ould ever remember the
last words of the piece that were spoken that night--the last that
Abraham Lincoln heard upon earth; for the tragedy in the box turned play
and players alike to the most unsubstantial of phantoms. For weeks
hate and brandy had kept Booth's brain in a morbid state. He seemed to
himself to be taking part in a great play. Holding a pistol in one hand
and a knife in the other, he opened the box door, put the pistol to the
President's head, and fired. Major Rathbone sprang to grapple with him,
and received a savage knife wound in the arm. Then, rushing forward,
Booth placed his hand on the railing of the box and vaulted to the
stage. It was a high leap, but nothing to such a trained athlete. He
would have got safely away, had not his spur caught in the flag that
draped the front of the box. He fell, the torn flag trailing on
his spur; but though the fall had broken his leg, he rose instantly
brandishing his knife and shouting, "Sic Semper Tyrannis!" fled rapidly
across the stage and out of sight. Major Rathbone shouted, "Stop him!"
The cry, "He has shot the President!" rang through the theatre, and from
the audience, stupid at first with surprise, and wild afterward with
excitement and horror, men jumped upon the stage in pursuit of the
assassin. But he ran through the familiar passages, leaped upon his
horse, rewarding with a kick and a curse the boy who held him, and
escaped into the night.

The President scarcely moved. His head drooped forward slightly, his
eyes closed. Major Rathbone, not regarding his own grievous hurt,
rushed to the door to summon aid. He found it barred, and someone on the
outside beating and clamoring to get in. It was at once seen that the
President's wound was mortal. He was carried across the street to a
house opposite, and laid upon a bed. Mrs. Lincoln followed, tenderly
cared for by Miss Harris. Rathbone, exhausted by loss of blood, fainted,
and was taken home. Messengers were sent for the cabinet, for the
Surgeon-General, for Dr. Stone the President's family physician, and for
others whose official or private relations with Mr. Lincoln gave them
the right to be there. A crowd of people rushed instinctively to the
White House, and bursting through the doors shouted the dreadful news to
Robert Lincoln and Major Hay who sat together in an upper room.

The President had been shot a few minutes after ten o'clock. The wound
would have brought instant death to most men. He was