 
 Oh, Brutus, Brutus ! Must I call you father. 
 Yet have no token of your tenderness. 
 No sign of mercy ? Not even leave to fall 
 As noble Romans fall, by my own sword ? 
 Father, why should you make my heart suspect 
 That all your late compassion was dissembled ? 
 How can I think that you did ever love me ? 
 
 Br. Think that I love thee by my present passion. 
 By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here, 
 These sighs that strain the very strings of life, — 
 Let these convince you that no other cause 
 Could force a father thus to wrong his nature. 
 
 Ti. Oh, hold, thou violated majesty ! 
 I now submit with calmness to my fate. 
 Come forth, ye executioners of justice — 
 Come, take my life, — and give it to my country ! 
 
 Br. Embrace thy wretched father. May the gods 
 Arm thee with patience in this awful hour ! 
 The sov'reign magistrate of injur'd Rome, 
 Bound by his high authority, condemns 
 A crime, thy father's bleeding heart forgives. 
 Go — meet thy death with a more manly courage 
 Than grief nowsufifcrs me to show in parting, 
 
John Howard Payne. 381 
 
 And, while she punishes, let Rome admire ! 
 No more. Farewell ! Eternally farewell ! — 
 
 Ti. Oh, Brutus ! Oh, my father ! — 
 
 Br. What would'st thou say, my son ? 
 
 Ti. Wilt thou forgive me ! — Forget not my Tarquinia 
 When I shall be no more. 
 
 Br. Leave her to my care. 
 
 Ti. Farewell, for ever ! 
 
 Br. For ever. [Brutus re-ascends the Tribunal.] 
 
 Lictors, attend ! — conduct your prisoner forth ! 
 
 Val. (^Rapidly and anxiously'). Whither ! 
 
 AH the characters hend forward in great anxiety. 
 
 Br. To death ! — {^All start.) When you do reach the spot, 
 My hand shall wave, your signal for the act, 
 Then let the trumpet's sound proclaim it done ! 
 
 Titus is conducted out by the Lictors. A dead inarch, which 
 gradually dies away as it becomes more distant. Brutus remains 
 seated in a melancholy posture on the Tribunal. 
 
 Poor youth ! Thy pilgrimage is at an end ! 
 
 A few sad steps have brought thee to the brink 
 
 Of that tremendous precipice, whose depth 
 
 No thought of man can fathom. Justice now 
 
 Demands her victim ! A little moment. 
 
 And I am childless. — One effort, and 'tis past ! 
 
 He rises and waves his hand, convuls'd with agitation, then drops 
 on his seat and shrouds his face icith his toga. Three sounds 
 of the trumpet are heard instantly. All the characters as- 
 sume attitudes of deep misery. — Brutus starts up wildly, descends 
 to the front in extreme agitation, looks out on the side by which 
 Titus departed, for an instant, then, with an hysterical burst, 
 exclaims. 
 
 Justice is satisfied, and Rome is free ! 
 
 [Brutus falls. The characters group around him.'\ 
 
 END OF THE TRAGEDY. 
 
382 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 The following scene in the third act was omitted after the first representation, in com- 
 pliance with the wishes of many who thought it injurious to the general effect of the play. 
 As, however, there was som« difference of opinion upon this point, the scene is here in- 
 serted as it originally stood. Lucretia is supposed to he surrounded by her relations - 
 CoLLATiNUS and Luckktius by her side — her hair dishevelled — wild in her attire ; — 
 and all the other characters in attitudes of deep grief. 
 
 Luc. Bear witness, then, Lucretia's mind is guiltless — 
 Yet never can Lucretia smile again ! 
 Lost to herself, her husband, and her child, 
 Lost to the world, her country and her friends, 
 The arms of love can pillow her no more, 
 And the sweet smile of her dear innocent babe 
 Would but awaken her to deeper anguish ! 
 And shall she live, bereft of all life's treasures, 
 The spectre of the past for ever rising 
 To fright her into madness ? Think not, countrymen, 
 Indignant virtue can survive pollution ! 
 
 By her own hand a Roman wife can fall. \_8tahi lierself.'] 
 
 'Tis to the heart. Tarquin, the blow was thine ! 
 
 [SMfalls.'] 
 
 Col. Belov'd, unhappy wife ! What hast thou done ! 
 
 Luc. A deed of glory. Now , my husband, now — 
 With transport can I press thee to my bosom. 
 Father and kinsmen, ye can own me now ! 
 My pure soul springs from its detested prison ! 
 Virtue exults ! The gods applaud my daring ! 
 And, to our dear, lov'd babe, I can bequeath 
 A mother's noblest gift — a spotless name ! \^Dies.'] 
 
 Luc. Staff of my age ! Gone, gone, for ever gone ! 
 A wretched father's last and only joy ! 
 Come, death, strike here ! Your shaft were welcome now. 
 Snatch me from earth to my poor, lost, lov'd child ! 
 
 Col. My wife ! my wife ! Dear, dear, wrong'd, murder'd wife ! 
 Let me be rooted here in endless sorrow — 
 Who, who shall dare to mourn her loss like me ? 
 
 Enter Brutus, 
 Br. I dare, and so dare every honest Roman. 
 
 The scene then proceeds as printed in the preceding pages. 
 
John Howard Payne. 383 
 
 EPILOGUE, 
 
 WRITTEN BY A FRIEND, AND SPOKEN BY MRS. GLOVER. 
 
 May Mrs Glover venture to appear ? 
 She neither uses nor speaks daggers here ; 
 She comes quite tame, in the old English way. 
 To hope you all have — wept at our new play. 
 
 Tullia no more, I tread on English ground ; 
 There's pride, hope, courage, in the very sound ; 
 Myself your debtor, many a changeful year 
 For generous kindness — never changing here, 
 I come to ask that kindness now for one 
 Unknown, — or but by this night's fortunes known. 
 To cheer a trembling votary of the Nine, 
 And fill his heart with gratitude — like mine. 
 
 Aye, this is England — well its signs I know ! 
 Beauty above, around me, and below : 
 Such cheeks of rose, such bright, bewitching eyes, 
 Well may the kneeling world give you the prize ! 
 Where, where on earth does woman wear a smile, 
 Like yours, ye glory of " the glorious isle." 
 
 But bless me — what two nondescripts together ! 
 
 The she — a pile of ribbon, straw, and feather ; 
 
 Her back a pillion, all above and on it 
 
 A church-bell ? cradle ? tower ? — No, faith ! a bonnet ! 
 
