In his private life he was entirely simple and unaffected. Yet he
had a deep sense of what was due his office, and took part with
becoming dignity in all official or public ceremonies. He
received the diplomats sent to Washington from the courts of
Europe with a formal and quiet reserve which made them realize at
once that although this son of the people had been born in a log
cabin, he was ruler of a great nation, and more than that, was a
prince by right of his own fine instincts and good breeding.
He was ever gentle and courteous, but with a few quiet words he
could silence a bore who had come meaning to talk to him for
hours. For his friends he had always a ready smile and a quaintly
turned phrase. His sense of humor was his salvation. Without it
he must have died of the strain and anxiety of the Civil War.
There was something almost pathetic in the way he would snatch a
moment from his pressing duties and gravest cares to listen to a
good story or indulge in a hearty laugh. Some people could not
understand this. To one member of his cabinet, at least, it
seemed strange and unfitting that he should read aloud to them a
chapter from a humorous book by Artemus Ward before taking up the
weighty matter of the Emancipation Proclamation. From their point
of view it showed lack of feeling and frivolity of character,
when, in truth, it was the very depth of his feeling, and the
intensity of his distress at the suffering of the war, that led
him to seek relief in laughter, to gather from the comedy of life
strength to go on and meet its sternest tragedy.
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