Wilkes, I heard him say: "No! no, no! there's but one _Hamlet_ to my
mind, that's my brother Edwin. You see, between ourselves, he _is
Hamlet_, melancholy and all!"

That was an awful time when the dread news came to us. We were in
Columbus. We had been horrified by the great crime at Washington. My
room-mate and I had from our small earnings bought some black cotton, at
a tripled price, as all the black material in the city was not sufficient
to meet the demand, and as we tacked it about our one window, a man,
passing, told us the assassin had been discovered, and that he was the
actor Booth. Hattie laughed so she nearly swallowed the tack that,
girl-like, she held between her lips, and I, after a laugh, told him it
was a poor subject for a jest, and we went in. There was no store in
Columbus then where playbooks were sold, and as Mr. Ellsler had a very
large and complete stage library, he frequently lent his books to us, and
we would hurriedly copy out our lines and return the book for his own
use. On that occasion he was going to study his part first and then leave
the play with us as he passed going home. We heard his knock; I was busy
pressing a bit of stage finery. Hattie opened the door, and then I heard
her exclaiming: "Why--why--what?" I turned quickly. Mr. Ellsler was
coming slowly into the room. He is a very dark man, but he was perfectly
livid then, his lips even were blanched to the whiteness of his cheeks.
His eyes were dreadful, they were so glassy and seemed so unseeing. He
was devoted to his children, and all I could think of as likely to bring
such a look upon his face was disaster to one of them, and I cried, as I
drew a chair to him, "What is it? Oh, what has happened to them?"

He sank down, he wiped his brow, he looked almost stupidly at me, then,
very faintly, he said: "You--haven't--heard--anything?"

Like a flash Hattie's eyes and mine met; we thought of the supposed
ill-timed jest of the stranger--my lips moved wordlessly. Hattie
stammered: "A man, he lied though, said that Wilkes Booth--but he did
lie--didn't he?" and in the same faint voice Mr. Ellsler answered,
slowly: "No--no! he did not lie--it's too true!"

Down fell our heads and the waves of shame and sorrow seemed fairly to
o'erwhelm us, and while our sobs filled the little room, Mr. Ellsler rose
and laid two playbooks on the table. Then, while standing there, staring
into space, I heard his far, faint voice, saying: "So great, so g