LETTER I.

THE MURDER.


Washington, April 17.

Some very deliberate and extraordinary movements were made by a handsome
and extremely well-dressed young man in the city of Washington last
Friday. At about half-past eleven o'clock A. M., this person, whose name
is J. Wilkes Booth, by profession an actor, and recently engaged in oil
speculations, sauntered into Ford's Theater, on Tenth, between E and F
streets, and exchanged greetings with the man at the box-office. In the
conversation which ensued, the ticket agent informed Booth that a box
was taken for Mr. Lincoln and General Grant, who were expected to visit
the theater, and contribute to the benefit of Miss Laura Keene, and
satisfy the curiosity of a large audience. Mr. Booth went away with a
jest, and a lightly-spoken "Good afternoon." Strolling down to
Pumphreys' stable, on C street, in the rear of the National Hotel, he
engaged a saddle horse, a high-strung, fast, beautiful bay mare, telling
Mr. Pumphreys that he should call for her in the middle of the
afternoon.

From here he went to the Kirkwood Hotel, on the corner of Pennsylvania
avenue and Twelfth street, where, calling for a card and a sheet of
notepaper, he sat down and wrote upon the first as follows: