President Lincoln’s humour often exposed him to criticism. His frequent stories often elicited censure. Persons who did not understand him charged him with being light and trifling, when sadness and sorrow were more becoming. There was no ground for this censure. Mr. Lincoln told stories in the White House just as he did anywhere else. The simplicity of his character led him to be, when President, just what he was as a friend and neighbour. Then, he told stories for two reasons. First, he told them to point and enforce the subject in hand. Mr. Herndon, his law-partner for many years, remarks upon this peculiarity of the man:—

“It is said that Newton saw an apple fall to the ground from a tree, and beheld the law of the universe in that fall; Shakespeare saw human nature in the laugh of a man; Professor Owen saw the animal in its claw; and Spencer saw the evolution of the universe in the growth of a seed. Nature was suggestive to all these men. Mr. Lincoln no less saw philosophy in a story, and a schoolmaster in a joke. … The world, fact, man, principle,—all had their powers of suggestion to his susceptible soul. They continually put him in mind of something. He was often perplexed to give expression to his ideas: first, because he was not master of the English language; and, secondly, because there were no words in it containing the colouring, shape, exactness, power, and gravity of his ideas. He was frequently at a loss for a word, and hence was compelled to resort to stories, maxims, and jokes to embody his idea, that it might be comprehended.

“But more and better than that, in the White House he found recreation and relief in story-telling. He told them that he read Shakespeare and the ‘Nasby Papers’ to help him endure the labours of his official position. He indulged in wit and humour when he felt more like crying. Indeed, he indulged them, often, in order to keep from crying. As he said to a member of Congress, when he was greatly distressed for the country, ‘Were it not for this occasional vent I should die.’ He kept a copy of ‘Nasby Papers’ in his desk, as an antidote for depression. He found relief in their perusal. He once said to a friend, ‘I think of writing to “Petroleum” to come down here, and I shall tell him, if he will impart his talent to me, I will swap places with him.’ ”

Speaking of this peculiarity of the President, a Congressman said, “It is his life preserver.” He was severely criticised for it by the journals. Many stories and jokes were ascribed to him which he never told. A volume of them was issued in New York, under the title, “Old Abe’s Jokes.” A friend submitted a copy of the work to him, with the request that he should report how many of the stories were genuine. His report was six out of the whole number. Still, the attacks upon him only elicited more wit. After examining a gun so constructed as to prevent the escape of gas, he remarked, “I really believe this does what it is represented to do. But do any of you know of any machine or invention for preventing the escape of gas from newspaper establishments?” At a time when the public journals teemed with assaults upon him, for alleged acts and sayings that never occurred, Mrs. Secretary Welles called attention to certain reports. “The papers are not always reliable,” responded one present. “That is to say, Mrs. Welles,”interjected Mr. Lincoln, “they lie, and then they re-lie!” He “could bear censure,” as he said, “but not insult.” A friend proposed that he should contradict a particular false report in a leading journal; but he replied, “Oh, no; if I were to try to read, much less answer, all the attacks made on me, this shop might as well be closed for any other business. I do the very best I know how,—the very best I can; and I mean to keep doing so until the end. If the end brings me out all right, what is said against me won’t amount to anything. If the end brings me out wrong, ten angels swearing I was right would make no difference.”

His grand magnanimity never appeared to greater advantage than it did when, after all his trials with General McClellan, before he removed him, and after he had facetiously remarked that he “would like to borrow his army if he had no use for it,” and given as a reason why the General did not reply to the “Chicago letter,” “he is entrenching”—he remarked to another, “So pleasant and scholarly a gentleman can never fail to secure personal friends. In fact,