The Princeton union. [volume] (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, 1881-07-14
THE HANGING OF MARTIN DADSO.

From the London Truth.
You doan't think they'll really hang me, !
do 'ee?" asked Martin Dadso, looking up
from his last meal but one, on Sunday
evening in the condemned cell of the
County Gaol at M. The cook had con-
siderately sent him up some buttered toast,
Nth bacon and eggs, and nice, strong tea,
md the murderer was filling his mouth
ather ravenously with these refreshments.
He was large eater-a large man alto
gether, with massive shoulders, thick
neck, and mighty fists. Look zee here,
he repeated, I never murdered that man;
he hit me first, I Knocked 'un down; but
he picked hissef up and walked of, swear
in. Lord knows who put the knife int
TN afterwards. didn't, and they can't
make me swing for it, Ell, old 'un?" 4
dessay u reprieve II come, answered
the old 'un, who was one of the two war
ders that ha6 to keep watch over the MUIR
derer. He said this out Of charity; he did
not believe what he said.
I've known reprieves come at the very
last minute observed the second warder,
q young man.
'tDoan't go foolin' a chap" mumbled
Martin Dadso, with his mouth full of toast.
Tell me t truth; hasn't t. reprieved come
all 1eady?" ID
ut amt come yet, but will, maybe, to-
night" replied the old 'un, stolidly.
Il wish they'd look sharp about it, for I
want to go whoam, grumbled the prisoner.
':It's three months since left t farm to
COON here, and my old dad amt equal to
minding the place wi all this trouble on
him. Did ZEE see how white his hair was
when he COON to see me yesterday with t
Did 'ooman?"
Never mind; they'll grow young again
when you go home to EN-" said the young
er warden. $50 will our sweetheart-a
fine young lady she isl"
"Ay, my sweetheart muttered Dadso,
his voice suddenly deepening to tone of
infinite tenderness, 1.-THE only time I felt
bad through all this business was when I
saw her cry as she guy her evidence at trial.
Poor Mary! She never thought
me guilty, though; she's too good stuff for
that?" -.
1t was Tor numbering this rival in the af-
fecions Of Miss Mary White, a doctors
daughter. that Martin Dadso had been SEN
fenced to die. He was himself not poor
man, but thriving farmer, and he had re-
ceived good education. though he spoke
in such broad dialect, having lived all his
life in the country. The man whom he
had been convicted of numbering was a
young,solicitor rather pushing, prying per-
son named Pullen, and the crime had caused
considerable establishment by reason of
DadsO's supposed steadlness of character.
But the guilt had been brought home to
him by such clear testimony that the judge
had warned him to hope for no mercy.
Dadso, however had loudly protested his
innocence as he left the dock.
The warders, who had now been watch
ing him for nearly three weeks in the con-
demned cell, had SO often heard him affirm
his innocence that they could not exactly
decide whether he was an ill-used. man or
hardened liar until this Sunday night they
had inclined toward the latter idea, but now
that he was on the very threshold of death
and still appeared to be hoping for re-
prieve, they wavered. The old 'un scrutin-
'zed him through the corners Of his eyes
With mixture of suspi ciousness. and SYM
pathy, and the young warder stared ut him
nth his mouth half open, unable to form
any new idea on the case. The thought
uppermost in this young warders mind was
that by that time to- morrow yonder prison.
er, now such healthy hulking lout, would
be resting with his neck broken in bed Of
quicklime, and this caused him occasion
ally to feel cold up the spine.
Martin Dadso finished his tea to the
last crumb; then stood up-a towering.
strapplng figure six feet Highland slouched
toward the fireplace. The condemned cell
was used at ordinary times as warder'e
room, and it had fireplace. Martin drew
Windsor chair to the fender, took up 8
volume of the Leisure Hour, and began tc
look at the pictures; but soon the book lay
open on his knees, and he gazed intentlJ
at the faces in the glowing GOALS faces Of
friends, perhaps, or possibly only those o.
the late enemy, Pullen, distorted by death
| grins. The warders removed the tea things
and then sat down, with their arms folded
silent. Presently the CLOCK under tn,
prison dome struck eight; there was a raj
at the door, and Mr.. Twettle. the chaplain
entered.
Not the right sort of man for his place
this Mr.. Twettle. He was a worthy per
son, no doubt, but had not spark of sen
iment in him, little love for mankind, ant
no belief at all in his own power to reclaim
prisoners. His post brought him $500
year, with free residence, and he grum
bled at this. as not being enough. he wa
. preacher of dry sermons on doctrine, an
loathed the hours which he was obliged t
devote to "prison work, though hewent hi
conscientious man in this way, He wa
middle aged clergyman, with a cold face
sparse whiskers, and somewhat nervou
look in his eyes, that had got there since
prisoner had once SHE'D stool at him.
well, Dadso," he said. in voice whic
was meant to be kind, but which was nm
genial and patronizing. No man woul
like to be hung to the tune of such voic
as that well, Dadso, I trust you are
very composed state Of mind?"
"Coom, parson, none O. that" answere
the prisoner, with frown, which fnishe
Of in laugh. 81 doan't mean to die t.
morrow any more than you"
Eff we are prepared for death it ought
have no terrors, remarked Mr.. Twettle.
Il dessay. should like to see your phi
! though, if ZEE were going to be swung I
, tomorrow" And the prisoner guffawe
t coarsely.
would you like me to read chapter
] your" asked Mr.. Twettle, who thought
was exercising angelic patience, and con
! mended himself highly.
. No, EUR, I've heard two sermons to-d
! and that's enough. Can ZEE tell me an
Z thing about my reprieve!"
\ None has come yet. SO far as know.
4 II can't see the use O fooling like that
said Martin Dadso. Il ,xpect you and t
i guv'nor have got the reprieye, but doal
q mean to let me know becos it's Sunda