Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-02-16

~" Il
The Sel-Mdde Wido,Oer Kept Tally.
a while he went back Of the schoolhouse
and found the sons pitching horseshoes with
the Justice of the peace, while the unruf1ed
and self-made widower was calmly keeping
tally of the game by cutting nOtches in a
shingle.
Not long ago a coIored man named Mon
roe Wilkinson killed man at a picnic in
order to give variety to an otherwise monot-
onous programme. he was found guilty
and sentenced to be hanged. The execution
was to take place within an inclosure, but
the obliging Sheriff had it in a valley. so
that whole county could sit on the hill
side and see it. It is hardly necessary to
say that he was reelected.
Nearly II, 900 people came to witness the
great show. They came on foot and on
horseback, from everywhere, till they COW
cred the hillside and were like the sands of
the sea for multitude. Lemonade stands
sprang up as if by magic, and merry-go-
rounds got there from the
FOUR CORNERS OF THE EARTH.
Popcorn, eating apples and wax for chew
ing purposes were for sale everywhere. The
balloon man was there, likewise the man
one can lift without injuring himself
Everywhere poor, tired farm hands who
needed rest were testing their strength till
their eyes looked like soiled door knobs or
poached eggs in q saucer of stewed tomatoes.
Photographs OF the murderer were also for
sale with his autograph. His brother had
walked 80 miles to plead with the Governor
for a pardon, but it did not avail.
Euclid G. Cooksey, a bright young re-
porter, was sent to do the execution for his
paper. He and Mr.. Morningstar, another
reporter, sat up with the condemned man.
Friends decided that religious services
should be held over the murderer. Mr..
Morningstar was selected to lead in prayer.
He had never done so before, but he was a
good reporter, and when he was assigned for
anything always covered the field. He still
says that, considering his lack of prepara-
ton, he thinks he did pretty we'll. A fresh
reporter tried to interview the prisoner
while the service was going on, but Mr..
Cooksey, who was reading chapter from
Genesis at the time, paused and told the
young man that he was not in 1t.
THE sHERIFF's FAREWELL.
The Sheriff then came in to say a few
words to the prisoner. He said: Monroe,
you know that would never hang you in
the world at the figures get from the
county if didn't have to do it. I've got
to do it or lose the nomination next year.
I'm a friend to you, Monroe, and reckon
I've always treated you right"
Eyes, sab, that's what you has,"
AS the morning sun lighted up the beauti-
full hillside and scattered shower of glory
through the trees upon the blue grass turf
beneath, it showed a busy scene on the
grassy slopes of the natural amphitheater.
Tall young men with amber spattered chins
and budding whiskers were pitching rings
for a cane or having tintypes of themselves
and their fnanciers taken with the gallows
in the background. Mothers brought with
them little sunburnt offspring that had only
arrived in Kentucky the previous day.
Dark red cookies sold for a cent apiece. A
tall tree giving view upon the whole Jail
yard brought 81.
All was life and animation. The sheriff
had acquired comfortable pjag, but it had
not succeeded in stealing away his brain. In
fact he was quietly chuckling to himself as
he imagined the jag cropping in the attic of
his massive skull, knocking the skin off his
knuckles and cussing as it vainly sought for
the sherifss brains.
A LITTLE TOPICAL SONG.
Finally the hour arrived. The prisoner
was brought on the scafold. He pressed the
hand of the reporter and, bursting into tears,
presented him with an election cigar. The
newspaper men then united in singing a
little topical song, OF which am the author
and which is designed more especially for
executions by electricity beginning as fol-
lows:
Pm sorry got insulate,
But Pm going home to dynamo.
It is plaintive song, eminently fitted for
executions in New York, and has had a
great run.
The time now arrived for the execution,
and the Sheriff asked Mr.. Cooksey if he
would be good enough to read the death
warrant. Mr.. Cooksey said it would not be
legal.
Sheriff.
"Why don't you read it yourself?''
THE LITERARY EXERCISES.
"Well, for two reasons. In the first place
1 did not bring my glasses, and in the Sec
ond place, if you won't let it 20 any further,
1 can't read anyhow"
Cooksey says if there had been no re-
borters there the prisoner would have been
obliged to read the death warrant himself.
Nothing pains man who is unused to
appearing in public and who has had no
elocutionary training, like having to read
his own death warrant to big Chautauqua
gathering like that and have two or three
ignorant people yell "Louder!" Death is
at all times more or less disagreeable at the
hands of the law, but some one ought TO be
at hand to take the burden of the literary
exercises on the hands of the doomed man.
BILL GXz.