 Aye, and an actual woman in it, able — 
 
 Rouse but her tongue, to make that tower a Babel ! 
 
 Now for the he, the fellow-nondescript. 
 
 Whence has that mockery of man been shipt? 
 
 Has Ross or Buchan brought him to console 
 
 The quidnuncs for the passage to the pole ? 
 
 While, on her iceberg, howls some Greenland squaw 
 
 Robbed of her pretty monster till next thaw ! 
 
 tio, Paris has the honor. " Ah que out." — 
 
 " Voila " — the air, grace, shrug. — smell of Paris ! 
 
 France gave his step its trip, his tongue its phrase, 
 
 His head its peruke, and his waist its stays ! 
 
384 Tragedy of Brutus. 
 
 The thing is contraband. — Let's crush the trade, 
 Ladies, insist on't — all is best home-made — 
 All British, from your shoe-tie or your fan, 
 Down to that tantalizing wretch — call'd — man ! 
 
 Now for the compound creature — first, the wig, 
 
 With every frizzle struggling to look big ; 
 
 On the rough'd cheek the fresh-dyed whisker spread 
 
 The thousandth way of dressing a calf's head. 
 
 The neckcloth next, where starch and whalebone vie 
 
 To make the slave a walking pillory. 
 
 The bolster'd bosom — ah ! ye envying fair, 
 
 How little dream you of the stuff" that's there ! 
 
 What straps, ropes, steel, the aching ribs compress, 
 
 To make the Dandy " beautifully less." 
 
 Thus fools, their final stake of folly cast, 
 
 By instinct, to strait waistcoats come at last. 
 
 Misjudging Shakespeare ! this escaped thine eye. 
 
 For tho' the brains are out, the thing won^t die. 
 
 And now, farewell ! But one word for the Bard, — 
 
 The smile of Beauty is his best reward ; 
 
 Then smile upon him, you, and you, and you ! 
 
 I see the poet's cause is won. Adieu ! 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 49 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 Mr. Payne remarks in his album, from which we copy the following poems, that he 
 copied the poem on Kean from the New York Evening Post of March 10th, 1821, 
 sent to him by Washington Irving. We are not aware that it has ever been published 
 before in book form. We look upon it as one of the finest poems in the English lan- 
 guage and think it far superior to AUston's Paint-King. 
 
 KEAN AS HAMLET. 
 
 BY WASHINGTON ALL8T0N. 
 
 Oh, thou, who standest, mid the bards of old, 
 Like Chimborazo, when the setting sun 
 Has left his kindred mountains dark and dun, 
 Sole object visible, th' imperial one. 
 
 In purple robe and diadem of gold — 
 
 Immortal Shakespeare ! Who can hope to tell, 
 With tongue less gifted of the pleasing sadness 
 Wrought in thy deepest scenes of woe and madness ? 
 Who hope by words to paint the ecstatic gladness 
 
 Of spirits leaping, mid thy merry spell ? 
 
 When I have gaz'd upon thy wond'rous page. 
 
 And seen, as in some necromantic age. 
 Thy visionary forms before me pass, 
 Like breathing things of every living class. 
 
 Goblin and hero, villain, fool, and sage, — 
 
 It seem'd a task that not Bunarotti's e'en, — 
 Nor RaflFaelli's hand could master by their art. 
 To give the semblance of the meanest part 
 Of all thy vast creation, or the heart 
 
 Touch, as thou touchest, with a kindred scene ! — 
 And vainer still, methought, by mimic tone, 
 ^And feigned look, and attitude, and air, 
 The actor's toil ; for self yn'iW have its share 
 With nicest mimic'ry ; and, though it spare 
 To others largely, gives not all its own. 
 
388 Appendix. 
 
 So did I deem, 'till, living to my view, 
 
 Scorning his country, while he sought her good ; 
 In Kemble forth the unbending Roman stood ; ^ 
 Till, snuffing at the scent of human blood, 
 
 In Cooke strode forth the unrelenting Jew.'^ 
 
 But these were beings tangible in vice. 
 
 Their purpose searchable ; their every thought 
 Index'd in living men ; yet only sought. 
 Plain as they seem, by Genius — only bought, 
 
 By Genius even, with laborious price. 
 
 But who, methought, in confidence so brave 
 Doffing himself, shall dare that form assume 
 So strangely mix'd of wisdom, wit, and gloom — 
 Playful in misery, even at the tomb — 
 
 Of hope, distrust, of faith, and doubt, the slave ? 
 
 That being strange, that only in the brain 
 Perchance has liv'd, — yet still so rarely knit 
 In all its parts, its wisdom to its wit. 
 And doubt to faith, loathing to love, so fit — 
 
 It seem'd like one that liv'd, and lives again ! 
 
 Who, then, dare wear the princely Denmark's form ? 
 Who starts before me ? Ha ! 'tis he I've seen 
 Oft in a day-dream, when my youth was green, — 
 The Dane himself — the Dane ! — who says 'tis Kean ? 
 
 Yet, sure, it moves, as if its blood were warm. 
 
 If this be Kean, then Hamlet liv'd indeed ! 
 Look ! how his purpose hurries him apace, 
 Seeking a fitful rest from place to place : 
 And yet his trouble fits him with a grace, 
 
 As if his heart did love what makes it bleed ! 
 
 He seems to move, as in a world ideal, — 
 
 A world of thought, where wishes have their end 
 In wishing merely, where resolves but spend 
 Themselves resolving, as his will did lend 
 Not counsel e'en his body to defend ; — 
 
 Or Kean or Hamlet — what I see is real ! 
 
 'Coriolanus. ^Shylock. 
 
Appendix. 389 
 
 Payne still farther remarked, that " the preceding is the most intellectoal compli- 
 ment which America has paid to Eean. Though it is singular, that Hamlet, of all parts, 
 should have been selected by Mr. Alleton ; for in England he never knew the words of the 
 part, and a character of thought like Hamlet must be strangely perverted, if his tlioughts 
 arc distorted by the interpolation of a man of so little literature as Eean. The more 
 solid compliment of pecuniary patronage seems to have been conferred very liberally, 
 especially in Boston. The boxes there were sold by lottery. The extra money paid on 
 his benefit amounted to no less than $640. The highest sum given for the choice of seat 
 was $38. The whole amount of extra money was $2,999, which was all given to different 
 charities. J. H. P. 
 
