Why Lincoln Laughed Part 3

I do not now recall just how the subject was introduced, but Lincoln talked to me about dreams, and he said that while he could not see any scientific reason for believing in dreams, nevertheless that he did in a measure believe in them, although he could not explain why. He said that they had undeniably influenced him.

Then he spoke of dreams he had "since the war came on," which had influenced him a great deal. He said, "There might not be much in dreams, but when I dream we have been defeated it puts me on my nerve to watch out and see how things are. Men may say dreams are of no account, but they are suggestive to me, and in that respect of great account."

When the President spoke of the people who were waiting to see him, I said:

"No doubt many of them, like myself, are strangers to you. How do you select those you will let in when you can't see them all?"

He replied that he decided a good deal by names, and then he told me what seemed a good point to remember, that he had trained his memory in his youth by determining to remember people's faces and names together. This he had done when he was first elected to the legislature in Illinois. He realized at once when he got into the legislature that he could not make a speech like the rest of "those fellows," college people, but he could get a personal acquaintance and great influence if he would remember everybody's face and everybody's name; and so he said he had acted upon the plan of carrying a memorandum book around with him and setting down carefully the name of each man he met, and then making a little outline sketch with his pencil of some feature of the man--his ears, nose, shoulder, or something which would help him to remember.

Lincoln then told me a story about James G. Blaine when the latter was first elected to Congress. Blaine afterward repudiated this story, but it serves to ill.u.s.trate Lincoln's thought none the less. He said that Blaine hired a private secretary to help him out in remembering people. His system was to have the secretary meet all those who entered the reception room and ask their names, where they lived, what families they belonged to, and all the information that could be gained about them in a social way. Then, according to the story, the secretary ran around to the back door to Mr. Blaine's private office and gave him a full memorandum about his callers. A few minutes later, when the visitor was ushered in, the secretary told him to "walk right in to see Mr. Blaine."

He would say in the most casual manner: "Mr. Blaine is in there. You can go right in."

Mr. Blaine would get up, shake hands with the man, ask him how his relations were, how long it had been since he was in the legislature, whether his wife's brother had been successful in the West, etc., until the visitor came to be perfectly astounded.

As a result of this Mr. Blaine became very famous for his memory of names.

But even if the story about the source of Blaine's "memory" is untrue, Lincoln was probably ahead of him and, indeed, of any man in this country; he could remember every person he had ever seen in twenty years' time.

That was one of the things that became evident when I asked him how he could judge the visitors. In the majority of cases he had seen the man or heard of him in some connection, perhaps years before. He also said that he judged strangers by their names because when he heard their names he would think of other people he did know by that name, and he judged they might belong to that family and have the same traits.

He admitted that he was sometimes guided by the suggestion of Artemus Ward, who told him a story of a boys' club in Boston which did not take in any members who were not Irish. A boy came along and asked to be admitted to the club, and the members asked, "Are you Irish?"

"Oh yes," replied the boy, "I am Irish."

"What is your name?"

"My name is Ikey Einstein."

Lincoln, smiling, said, "The Irish boys kicked that boy out forthwith."

He said, "Artemus Ward, when telling me that story, confirmed me in my view that a name _does_ have something to do with the man. But," Lincoln added, "if it is Smith, I have no way of getting at it." Then he said, more seriously, that he had to be guided a great deal by an instinctive impression of the visitor as he came in the door.

"Seldom a person sits down at this table, or desk, but I have formed an opinion of the man's disposition and traits, by an instinctive impression."

He acknowledged that he could not always trust to this, but was generally guided by it and found he got along very well with it. Sometimes, however, he did make a mistake, as when on one occasion he had talked to a man for half an hour as though he was a hotel keeper, and found out afterward that he was a preacher.

Through all this conversation there had run an undercurrent of whimsicality, partly, no doubt, the conscious effort of a sorely tried mind to gain a few minutes' respite from its pressing cares, but none the less showing a keen and deep-seated appreciation of the funny side of life. Only once did this humor forsake him, and that was when Lincoln spoke of Tad. The little boy had been playing quietly by himself all the time--apparently he was as much at home in the Cabinet Room as in any other part of the White House--and Lincoln told me Tad had been sick and that it worried him.

Then he put his head in both his hands, looked down at the table, and said, "No man ought to wish to be President of the United States!"

Still holding his head in his hands, he said to me, "Young man, do not take a political office unless you are compelled to; there are times when it is heart-crushing!"

