A first book in American history with European beginnings . rdial bow. And late in the afternoon thedrive is over. Then comes dinner. And all too soon it is eight oclock,and Mr. Lincoln is due at the theater. This is the 14th ofApril, 1865—the nightof a benefit perform-ance; and guests havebeen invited to share abox with Mr. and When they reachthe theater the playhas already the people in thecrowded house arewatching the Presi-dents box; and, catch-ing sight of his tallfigure, they rise fromtheir seats and wel-come him with cheers,while the orchestrastrikes up Hail to th
A first book in American history with European beginnings . rdial bow. And late in the afternoon thedrive is over. Then comes dinner. And all too soon it is eight oclock,and Mr. Lincoln is due at the theater. This is the 14th ofApril, 1865—the nightof a benefit perform-ance; and guests havebeen invited to share abox with Mr. and When they reachthe theater the playhas already the people in thecrowded house arewatching the Presi-dents box; and, catch-ing sight of his tallfigure, they rise fromtheir seats and wel-come him with cheers,while the orchestrastrikes up Hail to theChief! The play goes on. It is good, and Lincoln listens andlaughs and enjoys it all. The players are going through the third act. Thepeople are pleased and do not notice a pale, handsomeman who is making his way toward the Presidents he slips in, stands one instant behind Lincoln,and then deliberately aims a pistol at him and fires. The shot rings out. A woman screams. The mur-derer leaps to the stage and escapes. All is now confusion. 347. Fords Theater where Lincolnwas Shot. A FIRST BOOK IN AMERICAN HISTORY Some try to follow the murderer; some try to reach the Lincoln box. But in the midst of all the uproar, the President sits quiet. His headhas fallen forward on hisbreast. Strong arms lift him andcarry him from the theater toa modest brick house acrossthe way. He is put to son and friends are sum-moned, and all watch besidehim through the night. They have no hope. Theassassin has done his the hours drag dawn comes. It is a lit-tle after seven, and Abraham Lincoln has ceased to breathe. The watchers bow their heads. A prayer is said; and in the stillness a solemn voice proclaims, Now he belongs to the ages.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1920, bookidfirstbookina, bookyear1921
