The life, crime, and capture of John Wilkes Booth,: with a full sketch of the conspiracy of which he was the leader, and the pursuit, trial and execution of his accomplices./ By George Alfred Townsend.

14 2'h Lif, Crime, and Captur. of JoAn Wsilk.# Booth.
flowers, up.bating a long, high coffin. White lawe of pure silver pendant
from the border throws a mild shimmer upon the solid silver tracery
hingea and emblazonings. A cross of lilies stands at the head, an anchor
of roses at the foot. The lid is drawn back to show the face and bosom,
and on the coffin top are heather, precious flowers, and sprigs of green.
This catafalque, or in plain words, this coffin set upon a platform and
canopied, has around it a sufficient space of Brussels carpet, and on three
sides of this there are raised steps covered with black, on which the
honored visitors are to stand.
The fourth side is bare, save of a single row of chairs some twenty in
number, on which the reporters are to sit. The odor of the room is fresh
and healthy; the shade is solemn, without being oppressive. All is rich,
simple, and spacious, and in such sort as any king might wish to lie.
Approach and look at the dead man.
Death has fastened into his frozen face all the character and' idiosyncrasy
of life. lie has not chalnged one line of his grave, grotesque countenance,
nor smoothed out a single feature. The hue is rather bloodless and leaden;
but he was alway sallow. The dark eyebrows seem abruptly arched; the'
beard, which will grow no more, is shaved close, save the tuft at the short
small chin. The mouth is shut, like that of one who had put the foot
down firm, and so are the eyes, which look as calm as slumber. The collar
X short and awkward, turned over the stiff elastic cravat, and whatever
energy or humor or tender gravity marked the living face is hardened into
its pulseless outline. No corpse in the world is better prepared according
to appearances. The white satin around it reflects sufficient light upon the
tacoe to show us that death is really there; but there are sweet roses and
early magnolias, and the balmiest of lilies strewn around, as if the flowers
had begun to bloom even upon his coffin. Looking on uninterruptedly!
for there is no pressure, and henceforward the place will be thronged with
gazers who will take from the s~ight its suggestiveness and respect. Three
years ago, when little Willie Lincoln died, Doctors Brown and Alexander,
the embalmers or injectors, prepared his body so handsomely that the
President had.it twice disinterred to look upon it. The same men, in the
{bame way, have.made perpetual these beloved lineaments. There is now
no blood in the body; it was drained by the jugular vein and sacredly pre.
served, and through a cutting on the inside of the thigh'the empty blood vessels were charged with. a chemical preparation which soon hardened to
the consistence of stone. The long and bony body is now hard and stiff,
so that beyond its present position it cannot be moved any more than the
arms or legs of a statue. It has undergone many changes. The scalp has
been removed, the brain taken out, the chest opened and the blood emptied.
All that we see of Abraham Lincoln, so cunningly contemplated in this
splendid coffin, is a mere shell, an effigy, a' sculpture. He lies'.in sleep,
but it is the sleep of marble. All that made this flesh vital, sentient, and
affectionate is gone forever.
The officers present' are Generals Hunter and Dyer and two staff cap.
tains. Hunter, compact and dark and reticent, walks about the empty
chamber in full uniform,his bright buttons and sash and sword contrasting
with his dark blue uniform, gauntlets upon his hands, crape on his arm and
'blade, his corded hat in his hands, a paper collar just apparent above his
velvet.tips, and n6w and then he speaks to Captain Nesmith or Captain
Dewes, of General IHarding's staff, rather as one who wishes comp any tham
one who has anything to say. His two silver stars upon his shoulder shine
dimly in the draped apartment.. He was one of the first in the war'to
I.
I