ling around it, and stretching into the future for
many a century, in the politics, history, art, etc., of the New World,
in point of fact, the main thing, the actual murder, transpired with
the quiet and simplicity of any commonest occurrence--the bursting of
a bud or pod in the growth of vegetation, for instance.

Through the general hum following the stage pause, with the change of
positions, etc., came the muffled sound of a pistol shot, which not
one-hundredth part of the audience heard at the time--and yet a
moment's hush--somehow, surely a vague, startled thrill--and then,
through the ornamented, draperied, starred, and striped space-way of
the President's box, a sudden figure, a man, raises himself with hands
and feet, stands a moment on the railing, leaps below to the stage (a
distance of perhaps 14 or 15 feet), falls out of position, catching
his boot heel in the copious drapery (the American flag), falls on one
knee, quickly recovers himself, rises as if nothing had happened (he
really sprains his ankle, but unfelt then)--and the figure, Booth, the
murderer, dressed in plain black broadcloth, bare-headed, with a full
head of glossy, raven hair, and his eyes, like some mad animal's
flashing with light and resolution, yet with a certain strange
calmness, holds aloft in one hand a large knife--walks along not much
back of the foot-lights--turns fully towards the audience his face of
statuesque beauty, lit by those basilisk eyes, flashing with
desperation, perhaps insanity--launches out in a firm and steady voice
the words _Sic Semper Tyrannis_--and then walks with neither slow nor
very rapid pace diagonally across to the back of the stage, and
disappears. (Had not all this terrible scene--making the mimic ones
preposterous--had it not all been rehearsed, in blank, by Booth,
beforehand?)

A moment's hush, incredulous--a scream--the cry of murder--Mrs.
Lincoln leaning out of the box, with ashy cheeks and lips, with
involuntary cry, pointing to the retreating figure, "He has
killed the President." And still a moment's strange, incredulous
suspense--and then the deluge!--then that mixture of horror, noises,
uncertainty--(the sound, somewhere back, of a horse's hoofs clattering
with speed) the people burst through chairs and railings, and break
them up--that noise adds to the queerness of the scene--there is
extricable confusion and terror--women faint--quite feeble persons
fall, and are trampled on--many cries of