Baltimore Evening Sun (10 August 1912): 6.

The Porter Charlton case bobbed up again in New York the other day, when Charlton’s lawyer, R. Floyd Clarke, issued an indignant denial of a report that his client would soon be taken back to Italy for trial. It is now two years and two months since the young American butchered his wife at Lake Como, in Italy, and two years and six weeks since he confessed to the murder, but he is still as far from punishment as he ever was. Let us, in the interest of juridic art, glance at the record of this sweet and juicy case:

1910.
June 8—Charlton murders his wife at Moltrasio, on Lake Como, Italy, and heaves her body into the lake.
June 24—Charlton arrested as he lands from a steamship at Hoboken, N. J. Confesses to murder.
June 27—The Italian Government makes an unofficial demand for his extradition.
June 29—Charlton arraigned before Judge John A. Blair, in the court of Oyer and Terminer at Jersey City. Hearing postponed to July 8.
June 30—His father hires four alienists to examine him. July 8–His hearing further adjourned to August 11.
July 20—The four alienists duly report him crazy.
August 11—His hearing further adjourned to September 21.
September 21—Judge Blair refuses to listen to the alienists. The hearing further adjourned to October 15.
October 15—Judge Blair directs that Charlton he turned over to the Federal authorities for extradition.
December 10–Charlton’s lawyers apply for a writ of habeas corpus in the United States Circuit Court at Trenton, before Judge Rellstab.
December 12—Secretary of State Knox issues a warrant for Charlton’s extradition to Italy.
December 19–Hearing on application for writ of habeas corpus begun before Judge Rellstab.
December 20—Hearing postponed to January 23.

1911. January 23—Judge Rellstab refuses writ of habeas corpus.
February 25—Charlton’s lawyers appeal to the Supreme Court of the United States.
February 26—Supreme Court begins to meditate the matter. December 31—No decision.

1912. January 1—No decision.
February 23—First Anniversary of appeal to Supreme Court.
June 8—Second anniversary of the murder. Charlton still untried.
June 27—Second anniversary of Italian Government’s demand for extradition of prisoner.
August 5—Charlton’s lawyer announces that the appeal from the Federal Circuit Court will be argued before the Supreme Court at the October term.

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What an eloquent testimonial to American jurisprudence, that occult and lovely science! Here is a man who killed his wife back in the spring of 1910 and who promptly confessed the crime—and yet he is just as far from punishment, and even from trial, as he was on the day before the murder. And the delays have just begun. He is on his first appeal to the Supreme Court of the United States. A multitude of recondite and resilient writs remain. Charlton is young. He may live to break all records. He may go down into history as the supreme hero of the American courts.

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But let the juriconsults of Jersey hold their boasting. They have done well with the Charlton case, but they are not the only professors in the land. Here in Maryland there is also a science of jurisprudence, and it, too, has its triumphs, its virtuosi. A simple reference to the case against the former Sheriffs will suffice. That case is already a year older than the Charlton case—and still there is no sign of trying it on its merits. Since June 2, 1909, it has dragged its beautiful length along. It is the pride and glory of our bench and bar. Beside it the Charlton case shrinks to a cheap and puny affair, a bum job of amateurs.

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From the estimable Hot Towel, that abattoir of English:

The well-known tug M. M. Davis. * * *

Put “well-known tug” above “prominent policeman” and “popular embalmer,” until now the masterpieces of the Towel. Also sing hey for oleomania—the lust to tallow, the delight to grease, affability become pathological! Not even tugboats escape. In the end, perhaps, we shall have “genial hangman” and “modest but comfortable gallows.”

The Towel, by the way, has lately murdered the Sunpaper again, and its evening edition, the Serviette, jumps on the corpse. Three or four weeks ago the Serviette began printing bogus letters from mythical subscribers, charging the Sunpaper with various high crimes in connection with the Democratic National Convention. I thereupon made a publie accusation that the said letters had been written in the Serviette office by regular members of the staff, and called on any member of the staff, high or low, to declare on his word of honor that they were genuine. No gentleman stepped up. I now repeat the accusation. But do not be alarmed: no gentleman will step up.

Meanwhile both Towel and Serviette grease the super-Mahon daily. His honor is a heart-wringing martyr, the victim of thugs, a pure and exalted spirit, an insatiable patriot, an archangel, a genius. Thus the Serviette:

The Mayor has a way of making good on promises that is plainly disconcerting to his chronic critics.

It mout be, it mout be—but I doubt that Honest Bob Padgett would say so. Bob’s trust in political omnipotence, I daresay, has been much shaken of late. He has found more then one slip betwixt the primary and the contract. But still the Serviette clings to its hero:

His administration is businesslike, in that it gets results.

Well, well, so it does—sometimes. For instance, on the night of July 2. There, indeed, were results enough to choke the hungriest.

The Hon. Josephus Daniels, of the Raleigh News and Observer, prints a long attack on the Hon. Theodore Roosevelt for “insulting” the Southern blackamoor. Next, perhaps, we shall see the Hon. the super-Mahon hatchet the Hot Towel for throwing lather at the Sunpaper.

Contributions toward a thesaurus of American synonyms for physician:

Saw-bones. Chopper. Pill Merchant. Metzger. Blood-letter. Torquemada.

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Further contributions from the Hon. Mr. Williams, the Hon. Mr. McMains and the Maryland Antivivisection Society are invited.

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Meanwhile, Young Anderson trains diligently for his bout with Kid Price, and the suffragettes send him a box of roses daily. The Kid, for his part, is said to be nervous but determined. His friends show their confidence by offering even money that he will stay one round.

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Will the gentleman who lately sent me a note signed “A Forty Niner” kindly let me have his name and address?