Killed with a pistol made in Northern Liberties

Jason Nark has an article in the Philadelphia Daily News about a Philadelphia connection to the Sesquicentennial of the assassination:

A simple stone slab marks the grave of Philadelphia gunsmith Henry Deringer, barely noticeable beneath a giant sycamore and the surrounding acres of intricate, towering tombstones in Laurel Hill Cemetery. His name is mostly forgotten here, his workshops in Northern Liberties paved over for progress or pulled down by time, just empty lots with broken glass and weeds. No murals, statues, or buildings bear his name here, and no one's ever asked the Commonwealth to stake a blue historical marker along North Front Street for the man who ushered in the era of "concealed carry", whose name became a noun, like Jell-O or Kleenex, still used today to describe any compact, easy-to-hide handgun that's deadly at close range. "Deringer, like Shrapnel, conveyed no other meaning in English," author J.E. Parsons wrote in Henry Deringer's Pocket Pistol, the only book written about the Easton-born son of German settlers. Deringer followed his father into the business and was one of the last American gunsmiths to make weapons by hand, producing thousands of pairs of the "death-dealing little cannons", as one writer of Westerns described the design, in Philadelphia in the early to mid-1800s. The most significant monument is a morbid one: a single-shot, muzzle-loading pistol with a black walnut stock inlaid with silver that changed America forever. That gun sits in a glass case inside Ford's Theatre in Washington, D.C., recovered from the state box there after John Wilkes Booth used it to shoot President Abraham Lincoln in the back of the head on the night of 14 April 1865. If you move in close to the display and squint, you can read the words Deringer Philadel etched into the stock. Deringer was still making the guns in 1865, but they already had been wildly popular with civilians for decades, his biggest market being California during the Gold Rush. Deringer couldn't keep up with the demand for his pistols as settlers pushed west, out into the unknown, fearful of Native Americans, card sharps, rustlers, and, most often, one another.

Rico says the gub was often copied in the 1800s, usually with two 'r's in the name...