ood a
man destroyed, and by the hand of that unhappy boy! my God! my God!" He
wiped his brow again and slowly left the house, apparently unconscious of
our presence.

When we resumed our work--the theatre had closed because of the national
calamity--many a painted cheek showed runnels made by bitter tears, and
one old actress, with quivering lips, exclaimed: "One woe doth tread upon
another's heel, so fast they follow!" but with no thought of quoting, and
God knows the words expressed the situation perfectly.

Mrs. Ellsler, whom I never saw shed a tear for any sickness, sorrow, or
trouble of her own, shed tears for the mad boy who had suddenly become
the assassin of God's anointed--the great, the blameless Lincoln!

We crept about, quietly, everyone winced at the sound of the overture; it
was as if one dead lay within the walls, one who belonged to us.

When the rumors about Booth being the murderer proved to be authentic,
the police feared a possible outbreak of mob-feeling, and a
demonstration against the theatre building, or against the actors
individually; but we had been a decent, law-abiding, well-behaved people,
liked and respected, so we were not made to suffer for the awful act of
one of our number. Still, when the mass-meeting was held in front of the
Capitol, there was much anxiety on the subject, and Mr. Ellsler urged all
the company to keep away from it, lest their presence might arouse some
ill-feeling. The crowd was immense; the sun had gloomed over, and the
Capitol building, draped in black, loomed up with stern severity and that
massive dignity only obtained by heavily columned buildings. The people
surged like waves about the speakers' stand, and the policemen glanced
anxiously toward the new theatre, not far away, and prayed that some
bombastic, revengeful ruffian might not crop up from this mixed crowd of
excited humanity to stir them to violence.

Three speakers, however, in their addresses had confined themselves to
eulogizing the great dead. In life, Mr. Lincoln had been abused by many;
in death, he was worshipped by all, and these speakers found their words
of love and sorrow eagerly listened to, and made no harsh allusions to
the profession from which the assassin sprang. And then an unknown man
clambered up from the crowd to the portico platform and began to speak,
without asking anyone's permission. He had a far-reaching voice--he had
fire and "go."

"Here's the fellow to look out for!"