hem that loved him not;
But, to those men that sought him, sweet as summer."

The cause often of mirth in others, he was at times far from being
joyous himself. Few men have been the possessors in so rare degree
of the gift of humor, the sure indication of the humane and
sympathetic in our nature; that "which blends the pathetic with
the ludicrous, and by the same stroke moves to laughter and to
tears." As Emerson says, "Both an ornament and a safeguard--genius
itself." The line of separation between wit and humor is shadowy,
not easily defined. There may be in the same individual, in
some measure, a blending of the two. As has been said: "While
wit is a purely intellectual thing, into every act of the humorous
mind there is an influx of the moral nature. Humor springs up
exuberantly, as from a fountain, and runs on, its perpetual game
to look with considerate good-nature at every object in existence,
and dismiss it with a benison." While wit, the purely intellectual
quality, sparkles and stings, humor, "touched with a feeling of
our infirmity," would "gently scan thy brother man," remembering
ever that

"What's done we partly may compute,
But know not what's resisted."

It is not strange, then, that he who in large degree possesses
or is possessed by this subtle quality should be subject to moods,
it may be melancholy--"the effect of that humor that sometime hath
his hour with every man." That Governor Knott was deeply endowed with
humor in its best sense, no one who knew him could doubt. In
relating incidents that convulsed his listeners, he gave no
sign; his own features remained as solemn as if he were attending the
obsequies of his dearest friend. There is something that is
suggestive in the lines of Thomas Hood,

"There's not a string attuned to mirth
But has its chord in melancholy."

While Governor of Kentucky, he sent to the Hon. Stoddart Johnson
a certificate, officially signed and bearing the impress of the
great seal of State, duly commissioning him as "Mister," a distinctive
and honorable title that no Kentuckian had previously borne. This
recalls the witty remark of Max O'Rell: "The only thing that
Mr. Ingersoll appears to hold in common with his countrymen _is
the title of Colonel."_

Many years ago McCullough, the tragedian, was giving his
splendid impersonations of the two masterpieces of Shakespeare
at the national Capital. The morning following one of these,
Mr. Knot