He said he had thought how many a mother and father had lost their children in the war--just boys.

"And I am so anxious about my Tad, I cannot help but think how they must feel. If Tad had died--"

He grew very sad; for a few minutes his face was gloomy, and it seemed as though half a sob was coming up in his throat.

Lincoln was not one of those men who go to the extremes of grief or the extremes of joy; but other people have told me, as I myself now saw, that when there came to him that seizure of deep sadness he had to fight himself for a few minutes to overcome it. This impressed me that day very deeply. Breaking off abruptly from what he had been talking about--war and Artemus Ward--and speaking suddenly of Tad, he had dropped down in that dejected position, and for a few minutes looked so sad I thought something awful must suddenly have come to his mind. But it seemed, after all, to be only the fear that Tad, who was not very well, might die. Who can say what vistas of thought that idea may have opened.

Chapter V: What Made Him Laugh

To many persons it seemed incongruous that there should be any thought, motive, or taste in common between Abraham Lincoln and the droll Artemus Ward. Indeed, the great biographers of Lincoln have either ignored the existence of Ward or have referred to him very sparingly. Yet no visitor at the White House seemed more welcome than Ward during Lincoln's administration. Mr. Seward, the Secretary of State, and Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War, were said to disapprove of Ward's frequent visits, and it was whispered to Mrs. Ames, correspondent of the _Independent_, that Lincoln hinted to Ward that it might be best to time his visits so as to occur when Mrs. Lincoln was not at home. But it was a matter of common gossip in "Newspaper Row" that there was a strong and true friendship between the care-burdened President and the fun-making showman, whose real name was Charles Farrar Browne.

The strange contrast in their abilities, their dispositions, and their careers puzzled the amateur psychoa.n.a.lysts of that day. Was it merely an example of the attraction of opposites? Lincoln was strong, athletic, and enduring; Ward was weak, lazy, and changeable. Lincoln loved work; Ward took the path of least resistance. Lincoln was a moderate eater and lived firmly up to his principles as a teetotaler; Ward drank anything sold at a bar and sometimes was too intoxicated to appear at his "wax-figger show."

Lincoln loved the cla.s.sics and was a good judge of literature; Ward seldom read a cla.s.sic translation. Lincoln saved money and could carefully invest it; Ward would not take the trouble to collect his own salary, and never was known to make an investment. Lincoln laughed often, and on rare occasions laughed long and loud; Ward never laughed in public and in his funniest moods never even smiled. Lincoln's sad face, when in repose, touched a chord of sympathy in the souls of those who knew him best. Yet Hingston, who was Ward's best friend, said that Ward's cold stare awoke at once cyclones of riotous laughter in his audiences. Lincoln was a great patriotic leader of men and wielded the power of a monarch; Ward was a quiet citizen, who loved his country, but had no desire for power or for battles. Strong contrasts these. Yet in a deep and sincere friendship they were agreed.

Of the few cheerful things which entered Lincoln's life in those troubled and gloomy times, the one which he enjoyed most was Ward's "Show." He thought this was the most downright comical thing that had ever been put before the public, and he laughed heartily even as he described it. Ward had a nondescript collection of stuffed animals which he exhibited upon the stage; he told the audience he found it cheaper to stuff the animals once than to keep stuffing them continually. They consisted at one time of a jack-rabbit and two mangy bears. He had also a picture of the Western plains--the poorest one he could find. He would say, "The Indians in this picture have not come along yet."

One always expected him to lecture about his animals, but he never did; in fact, he scarcely mentioned them. His manner was that of an utter idiot, and his blank stare, when the audience laughed at something he had said, was enough in itself to send the whole hall into paroxysms of mirth.

Lincoln said to me that day, "One glimpse of Ward would make a culprit laugh when he was being hung."

No doubt one reason why Lincoln felt kindly toward Ward was because the latter was "most unselfishly trying to keep people cheerful in a most depressing time. He and Nasby," the President said, "are furnishing about all the cheerfulness we now have in this country." (Petroleum V. Nasby, it will be remembered, was the pen name taken by David Ross Locke in his witty letters from the "Confedrit Crossroads.")

The humor of Ward may seem crude to us now, but in the dark days of '64 it took something more potent than refined wit to make people laugh--just as it took a series of ludicrous and not overrefined drawings to make England laugh in 1916; and it must be borne in mind that while Ward's sayings were homely and sometimes savored strongly of the frontier, they were never coa.r.s.e or insinuating.

