He hired at a livery-stable a small,
fleet horse.
A few minutes before ten o'clock, leaving his horse at the rear of the
theater in charge of a call-boy, he went into a neighboring saloon, took
a drink of brandy, and, entering the theater, passed rapidly to the
little hallway leading to the President's box. Showing a card to the
servant in attendance, he was allowed to enter, closed the door
noiselessly, and secured it with the wooden bar he had previously made
ready, without disturbing any of the occupants of the box, between whom
and himself yet remained the partition and the door through which he had
made the hole.
No one, not even the comedian who uttered them, could ever remember the
last words of the piece that were spoken that night--the last Abraham
Lincoln heard upon earth. The tragedy in the box turned play and players
to the most unsubstantial of phantoms. Here were five human beings in a
narrow space--the greatest man of his time, in the glory of the most
stupendous success of our history; his wife, proud and happy; a pair of
betrothed lovers, with all the promise of felicity that youth, social
position, and wealth could give them; and this handsome young actor, the
pet of his little world. The glitter of fame, happiness, and ease was
upon the entire group; yet in an instant everything was to be changed.
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