 MISS CROLY'S POEMS. 
 
 [Miss Eliza Croly, the sister of the Rev. George Croly, gave me the following poems of 
 her writing, in Paris, May. 1815. They were never published, as she shrinks from pub- 
 licity of authorship. J. H. P., 1815.] 
 
 THE FIELD OF ALBUERA. 
 
 SKETCH. 
 
 " Go not into the fields, nor by the way, for the sword of the Lord and Desolation are 
 on my side." 
 
 Nay, old man, go not to the field. 
 Unless your heart's to pity steeled ; 
 1 would not view that field again 
 For all the treasures once in Spain. 
 
 But now I ventured out to see 
 
 If any living there might be ; 
 
 I passed along — all silent dead, 
 
 They rested on their grassy bed ! 
 
 Oh ! but it was a fearful sight 
 
 To see that field in the pale moonlight ! 
 
 Just one wild, wondering glance I threw. 
 
 And closed my eyes, to shun the view ! 
 
 A murmuring sound stole on my ear ; 
 
 It seemed the sigh of some one near — 
 
 I called — but no reply was given : 
 
 A soul had winged its flight to Heaven ! 
 
 Again — again ! a low, strange sound ! — 
 'Twas the blast of night, as it swept the ground, 
 Floating the plumes that lay scatter'd round ! 
 Then Julian came, and we went on — 
 In vain — there was no living one ! 
 But many an English mother's care, 
 And many a lady's love lay there ! 
 
 There was one spot, where something bright 
 Was glittering in the pale moonlight : — 
 
390 Appendix. 
 
 blessed Virgin ! who could be 
 Unmoved, that mournful sight to see ! — 
 'Twas a warrior jouth, whose golden hair 
 All lightly waved on the dewy air ; 
 And the moonbeam resting on his face 
 Gave it a sad, unearthly grace ; 
 A broken sword beside him lay — 
 It failed him on that desperate day ! 
 Slumbering he seem'd — but drew no breath- 
 His sleep was the heavy sleep of death ! 
 No. go not — go not to the field. 
 Unless your heart is pity-steeled ! 
 For all the treasures once in Spain, 
 I would not view that field again ! 
 
 THE BANSHEE." 
 
 [Mr. Payne in his manuscript album, from which we copy the following, remarks, 
 "The following was received from MissE. Croly, Paris, Nov. 1815."] 
 
 " Superstition^^' says some writer, " is the weed of an elegant and 
 religious mind." Pity, that such a mind should have a weed, if the 
 idea was just; but it is less just than fanciful. If not, the other 
 quarters of the globe would quite cast Europe into the shade. Not 
 to speak of inferiors, where could we produce, according to this de- 
 finition, a being so elegant and refined as an Obi woman ? Who 
 ever charged the Irish with " elegance'' or •' religion" and yet in that 
 country, superstition ceases to be a fragile weed : it becomes a strong 
 and flourishing tree ; its roots are deep in the earth, and its extended 
 branches covered with many-tinted flowers. But, though the Irish 
 are not chargeable with elegance, many of their wild fancies are, and 
 to a very high degree. An Irish peasant thinks the spirits of those 
 he loved, watch over him ; he sees their forms in his dreams and in 
 the shadows of twilight; he hears their voices on the breezes of night; 
 he visits their green graves, and strews them with the first flowers 
 of the spring, and the last of autumn. With him, the moldering ruin 
 is a sacred object ; he would not rob it of a single stone, to prop his 
 cabin from falling ; he would face a loaded cannon, but would rather 
 not cross the church-yard when it is dark ; he would not move off 
 his patch, no, not half an inch, for the command of any mortal except 
 his landlord ; but he would go a mile around to shun the haunt of 
 the fairies, because he knows they would be revenged on him for 
 
Appendix. 391 
 
 intruding. The Sepesghan, indeed, he seeks ; for he is aware that 
 this man of half a foot high grants to his fortunate possessor all 
 manner of good ; but all this fades in comparison with the rich and 
 sentimental superstition of the Banshee, a personage as well known 
 in Ireland as the reverse elsewhere. More mournful and gentle 
 than the Scotch wraithe or kelpie, more picturesque and graceful than 
 the warning spirits of the north, the fiction of the Banshee, exqui- 
 sitely poetical and interesting, appears to me unrivalled in fable or 
 romance. I have never yet seen this fair vision brought forward in 
 either prose or poetry ; and I have written this sketch for the plea- 
 sure of introducing her. Yet let it not be supposed that her appari- 
 tion and its effects, here, are merely poetical ; by no means ! In 
 nearly similar terms, would one of my countrymen speak of her, in 
 his native language. Hearing her song is not an uncommon occur- 
 rence; seeing her is rather more singular; nevertheless, she is 
 sometimes seen ; and who would doubt the authority of one who has 
 been so unfortunate ? But though she is visible, and audible, to the 
 peasant, her visitation and warnings are intended only for the great 
 Milesian, or, as they are called, native families. It is to these, that, 
 immediately before a calamity by death, the Banshee pays her noctur- 
 nal visit. It is in the shadowy and silent hour that she wanders along 
 the river in the vicinity of the ancient castle, or ruined abbey, where 
 there slumber the departed heroes and dark-haired maids of Erin. It 
 is to these descendants that she raises the song of woe, the voice of 
 despair, and the spirit of him who hears it is heavy, and his heart is 
 sad ! 
 
 THE BANSHEE. 
 
 [" Rest, hapless children of youth, at the noise of that mossy stream 1 The virgins will 
 see your tomb at the chase, and turn away their weeping eyes. Your fame will be in the 
 song. The voice of the harp will be heard in your praise."— Omaw.] 
 
 The last faint tone of the harp was still, 
 
 Deserted was the gloomy hall ; — 
 Save the wind that sighed along the hill. 
 No sound on the listening ear might fall — 
 And all so gentle was its power 
 It scarcely waved the weeping flower : 
 ^ Upon the water's trembling blue 
 The moon her shadowy lustre threw ; 
 And tower, and tree, and hill, and dale 
 Glitter'd with light so soft, so pale ! 
 
392 Appendix. 
 
 But never fell that soft pale light 
 Upon a form of love more bright 
 Than hers who from yon casement high 
 Gazed on the scene with sadden'd eye. 
 
