tchless purity, was in the most perfect taste. He was grave and
dignified in his deportment, and polished and courteous in every action.
Even in his most difficult and trying operations the services of the
assistants were always promptly acknowledged with scrupulous politeness.
He was possessed of many friends, and was regarded with pride and
veneration by his profession throughout the world.

During the last winter of his life he had lectured once or twice at the
Medical School, and had performed several operations of importance in
his private practice. Although nearly eighty, he was still erect and
vigorous, and was far from considering himself too old for his work.

On the morning of the 15th of April, 1865, he sent for his barber, as
was his custom, and submitted himself to the hands of the man who had
been his attendant in this capacity for years. He was sitting in his
dressing-room, and, being in fine spirits, began conversing with the
barber, who, during the conversation, asked him if he had heard the
terrible news of the day.

"What is the news?" asked the doctor.

"President Lincoln was killed last night at the theater in Washington,"
was the reply.

The doctor turned as pale as death, and, trembling violently, motioned
the barber aside, and tottered into the chamber adjoining, in which his
wife was dressing.

"My dear," he gasped, scarcely able to speak, "I have received such a
shock. President Lincoln has been murdered."

[Illustration: "PRESIDENT LINCOLN HAS BEEN MURDERED!"]

His agitation had now become so great that he could say no more. He sank
down into a chair, pale and trembling, and so feeble that he could
scarcely sit up. He was seized in a short time with acute pains in the
back, and at the same time his vigor seemed to desert him entirely, and
he became a weak and broken old man. He was obliged to seek his bed,
from which he never rose. He grew feebler every day, and died on the
26th of April, 1865.

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT FORTUNES, AND HOW THEY WERE
MADE***

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