St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1885-07-12
A MINISTER'S CRIME.
Recollections of IA Memorable Exc
cufiOn in New Jersey.

know good deal about ministers. /
believe them to be very much like other men,
with ends and aims and purposes similar 10
those Of their fellows in other walks of life.
Circumstances have much TO do with the
morality of all of us. A circus
rider may be Just as honest, Just as kind
hearted, just as true TO himself and TO his
duty as a clergyman, but he is likely to be
more profane, less careful in his walk and
| conversation, because the circumstances of
his calling permit it, while the circum-
stances of the clergyman'S calling abSO-
lutely forbid it not only, but the ndul-
gence of such would destroy him and
his usefulness forever. You see the
point, of course. There was a pleasant
faced little minister in New jersey about
whom the flOcl1s gathered with great de-
light. His teachings were simple, his sing
ing delightful, and the vocabulary of his
prayers fervid to degree. His wife grew
old faster than he, and it occurred to him
that she was too good for life this side Of
the grave, so he poisoned her, and one night
when she was particularly low, return
ing from his prayer meeting. he ell
tered her bedroom. Smoothing back the
wet hair from her aching head. he called
her loving names and presented her with an
apple. She ate it; its arsenic-charged
solidities did their final work upon her
| fragile frame, and ere the morning dawned
her spirit stood upon the further shore,
waiting the coming of her lord and master.
Hardan, that was his name, and a
hardened scoundrel he was, was tried, con-
victed and hanged. i never shall for
get that picture. 1t was the best
execution I ever saw. Being in New Jer-
sey, a mob dominated the place. From
the windows of the Jail the women and
the men looked out upon court yard
packed to suffocation with smoking, shout
ing, swearing roughs. IL was the old-style
| scatfold toward which the singing parSon
moved, heading procession of officials and
brother ministers. With n perfectly firm
step he assembled the ladder, and stood upon
the drop. He was dressed in neat black
bOmbaZine, with prunella CATERS. His
black hair was carefully combed and
brushed, and he smiled a sweet and sanity
smile as he looked about upon the last con-
gregation he could ever address, and asked
permission 10 lead them in prayer. That
man was as quiet and as calm as a sheep in
the hands of his shearer. Death had no
terror for him. He was the picture of self
satisfaction, the very perSOnification of in
dividual content, and in that frame of
mind he stood until the bolt was drawn
and he and the drop fell together. while
those of us who looked on, broiling in the
sun, shivered at the sight. Now there was
man who for ten or fifteen years had
been sane enough TO preach the gospel, to
give advice, to listen with patience to tales
of domestic misery, but he wasn't sane
enough to see and understand, to appreci-
ate the certainty of the detection of the ar
senic in his wife's body. and TO have traced
to him and his final fruity gift the commits
sion of a crime which insured his death
upon the scaffold.-Joe Howard in Boston
Globe.