 " Lovely is night," murmur'd the maid, 
 And all its beauties she survey'd : — 
 " Lovely is night," — but I no more 
 " Enjoy this hour ; — once to my heart 
 " What holy calm it could impart ! 
 " That holy calm — ah, me ! tis o'er ! " • 
 
 Tho' all around in slumber lay, 
 Sleep may not charm her cares away ! 
 What tho' unrivalled and alone, 
 Where all were fair that maiden shone ? 
 What tho' when rose the minstrel song, 
 A Grace, she moved the dance along ? 
 Or touched the harp with witching skill, 
 Bending the passions to her will ? — 
 Cold was to her the voice of praise — 
 Unmarked the warriors' raptur'd gaze ! 
 He was not there, whose voice, whose eye, 
 Filled her young heart with ecstacy ! 
 He was not there : deep, deadly hate 
 Closed to the youth Tirowen's gate ! 
 
 " He comes not yet " — fair Eva sighed,— 
 " Not yet " — a hollow tone replied : — 
 'Twas but the echo of the hill : — 
 It died away — and all was still ! 
 
 Then rose upon the midnight gale, 
 
 The fatal voice of woe and wail, 
 That still, when death was hovering near, 
 Tirowen's towers were wont to hear. 
 It was a strange and mingled sound, 
 
 Unearthly, all its low, wild thrill ; — 
 Breathing despair so dark, profound. 
 
 Even warriors' hearts that sound could chill ! 
 Awhile it ceased, — and then there passed 
 A fearful shriek upon the blast ! 
 It rung through the valley and the wood, 
 And sunk on the bosom of the flood ! — 
 
Appendix. 393 
 
 Then faint grew Eva's trembling breath, 
 
 For she knew that shriek was the shriek of death ! 
 
 And when it sunk, all slowly swelling rose 
 
 A soft, sweet requiem of rich melody, 
 And ever, at each pause and fading close, 
 
 Mingled the wailing of a funeral-cry I — 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the dashing of an oar ! 
 A youth springs gracefully to shore ! 
 He could not mark the lovely red 
 That o'er fair Eva's pale cheek spread, 
 But he could catch the dulcet tone 
 That softly whisper'd, he was known. — 
 
 " Come, Eva, come ! 'tis thy promised hour, 
 
 " And ere the beams of morn arise, 
 " Safe shalt thou rest in Morven's bower, 
 
 " For swift as the wind his light bark flies ! " 
 
 " No not to-night! it may not be ! 
 
 *' To-night I cannot go with thee ; — 
 
 " For to-night the Banshee wanders near; 
 
 " Yet, yet, her wild, sad song I hear ! " 
 
 " Nay, nay, my gentle Eva, — cease ; 
 
 " Hush those vain terrors, — all is peace ; 
 
 " No Banshee's voice is on the breeze. 
 
 " 'Twas the dream of thy lonely reveries ; — 
 
 " Or thou heard'st perhaps, the nuns of St. Kevin 
 
 " Wafting their midnight hymn to Heaven ! " 
 
 *' Their midnight hymn 1 — that thrilling tone — 
 " It was not one which earth might own 1 
 " It was no holy hymn ! Ah no ! 
 " Too well the fatal truth I know ! " 
 
 *' Yet twice ere now I have heard that strain ! 
 
 " It rung through the towers 
 
 " For three dark hours 
 ^' Three nights before my brother was slain ! 
 " And three nights ere my sainted mother died, 
 " In yonder wood was seen to glide 
 50 
 
394 Appendix. 
 
 " A white-robed form ; its ebon hair 
 
 " All wildly wreathed on the dewy air ! 
 
 " Sometimes it wept — anon, around 
 
 " It breathed low murmurs of sweet sound, 
 
 " The peasant, as he passed the place, 
 
 " Made on his breast the sign of grace, — 
 
 " And all who heard it, knew it foretold, 
 
 " A Tirowen would die ere the new moon was old. 
 
 " It has come once more ! It has come to tell 
 
 " A Tirowen must bid the world farewell ! 
 
 " And can I leave my father's towers 
 
 " While fate's dark cloud around them lowers? 
 
 " No, not to-night ! It cannot be ! 
 
 " To-night I may not go with thee ! 
 
 " Farewell ! to meet in happier hours ! 
 
 " But haste thou hence : the wind grows high, 
 
 " And the moon is fading from the sky ! " 
 
 It will not be, the die is cast : 
 Love, faithful love, prevails at last ! 
 Tirowen's towers she bids adieu; 
 Those towers she never more shall view ! 
 
 Where was thine angel's guardian care? 
 Why whisper'd not some voice, " Beware !" 
 For ere the dawn of morn's first ray, 
 Cold in the wave the lovers lay ! 
 
 Why flies upon yon castle-wall 
 That banner, black as funeral-pall ? 
 Why through yon ivied portals wide. 
 Silent and sad, do the vassals glide ? 
 The glory of their chief is o'er, 
 Tirowen's daughter is no more ! — 
 
 Why in yon chapel's holy ground 
 Are strewed those blooming flowers around ? 
 Why wave those garlands on the trees. 
 Scattering their sweets on the lonely breeze i 
 And low beside yon new-made grave, 
 
 Why kneels that aged woman there ? 
 Why does she weep and idly rave. 
 
 And beat her breast, and tear her hair ? 
 
Appendix. 395 
 
 The child for whom she would have died, 
 The child she nursed with tenderest care, 
 
 Her lord's last hope, — her age's pride, — 
 Tirowen's Eva slumbers there ! 
 
 But o'er the hill, and o'er the tower. 
 
 The Banshee's song shall come again ; 
 And at the twilight's dreamy hour, 
 
 Another sweet love, in woe and pain. 
 
 Will hear the lingering sound. 
 
 The long, and low sad breath 
 
 Pass o'er the castle's ground, 
 
 As the Banshee's sign of death ! 
 
 ON SEEING A WILD ROSE 
 
 AT THE COMMENCEMENT OF OCTOBER, WHILE TAKING AN EABLY WALK 
 THROUGH THE WOODS. 
 
 Why dost thou linger here, sweet Rose, 
 And all thy fair companions dead ? 
 
 Dark is the sky, the north wind blows. 
 The sun's warmth of the summer fled ! 
 
 If thou hadst bloom'd in greenwood bower 
 Thou might'st have liv'd thy little day ; 
 
 Breathed fragrance until evening's hour. 
 Then, gently fading, died away ! 
 
 Now on the wings of each rude blast 
 
 Thy silken leaves all widely fly, 
 And ere another hour has past. 
 
