Urbana Union

"To the President:
"The following is a copy of the writing, which was in pencil, found in the diary from the body of J. Wilkes Booth.
J. HOLT,
"Judge Advocate General."
"Thursday, April 13-14, 1865—Friday the ides. Until to-day nothing was ever thought of sacrificing to our country's wrongs. For six months we had worked to capture; but our cause being almost lost, something decisive and great must be done; but its failure was owing to others, who did not strike for their country with a heart.
"I struck boldly, and not as the papers say. I walked, with a firm step, through a thousand of his friends, and was stopped, but pushed on. A Colonel was at his side. I shouted sic semper before I fired. In jumping I broke my leg.
"I passed all his pickets, rode sixty miles that night with the bone of my leg tearing the flesh at every jump. I can never repent it, though we hated to kill. Our country owed all her troubles to him, and God simply made me the instrument of his punishment. The country is not what it was. This forced Union is not what I have loved. I care not what becomes of me: I have no desire to outlive my country.
This night (before the deed) I wrote a long article and left it for one of the editors of the National Intelligencer, in which I fully set forth our reasons for our proceedings. He or the Government (is the Government)
"Friday, the 21st—After being hunted like a dog through swamps and woods, the last night being chased by gunboats till I was forced to return, wet, cold, and starving, with every man's hand against me, I am here in despair: and why?—For doing what Brutus was honored for; what made Tell a hero; and yet I, for striking down a greater tyrant than they ever knew, am looked upon as a common cut-throat.
My action was purer than either one of theirs. One hoped to be great. The other had not only his country's, but his own wrongs to avenge. I hoped for no gain. I knew no private wrong. I struck for my country, and that alone—a country that groaned beneath his tyranny, and prayed for his end, and yet now behold the cold hand they extend to me, the assassin—God cannot pardon me if I have done wrong, yet I cannot see my wrong, except in serving a degenerate people. The little, the very little that I left behind to clear my name, the Government will not allow to be printed.
So ends all. For my country I have given up all that makes life sweet and holy; brought misery upon my family and am sure that there is no pardon in the heaven for me, since man condemns me so. I have only heard of what has been done, except what I did myself, and it fills me with horror. God, try and forgive me, and bless my mother. To-night I will once more try the river with the intent to cross, though I had a greater desire and almost a mind to return to Washington, and, in a measure, clear my name, which I feel I can do, I do not repent the blow I struck. I swear before my God, but not to man, I think I have done well, though I am abandoned, with the curse of Cain upon me. If the world knew my heart, that one blow would have made me great, though I did desire no greatness.
To-night I try to escape these bloodhounds once more. Who can read his fate? God's will be done.' I have too great a soul to die like a criminal. O! may He spare me that, and let me die bravely. I bless the entire world. I have never hated or wronged any one. This last act was not a wrong unless God decrees it so, and it is with Him to damn or bless me. And for this brave boy with me, who often prays—yes, before and since—with a true and sincere heart, was it a crime? I do not wish to shed a drop of blood, but I must fight the course. 'Tis all that's left me."
Upon a piece of paper found in the diary, and supposed to have been torn from it, is written the following:
"My Dear—(piece torn out.) Forgive me; but I have some little pride. I can not blame you for want of hospitality; you know your affairs; I was sick, tired, with a broken limb, and in need of medical advice. I would not have turned a dog from my door in such a plight. However, you were kind enough to give us something to eat, for which I not only thank you, but on account of the rebuke and manner in which—(piece torn out.) It is not the substance, but the way in which kindness is extended that makes one happy in the acceptance thereof. The sauce to meat is ceremony; meeting were bare without it. Be kind enough to accept the enclosed five dollars, although hard to spare, for what we have received.
"Most respectfully your obedient servant."