icted a severe wound.
The assassin then placed his left hand lightly on the railing of the box
and jumped to the stage, eight or nine feet below.

BOOTH BRANDISHES HIS DAGGER AND ESCAPES.

The box was draped with the American flag, and, in jumping, Booth's
spurs caught in the folds, tearing down the flag, the assassin falling
heavily to the stage and spraining his ankle. He arose, however, and
walked theatrically across the stage, brandished his knife and shouted,
"Sic semper tyrannis!" and then added, "The South is avenged."

For the moment the audience was horrified and incapable of action. One
man only, a lawyer named Stuart, had sufficient presence of mind to leap
upon the stage and attempt to capture the assassin. Booth went to the
rear door of the stage, where his horse was held in readiness for
him, and, leaping into the saddle, dashed through the streets toward
Virginia. Miss Keane rushed to the President's box with water and
stimulants, and medical aid was summoned.

By this time the audience realized the tragedy that had been enacted,
and then followed a scene such as has never been witnessed in any public
gathering in this country. Women wept, shrieked and fainted; men raved
and swore, and horror was depicted on every face. Before the audience
could be gotten out of the theatre, horsemen were dashing through the
streets and the telegraph was carrying the terrible details of the
tragedy throughout the nation.

WALT WHITMAN'S DESCRIPTION.

Walt Whitman, the poet, has sketched in graphic language the scenes of
that most eventful fourteenth of April. His account of the assassination
has become historic, and is herewith given:

"The day (April 14, 1865) seems to have been a pleasant one throughout
the whole land--the moral atmosphere pleasant, too--the long storm, so
dark, so fratricidal, full of blood and doubt and gloom, over and ended
at last by the sunrise of such an absolute national victory, and utter
breaking down of secessionism--we almost doubted our senses! Lee had
capitulated, beneath the apple tree at Appomattox. The other armies, the
flanges of the revolt, swiftly followed.

"And could it really be, then? Out of all the affairs of this world of
woe and passion, of failure and disorder and dismay, was there really
come the confirmed, unerring sign of peace, like a shaft of pure
light--of rightful rule--of God?

"But I must not dwell on accessories. The deed hastens. The popular
a