 Thou, fair and fragile Rose, must die \ 
 
 Why didst thou linger then, sweet Rose. 
 
 And all thy gay companions gone ? 
 The sky is dark, the north wind blows 
 
 And thou wilt fall, unseen, alone ! — 
 
396 Appendix. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 0, tell me not that life is flying, — 
 That ev'ry day we're nearer dying I 
 The sun that glows in yonder skies, 
 Again to me may never rise ; 
 But should I weep this golden hour, 
 Because the next, perchance, may lower ? 
 
 Fled is the past, the future lies 
 Veil'd, nun-like, from unhallow'd eyes. 
 The past — the future — I resign — 
 But, oh ! the present hour be mine ! 
 
 And yet, — I feel that life is flying, 
 That every day we're nearer dying ! — 
 But in this world of sigh and tear, 
 Oh, who would dwell forever here ? 
 
 After a long, oppressive day, 
 
 Who does not welcome evening's gray ? 
 
 Who does not hail nights' dews, that steep 
 
 The wearied eye in blessed sleep ? 
 
 So Time this fluttering pulse shall calm, 
 
 And Death be soothing, sovereign balm ! 
 
 VALENCIAN PEASANT BOY. 
 
 [Written when the French had possessed themselves of Valencia.] 
 
 " Lady ! it was a lovely land — 
 
 Graceful its hills — its vallies green ; 
 
 The ocean washed its golden strand. 
 
 And pleasure breath'd o'er all the scene. 
 
 " It was a lovely land — but now " — 
 And the youth bent his head to weep ! 
 
 His was the " grief that passeth show " 
 That mourns in silence — hopeless, deep ! 
 
Appendix. 397 
 
 A tear fell on his rude guitar, 
 He dashed it oflF, aad touched the strings, 
 
 They murmur'd on the dewy air. 
 As swept by wild bees' silken wings. 
 
 Sweet was the song — and sad, and low, 
 
 And tho' 'twas of another land. 
 It breathed a tale of simple woe 
 
 That every heart might understand ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 FROM MANUSCRIPT, BY WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 Oh, turn, cruel, fair one ! nor slight a fond youth 
 Who would woo thee with tenderness, fervor and truth ! 
 Tho' my fortune's but small, yet stern want I 'm above, 
 And I'll swear that no swain is more wealthy in love ! 
 
 In a shady, white cottage, embosom'd in trees. 
 Where boughs, lightly waving, invite the cool breeze. 
 My empire I've fixed, — and full green is my bower, 
 And pure is the wild brook that runs by my door. 
 
 Oh ! there let me lead thee ! for there shalt thou reign. 
 The cottage thy palace, the grove thy domain ; 
 With a chaplet of roses and myrtle so green 
 I'll encircle thy brows, and proclaim thee my queen ! — 
 
 A green bank shall form thy imperial seat ; 
 
 And the fruits of each autumn I'll lay at thy feet ; 
 
 Or on beds of sweet violets shalt thou recline ; 
 
 And the tributes of spring shall thy temples entwine. 
 
 What queen could e'er boast of a tribute so fair ? 
 Of a throne so serene ? of a palace so rare ? 
 Coulireign more secure, and unrivall'd than thee ? 
 Or could boast of a subject more faithful than me ? 
 
 New York, Oct 1810. 
 
S98 Appendix. 
 
 SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 
 
 [Washington Irving, Morris Ogden, and others, dined together one Saturday at Dyde's 
 Tavern, New York, and on their way home, Mr. Ogden, feeling somewhat elated, took 
 down the sign of Cheesbrough & Co., and ran oflf with it on his shoulder. The next day 
 Mr. Irving and Mr. Morris went to church in company. The preacher, began a sermon im- 
 mediately on the '■''Signs of the Times," and, unconsciously, made several observations 
 which applied to the events of the preceding night. Mr. Irving thereon took out Ms 
 pencil, and wrote the following Impromptu on a leaf of a Psalra-Book.] 
 
 As Morris once stroll'd into Trinity church, 
 He quickly discovered he'd got in a lurch ; 
 For, as soon as the minister eyes on him set, 
 " S'blood, Morris," says he, " but I'll give you a sweat." 
 Down, down, down, Derry Down ! 
 
 *' This scapegrace, my breth'ren, who keeps such late hours, 
 " And Broadway from the Park to the Battery scours, 
 *' Must not fancy, from me, he his wickedness hides, 
 " Since they know up aloft when he frolics at Dyde's." — 
 
 Down, down, down, Derry Down ! 
 
 Then he talk'd very much 'bout the " Signs of the Times" 
 And ih^i pulling them down, was the vilest of crimes ! 
 He t\ia.t pulls down a sign should be laid fast in fetters. 
 Since 'tis plain that he hastens — the downfall of letters I 
 
 Down, down, down, Derry Down ! 
 
 In defense, Morris urg'd — tho' he frolic'd at night, 
 Yet, according to Scripture, he acted but right; 
 For at night he improved his time like the devil, 
 As very well knowing "the days," sir, " are evil." 
 
 Down, down, down, Derry Down ! 
 
 With respect to the sign, no defense need be made — 
 As be wish'd but to give Mr. Cheesbrough his trade — 
 So not caring just then the good folks to arouse — 
 He wisely took down, sir, the name of the house ! 
 
 Down, down, down, Derry Down ! 
 
 Far be it from him, sir, the peace to molest — 
 He meant, on the contrary, all for the best : — 
 And tho' he had shoulder'd the sign in his fun, 
 He was sure he had given the firm a good run ! 
 
 Down, down, down, Derry Down ! 
 
Appendix. 399 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 BY JAMES R. PAULDING. 
 
 [Written with a pencil, in view of Passaic Falls, and afterwards copied into this Album, 
 New York, 1810. J. H.P.] 
 
 Stranger ! if e'er thy footsteps wander here 
 Where tortur'd nature bares her barren breast ! 
 
 Oh, pause awhile ! the work of time revere ! 
 Be all thy passions luU'd to silent rest ! 
 
 Shut out the world. On contemplation's wing 
 
 Soar back to ages now far, far away ! 
 Revere the wonders of Heaven's awful king, 
 
 And mark how Time sweeps Nature's work away ! 
 
 Here once the unbroken mountain rear'd its head, 
 
 Impervious to the accumulated stream ; 
 The rock that sleeps beneath the river's bed 
 
 Once join'd above, caught Sol's enlivening beam. 
 