But after all, the best way to learn what Lincoln really thought of Ward was to ask him, and I did exactly that. Also, I was careful to give close heed to his words, that I might be able to write them down immediately afterward. This, to the best of my recollection, was what Lincoln said:

"I was told the other day by a Congressman from Maine that Ward was driven partly insane in his early life by the drowning of his intended bride in Norway Lake. I could feel _that_ in Ward's character somehow before I was told about it. Ward seems at times so utterly forlorn.

"Nothing draws on my feelings like such a calamity. I knew what it was once. Yes! Yes! I know all about it. One never gets away from it. I must ask Ward to tell me all about his trouble sometime. I think that is what makes him so sad in appearances. Ward never laughs himself, unless he thinks it is his duty to make other people laugh. He is surely right about that.

"Perhaps Ward's whisky drinking is all an attempt to drown his sorrow. Who knows? It is a mighty mistake to go to drink for comfort. I should suppose the memory of the woman, if she was one worth while, would keep him from such a foolish habit. I've been right glad that I let the stuff alone.

There was plenty of it about.

"Ward told me one day that he took to funny work as a makeshift for a decent living; and that he found it to be an honest way to go about doing good. I would have done that myself if I had not found harder work at the law.

"I have agreed with many people who think that Ward should be in some trade or writing books. But I don't know about it. He has a special kind of mind, and, rightly used, he would make an excellent teacher of mental science. In one way of looking at it his life is wasted. But if he refreshes and cheers other people as he does me, I can't see how he could make a better investment of his life. I smile and smile here as one by one the crowd pa.s.ses me to shake hands, until it is a week before my face gets straight. But it is a duty. _I could defeat our whole army to-morrow by looking glum at a reception or by refusing to smile for three consecutive hours._[2] Ward says he carries a bottle of sunshine in 'the other pocket,' to treat his friends. I like that idea.

[2] The italics are the author's.--ED.

"Ward is dreadfully misunderstood by a lot of dull people. They insist on taking him seriously. An old lady in Baltimore held me up one night after I had told some of Artemus Ward's remarks, and she may not have forgiven me yet. I told his tale of the rich land out in Iowa, where the farmer threw a cuc.u.mber seed as far as he could and started out on a run for his house. But the cuc.u.mber vine overtook him and he found a seed cuc.u.mber in his pocket.

"At that the old lady opened her eyes and mouth, but made no remark. Once more I tried her, by telling how Ward knew a lady who went for a porous plaster and the druggist told her to place it anywhere on her trunk. Not having a trunk or box in the house, she put it on her bandbox, and the next day reported that it was so powerful that it drew her pink bonnet all out of shape.

"That was more than the conscientious old saint could stand, and after supper she called me aside and told me that I ought to know that man Ward, or whoever it was, 'was an out-and-out liar.'

"That makes me think of a colored preacher who worked here on the grounds through the week, and who loved the deep waters of theology in which he floundered daily. One evening I asked him why he did not laugh on Sunday, and when he said it was because it was 'suthin' frivlus,' I told him that the Bible said G.o.d laughed.

"The old man came to the door several days after that and said, 'Ma.r.s.e Link.u.m, I've been totin' dat yar Bible saying "G.o.d larfed," and I've 'cluded dat it mus' jes' tak' a joke as big as der universe ter mak G.o.d larf. Dar ain't no sech jokes roun' dis yere White House on Sunday.'

"Well, let us get back to Ward and begin _de novo_. And, by the way, that was the first Latin phrase I ever heard. But I like Ward, because all his fun and all his yarns are as clean as spring water. He doesn't insinuate or suggest approval of evil. He doesn't ridicule true religion. He never speaks slightingly or grossly of woman. He is a one-hundred-carat man in his motives. I am often accredited with telling disgraceful barroom stories, and sometimes see them in print, but I have no time to contradict them. Perhaps people forget them soon. I hope so. I don't know how I came by the name of a storyteller. It is not a fame I would seek. But I have tried to use as many as I could find that were good so as to cheer up people in this hard world.

"Ward said that he did not know much about education in the schools, but he had an idea the training there was more to make the child think quickly and think accurately than to memorize facts. If that were the case he thought a textbook on bright jokes would be a valuable addition to a school curriculum.