The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1912-08-28
A GREAT EVENT.

A GREAT EVENT.
1t was a great event-that killing
at Sing Sing early Monday morning a
few weeks ago! What a carnival Of
"restitution;" what brilliant and in
spring and. uplifting. example of
society getting even with itself for
it's own crimes, legitimate offspring OF
the established order of things, which
makes criminals when it ought to be
making men.
Five of the seven sacrifices in that
glorious carnival of death protested
their innocence TO the last. Innocent
or guilty it was all the same. 1t is
great to die for another, even if you
do it under protest. In the death OF
these seven men the majesty of the
law was happily INDICATED, and the
deaths of their supposed victims glor-
iously avenged. A beautiful example
| of poetic justice withal! The only
| pity is that so few were permitted to
take part in this soul-energizing festi-
| val of death. By making it AN eX-
elusive function the despairing vail
| of warning fails to reach the ears OF
those who might be greatly benefited
| by it. And this brings to mind again
| the miscarriage of justice in the case
of Convict Morley who escaped the
hangmans moose and is still behind
the grated windows at Lancaster,
menacing by his presence the lives of
the warden, his deputy, the guards
and all the people on the outside who
venture to cross his path in his next
attempt to get to Omaha.
We are often perplexed with the
question, when will "civilized" people
become half civilized?. When will
thinking men look far enough to see
that legal murder is not cure for H.
legal murder? The experiment has
been carried on for seven thousand
years, and has proven wretched and
miserable failure. Society makes
criminals when it commits the crime
lit condemns. The murder carnival at
Sing Sing was blot upon civiliza-
ton. 1t SINE lis to heaven.
The world moves on, and still man.
kind
Is so internal dull and blind,
1t cannot see as on it goes;
A half an inch beyond it's nose.
The A street water that we drink
Is free from germs, or so We think
The garbage man comes every day
And carts the refuse stuff away.
The food we eat is highly priced,
The milk, b'gosh is sterlized,
The air we breathe is pure and fresh
And still the weakness of the flesh
Is with us, and oft manifest
In days of pain and nights and rest,
We rave in protest, we complain;
The healer comes, but all in vain
He knows the pains we all endure,
He knows our daily temperature;
He also knows beyond a doubt
We must keep still and tough it out.
sometimes wish this earth might be
From forms of mortal error free;
No troublesome rheumatic pain,
No queer disorders of the brain;
No days of feverish distress,
No booze to give a man the jims
No varicose, phlebtic limbs;
Mankind elate with JOY sublime
And feeling bully all the time.
If this might be-and yet, alas
l fear it may not come to pass.
1t is mans lot to suffer ills,
To bury hope, to swallow pills.
And learn at last it is treat
TO take the bitter with the sweet
If all on earth were honey-pie
How hard thing 'twould be to die,
And leave world of perfect bliss
For one that might be worse than this.
And so it may be best that men
Are sore afflicted now and then.
1t makes one humble who was proud,
1t quiets him who once was loud.
1t has leveling effect
Upon the lost and the elect.
What seems most unhappy fix
May be the making of us. Blk.
|--BiXler in Nebraska State Journal.
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