Francis B. Carpenter, Six Months at the White House

Mr. Lincoln had a dread of people who could not appreciate humor. He once instanced a member of his own cabinet, of whom he quoted the saying of Sydney Smith, that “it required a surgical operation to get a joke into his head.” The light trifles of conversation diverted his mind, or, as he said of his theatre-going, gave him “a refuge from himself and his weariness.”

One of the last stories I heard from Mr. Lincoln was concerning John Tyler, for whom it was to be expected, as an old Henry Clay Whig, he would entertain no great respect. “A year or two after Tyler's accession to the Presidency,” said he, “contemplating an excursion in some direction, his son went to order a special train of cars. It so happened that the railroad superintendent was a very strong Whig. On ‘Bob's’ making known his errand, that official bluntly informed him that his road did not run any special trains for the President. ‘What!’ said ‘Bob,’ ‘did you not furnish a special train for the funeral of General Harrison?’ ‘Yes,’ said the superintendent, stroking his whiskers; ‘and if you will only bring your father here in that shape, you shall have the best train on the road!’ ”

Once — on what was called a “public day,” when Mr. Lincoln received all applicants in their turnthe writer¹ was struck by observing, as he passed through the corridor, the heterogeneous crowd of