 Now mark the change ! The waves have burst their bound ! 
 
 The mountain's rent to give the torrent room ! 
 Where once the rocky summit frown'd around. 
 
 Floating in mist the rainbow's colors bloom ! 
 
 Stranger ! this moral learn ! — That naught on earth 
 
 Long can withstand the efforts of decay ! 
 That from the hour which gave to Nature birth. 
 
 Nature has slowly yielded to its sway ! 
 
 EPISTLE 
 
 IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT. 
 
 [Addressed by the lion. William Pinckney in answer to some verses sent him by a lady 
 whom he had sportively challenged to write poetry with him : about the year 1790.] 
 
 • Excuse me, that before I've not 
 An answer to your verses wrote : 
 The truth is this — I never yet 
 (Until last night) the lines could get ; 
 
400 Appendix. 
 
 And well you know, before a sight, 
 I could no kind of answer write : 
 However, now, they're on the table. 
 And I'll reply, if I am able. 
 
 You tell me " not to criticise : " — 
 
 A snarling critic I despise ; — 
 
 To substance only I attend ; — 
 
 To growl at faults is not my end ; 
 
 But, were I to this carping prone 
 
 I've here no room — you've left me none ! 
 
 I thank you cordially, believe me. 
 
 For the good words you're pleased to give me 
 
 Your compliments afford me pleasure ; 
 
 I'll try to merit them at leisure : 
 
 But, twixt ourselves, I'm much afraid 
 
 The trial will be vainly made ! 
 
 Your sentiments on books are fine ; 
 
 Shall I now say they're — Just like mine ? 
 
 Books will the native genius aid. 
 
 But never yet a genius made : 
 
 Talents improve by education, 
 
 As fruits, and flowers, by cultivation ! 
 
 By books the taste, the style's refin'd ; 
 
 They give a polish to the mind — 
 
 But still, tho' Nature mends by art, 
 
 Untutor'd, she can play her part : 
 
 The active genius yet will rise, 
 
 Tho' learning all her aid denies ! 
 
 Would Gay have had less solid knowledge. 
 If he had never seen a college ? 
 Would his sweet fables charm the less 
 Tho' put in a more homely dress ? 
 Debase the style ; — the moral's there 
 The satire, modest, yet severe ; 
 The softness too would still remain — 
 I mean the softness of the strain. 
 
 The unrivall'd Shakespeare, as 'tis said. 
 Was never in a college bred ; 
 
Appendix. 401 
 
 Yet never was his equal known : 
 Sense, spirit, fancy, — were his own ! 
 His Richard ' every passion fires ; 
 The reader pities, hates, admires, — 
 In all his works pure genius glows 
 With greater warmth than art bestows. 
 
 Oft have I heard from those half-witted 
 That jingling verse is only fitted 
 Of genius' wings the flight to cramp. 
 And fancy's choicest efforts damp. 
 How this may be with men of parts, 
 Deep vers'd in sciences and arts — 
 And such like folks — I cannot say ; 
 But this I'll tell you, by the way — 
 To me rhymes are " no more difficile 
 Than to a black-bird 'tis to whistle. " ^ 
 You too, as far as I can guess. 
 Love rhyming not a stiver less ; 
 You versify with equal ease ; 
 And your heroics all must please. 
 And surely, as we thus can muse it, 
 'Twere pity not to write a strain 
 Or two, while we are in the vein : — 
 Good may be done, no harm it can do — 
 Naught worse may ever mortal man do ! 
 
 Here I must stop, — My muse begins to tire ; 
 My fancy cools, — it loses all its fire ! 
 Yet I expect, and hope 'tis not in vain, 
 To hear from my fair poetess again ! 
 
 Richard II. 
 
 Hudibras, Canto 1, Line 53. 
 
 51 
 
402 Appendix. 
 
 [The following beautiful poem copied from Mr. Payne's Manuscript Album is from 
 the pen of Charles Phillips of Ireland, who was a personal friend of Mr. Payne, and 
 whose poetical efforts were frequently published in the Dublin papers. The manuscript 
 was given to Mr Payne in 1814.] 
 
 O'CONNOR'S CASTLE. 
 
 SUCKJESTED BY THE MAGNIFICENT RUINS OF THE FAMILY RESIDENCE, NEAR 
 ROSCOMMON. 
 
 Art thou the festal hall of state, 
 
 Where once the lovely and the great, 
 The stars of Peace — the swords of Honor, 
 
 Cheer'd by the ever-gracious eye 
 
 Of Erin's native majesty, 
 
 Glitter'd a golden galaxy 
 Around the great O'Connor ? 
 
 And did these ruined, ivy'd walls 
 
 Once glow with gorgeous tapestry ; 
 And did these mute and grass-grown halls 
 
 Once ring with regal minstrelsy ? 
 Chill is the court where the chief of the hills 
 Feasted the lord and the vassal. 
 And winter fills 
 With his thousand rills 
 The pride of O'Connor's castle ! 
 
 Oh, it is good, thou mouldering pile, 
 
 To see thy sad decay ; 
 Thou art the emblem of the isle 
 
 Where once thy lord had sway. 
 Oh it is good, thou mouldering pile 
 
 Thy sad decay to see ! 
 Thou art the emblem of the smile 
 
 That gilds mortality ! — 
 
 The isle, where once the saint and the sage 
 Mellowed the fire of a trophied age ; 
 The isle, where science sublimely roll'd 
 Its amber tide o'er the bed of gold ; 
 The isle, where Liberty wav'd the wing. 
 And Echo hung on the minstrel's strings 
 
Appendix. 403 
 
 The isle of the fair, the isle of the free, 
 
 The isle of love and majesty, 
 
 Thou mouldering pile, is now like thee ! 
 Like thee, the heart of the hero is cold ; 
 Like thee, the tale of the hero is told ; 
 
 All the pride of the regal hour, 
 
 All the bloom of beauty's bower, 
 
 All the rays of the grass-green gem 
 That flam'd in Erin's diadem. 
 
 Are faded like thy ruin'd tower ! 
 
 Yet still, all mouldering as thou art, 
 
 All featureless and rude, 
 Sweet is the sight that swells the heart, 
 
 While musing on thy solitude ! 
 Gone are the glories of thy day, — 
 
 Yet such a scene, 
 Tells Erin's sons, though past away 
 
 They yet have heen ! 
 
 Oh ! if, e'en from the silent call of death. 
 
