The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1914-08-12
MOIJNEUX, EX-EDTTOR OF THE MURDERERS'
 JOURNAL, 48, TODAY

Tn the world of commerce Roland Rurnham Mo1ineux is the name or a. chemist who is an official or one or the greatest paint factories in the WoIlo- Tn literary and dramatic circles the sa me name stands for a playwright and writer of no small ability, whose drama t'The Man Inside,'' was one or the successes of the last season Tn Ne" York In the public mind, however, the name is indeIibly associated with those two famous murder trials or more than a decade ago in which Mol ineux stood accused of causing the; death by poison of Mrs. Adams The prosecution charged that Mohneux had sent a, package of headache pow ders containing cyanide of potassium, to Harry Cornish and that the latter's landlady had taken the deadly poi son. The prominence of the accused man and of his father, Gen. Edward Leslie MoHneux, an Englishman who had fought for the United States in the civil war, and had afterward made fortune in the paint nanufacturtng business in Brooklyn, added to the public interest in the trials Mohneux, convicted at the first trial after weary
 months in the Tombs, was sent to the
 death house at Sing Sing, where he spent nearly two years in the com pany of doomed men before he was
 granted a new trial and acquitted Molineux, who was born in Brook IyI forty eight years ago today de- scribed some of his death house ex- periences in a book entitled '"The Room with the Little Door," Sing Sing is hardly a place to inspire nnirth, and it's death house is least humorous Of all it's dreary cells, but MT. Mo1fneux possesses a sense of hunor which was not always to be denied even during 1 those weary months of waiting for | death. He was the editor and foun- der of the Murderers' Home Journal. I a hand-written publication with a cir culation of one copy, which always headed it's first column with the motto, l Damn the jury.''
 "As to the paper itseIf,1 wrote MT.
 Molineux, 'it was as artistic as black 1 and blue pencils could make it. We all contributed what and when we pleased. Every one in our commun- i ity read it and read no other. It
 contained real poetry, jokee-what ] jokes;-essays on our neighbors' be- l haviour, and news-local news. to-
 gether with advertisements which sim
 ply compelled attention"
 Writing verse for the Murderers' pal occupations of MT. Molineux and 1 his associates. He presents several
 samples. this one being entitled, t'The Jury"
 'HTo call them twelve trees would be nothing unkind;
 They were crooked and green; they
 were swayed by the wind.''
 There was the inevitable poem on
 Spring which concluded:
 l Here are no birds, or flowers, or murmuring stream
 IOur Spring arrives when they turn | off the steam
 zOne Whoohked@to sleep late penned
 this gem for the Journal:
 When morning comes, and Joe | pounds on the bar,
 | Calling me back from happy dream | land far;
 Although they say that two were l killed by me,
 How regret I cannot make it three. l The Murderers' Home Journal is now but a memory. Only its editor survives. Contributors, reporters, ar T ttsts,-au have long since passed i through the room with the little green door.