e being persecuted by
the Confederate government, but whose mountainous region might, with a
little help, be made a citadel of Union strength in the very heart of
this stronghold of rebellion.

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.

He was a social man. He could not fully enjoy even a jest alone. He
wanted somebody to share the pleasure with him. Often when care kept him
awake late at night he would wander through the halls of the Executive
Mansion, and coming to the room where his secretaries were still at
work, would stop to read to them some poem, or a passage from Shakspere,
or a bit from one of the humorous books in which he found relief. No
one knew better than he what could be cured, and what must be patiently
endured. To every difficulty that he could remove he gave cheerful and
uncomplaining thought and labor. The burdens he could not shake off he
bore with silent courage, lightening them whenever p