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.

of justioe.. A perfect park of carriages stands by the door to the left, and
from thee dismount majorggenerals' wives, in rustling silks; daughters of
congressmen, attired like the lilies of the milliner; little girls who hope to
be young ladies and have come with "Pa," -to look at the assassins; even
brides are here, in the fresh blush of their nuptials, and they consider the
late spectacle of the review as good as lost, if the court-scene be not added
to it. These tender creatures have a weakness for the ring of manacles,
the sight of folks to be suspended in the air, the face of a woman confede.
rate in blood.
They chat with their polite guides, many of whom are gallant captains,
and go one after another up the little Right of steps which leads to the
room of the officer of the day.
'ie passes them, if he pleases, up the crooked stairways, and when they
have climbed three of these, they enter a sort of garret-room, oblong, and
plastered white, and about as large as an ordinary town-house parlor.
Four doors open into it-that by which we have entered, two from the
left,. where the witnesses w'ait, and one at the end, near the left f-ar corner,
which is the outlet from-the cells.
' railing, close up to the stairway door, gives a little space in the fore ground for witnesses; two tables, transverse to this rail, are for the com mission and the press, the first-named being to the right; between these
are a raised platform and pivot armchair for the witness; below are the
sworn phonographers and.the counsel for the accused, and then another
rail like that seperating the crowd from the court, holds behind it the
accused and their guards.
These are they who are living not by years nor by weeks, but by breaths.
They are motley enough, for the most part, sitting upon a long bench witk
their batks against the wall,-ill-shaved, haggard, anxious, and the dungeor.
door at their left opens.now and then to show behind it a moving bayonet.
There are women within the court proper, edging upon the reporters, intro
duced there by a fussy usher, and through four windows filters the' imper feet daylight, making all things distinguishable, yet shadowy. The co,/p
d'ceil of this small and crowded scene is lively as a popular funeral.
There is the witness with raised hand, pointing toward heaven, and look
ing at Judge Holt. The gilt stars, bars, and orange-colored sashes of the
commission; the women's brilliant silks and bonnets; the crowding spec tators, with their brains in their eyes; the blue coats of the guards; the
working scribes; and last of all the line of culprits, whose suspected guilt
has made them worthy of all illustration.
Between the angle of the wall.and the studded door, under the heavy bar
of dressed stone which marks above the thickhess of the gaol; sits all alone
a woman's figure, clothed- in solemn black. HIer.shadowy skirt hides her
feet,.so that we cannot see whether they are riveted; her sleeves of sa'ole
sweep down to her wrist, and dark gloves cover the plumpness of'her hand,
while a palm-leaf fan nods to and'fro to assist the obscurity of her vail of
crape, descending from-her widow's bonnet.
A solitary woman, beginning' the line of coarse indicted men, shrinking
beneath the.scornful eyes of her sex, and the as bold survey of men more.
pitiful, may well excite, despite her guilt, a moment -of sympathy.
Let men remember that shie is the mother of a son who has fled to save
his forfeit life by deserting'her to shame, and perhaps, to death. Let wo men, who will not mention her in mercy, learn from her end, in all suo ceeding wars, to make patriotism of their household duties and not incite
to blood.
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