 Spirits regenerate ascend the sky. 
 Child of my country, pause amid this heath ! 
 
 There's a magic in its memory 
 That must not die ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 BY CHARLES PHILLIPS, 
 
 " Oh, my own Love is fair." 
 
 Oh, my own love is fair as the hill's virgin snows; — 
 Oh. her blush and her breath, they have rifled the rose; 
 But dark is the blaze of her beauties combined. 
 To the heaven of glory that hallows her mind ! 
 
 Her voice has the thrill of the nightingale's sigh ; — 
 Young Love holds his palace of light in her eye ; 
 But dull are the joys their enchantments impart 
 To the beauties that bless and embellish her heart. 
 
404 Appendix. 
 
 Dearest love ! this pure heart is a mirror to you ; 
 They may shatter to fragments that mirror, 'tis true; 
 But amid the bright ruin, love lingering the more, 
 Shall but see thee repeated, and dear as before ! 
 
 London, Sept. 1816. 
 
 THE FAREWELL. 
 
 BY CHARLES PHILLIPS. 
 
 Why, why, sweetest girl, should I bid thee farewell ? 
 
 It is only in fancy we part — 
 I must ever be with thee, enchain'd by the spell 
 
 That encircles the home of the heart ! 
 
 As our own native exile, when straying afar 
 
 From his innocent infantile scene, 
 Worships at sunset the glimmering star 
 
 That glows o'er its valley of green ; 
 
 Thus love ! though thy exile be fated to pine. 
 
 Far distant from pleasure and thee. 
 Still, pure in this bosom, thy image will shine, 
 
 A star of devotion to me ! 
 
 Yes, yes, it will beam in the young morning's brow 
 
 The herald angelic of light ; 
 And, oh ! need I say with what fire it will glow. 
 
 Sublime in the heaven of night. 
 
 Yet, haply, Eliza, this emblem divine 
 May be cherished ray hopes to consume ; 
 
 And the fond vestal heart that affords it a shrine, 
 May but find it a torch of the tomb ! 
 
 If so, when I'm gone, let me rest in the earth, 
 
 With one simple rose at my head : 
 It may speak to the world of thy bloom and thy breath, 
 
 And sigh some excuse for the dead ! 
 
Appendix. 405 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 BY B. W. PROCTOR. 
 
 [Written in 1816.] 
 
 What — from the grave ? — and dost thou, then, 
 
 Once more obtrude upon my sight, 
 And rear thy revolting shape again ? 
 
 Thou false and heartless parasite ? 
 
 No ! hush'd is his calumnious tongue, 
 
 Who, thankless, ate my father's bread — 
 And, viper-like, his venom flung 
 Against his child ; — and smil'd, and stung 
 
 The heart that lov'd, the hand that fed. 
 
 Safely he withers with the dead — 
 Yet, yet, at times, in my troubled sleep, 
 I hear his curses murmur'd deep. 
 
 Aye — tJiere the horrid figure stands — 
 With leering eyes, and shrunken hands ; 
 Upright it moves in mortal mould, — 
 Visible as in days of old, 
 And smiles as- he was wont to smile, 
 Yet somewhat ghastlier than before — 
 And such a faithless look he wore ! — 
 Fearless, I brave his glance ; and turn 
 To where those glaring sockets burn ; 
 And tell him he was false to me, 
 And how I scorn his memory. 
 Ah ! now he winds his bony arm 
 Around, and breathes some damned charm ! 
 How warm, yet earthly, was that breath ! 
 I felt it like the blast of death. 
 And shudder'd, as he laugh'd aloud 
 
 And wrapp'd, me in his stifling shroud. 
 
 Ah ! who can tell the fear, the pain. 
 
 The bursting feeling of the brain, 
 When, helpless, one is borne through the sharp air, 
 
 O'er heaths and lonely fountains. 
 
 O'er darkling glens, and storm swept mountains. 
 
 And vaults, and mouldering ccmet'ries : 
 
406 Appendix. 
 
 Here, coil'd around, the deadly serpents sleep ; 
 And there, the famish'd wolves their vigils keep : — 
 Reptiles, that shun the face of day, — 
 And frightful shapes, that stalk away ; 
 
 The coflBn'd worm, and the vampire bat, 
 And bodiless heads that look despair, 
 And sounds, not of the earth, are mingled there. 
 
 And all that the fancy sickens at ! 
 
 soNa. 
 
 BY WitLIAM TRICK. 
 
 Oh ! blest be the maiden, whose magical power 
 
 Smooths the frowns of the world, and the furrows of care ! 
 
 Peace to her heart ! she's the theme of each hour ! 
 I should pine in Elysium, if she were not there ! 
 
 Why, flattery, why, would'st thou steal me away 
 
 From enchantments which ne'er in another can dwell ! 
 
 Why tell me the charm that now leads me astray 
 To the fiction of Fancy, the child of her spell ! 
 
 That many, whose beauties enrapture the eye, 
 And give all their influence warm to the heart, 
 
 Would melt at the breath of an eloquent sigh, 
 And accept a return for the bliss they impart. 
 
 For never, if all they could yield me, were mine 
 And all that in Fancy bewitching can chain, 
 
 Would I pause for a moment, their joys to resign. 
 If a kiss or a smile should invite to my Jane ! 
 
 Baltimore, 
 
 Feb. 16th, 1812. 
 
 [Mr. George Tucker wrote the following lines impromptu on meeting a lady at a party 
 in Richmond, with a cross suspended on her bosom, a crescent in her hair, and a satchel 
 filled with dollars which she was about to risk at loo.] 
 
 By your crescent and cross, 
 
 I was first at a loss 
 
 To take you for Christian or Turk : 
 Then I thought you a Jew 
 By your hag — when I knew 
 
 That you kept it for money — not work — 
 
Appendix. 407 
 
 But whatever your faith, you make pagans, I'm sure ; 
 For your beauty's an idol, we all must adore ! 
 
 Hot Springs, Virginia, 
 
 Sept. 8th, 1811. 
 
 MRS. FALES TO MRS. AIR. 
 
 WRITTEN EXTEMPOKE WITU A PENCIL ON TUE BACK OP A LETTER. 
 
 Tranquil as the hush of night, 
 
 To the hermit's holy dream. 
 When the moon, with trembling light, 
 
 Quivers on the murmuring stream. 
 
 Cheerful, as the beams of morn. 
 
 Sporting on the mountain's side ; 
 Spotless, as the cygnet's form. 
 
 Sailing down the silver tide. 
 
 Who can paint her varied grace ? 
 
 Charms that mock the mimic art ! 
 Yet, my Agnes, thee I trace 
 
 With the pencil of the heart. 
 
 [Mr. Peter V. Ogden was at Richmond at the time of Burr's trial, in company with 
 Washington Irving, R. T. Spence and others. In traveling through Louisiana a short 
 time before, Mr. Ogden had been overtaken by a thunderstorm, and was forced to seek 
 shelter in a negro's hut. The storm continued with unabated violence, and a short 
 time after he reached the hut, the grandson of the negro landlord, whose name was Pomp, 
 was struck by lightning and killed. The lamentations of old Pomp were bitter, although 
 indescribably grotesque. Heexclaimed in a paroxysm of despair, "Why, God, you take 
 young Pomp ? why God Almighty strike ikky Kyle ? why not strike old Pomp ? Old Pomp 
 he bear it, old Pomp he tough ; ikky Kyle no bear it. Young Pomp he do widout old Pomp : 
 old Pomp he no do widout young i omp. Shame for God Almighty strike ikky Kyle ! Old 
 Pomp he bear it, old Pomp he tough !" Mr. Ogden's mode of relating this story was so 
 entertaining that it gained him the nickname of ''Old Pomp" in the fashionable circles 
 at Richmond. Before Mr. Ogden departed from Richmond, he had the misfortune to fall 
 from the top of the staircase at the Eagle tavern to the lower floor; but without any 
 material injury. He was stunned, but a glass of mint julep, to which he had always 
 expressed a particular aversion, restored him. This incident produced the following 
 Jeu d'esprit, which was written with a pencil in a music-book of a little child at Mayor 
 Gibbins, over the signature of R. T. S., the Initials of Robert T. Spence'aname. who was 
 celebrated for his poetical productions. At Mayor Gibbins's table, Mr. Irving was reproved 
 by Mr. Spence, for putting his initials to so bitter a sarcasm. *' Oh, no, Spence 1 " retorted 
 Irving, " T/iafs not meant for your name. It stands for Bather Too Severe!"] 
 
 Old Pomp he ben' him ober rail, 
 
 * De rail him break, and down him fall. 
 
 But what o' dat — do massa dead 
 
 They gib him sling — dat men' him head : 
 
 Old Pomp he tough ! 
 
408 Appendix. 
 
 Old Pomp he break him dam long shin, 
 But julep make him well again — 
 De fall he make him little sick — 
 But tank a God. — Pomp's skull be tick ; 
 Old Pomp he tough ! 
 
 So Pomp, aldo he fall down stairs — 
 But what o' dat — he nebber cares : 
 De wall no hurt him head at all, 
 But Pomp's hard head do hurt de wall ! 
 Old Pomp he tough ! 
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO MRS. R. P. AIR, BY JOHN ALSOP. 
 
 An emerald isle, amid the soften'd blaze, 
 
 Smil'd lovely, — of a cloudless, sapphire sky,' 
 Where (through the golden net-work which on high 
 
 The setting sun wore with reflected rays,) 
 
 Celestial shapes were seen — too bright for mortal gaze ! 
 
 As, wond'ring, from the fairy islet's height 
 
 I look'd — by breezes borne on zephyr's car, 
 A sweet majestic form 1 saw alight, 
 
 Than nymph of earthly lineage, fairer far ! 
 Th' aerial sylph each rainbow tint array'd ; 
 Her lips where pure, etherial spirits keep. 
 Breathe tones that now clear swell, now softly sleep, 
 As when their harps the winds in wild, yet dying, cadence, 
 sweep ! 
 
 Enchantment bound me, whilst her eagle mind 
 Portray'd the evanescent forms of taste ; 
 And, as she spoke, her witching mien oft cast 
 
 A look which seem'd to say, " Why thus behind 
 
 Trembling, dost linger ? What excites thy fear ?" 
 But, though she smil'd, she fled when I drew near ; 
 
 While, as at timid distance, mute, amazed. 
 
 The heavenly dream dissolved : the vision was but air ! 
 
 Boston, 1812. 
 
A LIST 
 
 MR. PAYNE'S DRAMATIC WORKS. 
 
 TRAGEDIES. 
 
 Brutus, or, The Fall of Tarquin. 
 
 Romulus, written for Edwin Forrest, but never performed. 
 
 Virginia, or, The Patrician's Perfidy. 
 
 Oswali, of Athens. 
 
 Richelieu, or. The Broken Heart. 
 
 The Italian Bride. 
 
 Lovers^ Vows. A play in five acts, altered from the translation of 
 
 Mrs. Inchbald and Benjamin Thompson. Mr. Payne made this 
 
 adaptation in 1809, when a young Roscius, and performed the part 
 
 of Frederick. 
 The Wanderer, a play in five acts, written when at the age of 
 
 fourteen. 
 
 COMEDIES. 
 
 Charles the Second, or The Merry Monarch. 
 Procrastina tion. 
 Married and Single. 
 Plots at Home. 
 Woman's Revenge. 
 All for the Best. 
 
 DRAMAS. 
 
 Spanish Husband. 
 Thirise, or, The Orphan of Geneva. 
 Norah, or, The Girl of Erin. 
 Adeline, or Seduction. 
 The Two Galley- Slaves. 
 52 
 
410 Appendix. 
 
 The Rival Monarchs. 
 
 Paoli. 
 
 Solitary of Mount Savage. 
 
 All Pacha. 
 
 The Inseparables. 
 
 Maid and Magpie. 
 
 Accusation. 
 
 The Guilty Mother. 
 
 Man of the Black Forest. 
 
 Madame de Barri. 
 
 The Festival of St. Mark. 
 
 The Bridge of Kehl. 
 
 The Judge and the Attorney. 
 
 The Mill of the Lake. 
 
 Mazeppa. 
 
 Novido, The Neapolitan. 
 
 OPERAS. 
 
 Clari, The Maid of Milan. 
 
 The White Maid (or, the White Lady). 
 
 The Tyrolese Peasant. 
 
 Visitandines. 
 
 England's Good Old Days. 
 
 FARCES. 
 
 Fricandeau, or, The Coronet and the Cook. 
 The Post Chaise. 
 'Twas I. 
 Mrs. Smith. 
 Love In Humble Life. 
 The Lancers. 
 Grandpapa. 
 Peter Smink. 
 Not Invited. 
 
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