always broken away. He was finally gathered up again and given
notice that if he violated his pledge once more they would
abandon him as an utterly hopeless vagrant. He made an earnest
struggle to maintain his promise, and finally he called for
lemonade and said to the man who was preparing it: "Couldn't you
put just a drop of the cratur in unbeknownst to me?"

After telling the story Lincoln simply added: "If these men could
get away from the country unbeknownst to us, it might save a
world of trouble." All understood precisely what Lincoln meant,
although he had given expression in the most cautious manner
possible and the controversy was ended.

Lincoln differed from professional humorists in the fact that he
never knew when he was going to be humorous. It bubbled up on the
most unexpected occasions, and often unsettled the most carefully
studied arguments. I have many times been with him when he gave
no sign of humor, and those who saw him under such conditions
would naturally suppose that he was incapable of a humorous
expression. At other times he would effervesce with humor and
always of the most exquisite and impressive nature. His humor was
never strained; his stories never stale, and even if old, the
application he made of them gave them the freshness of
originality.

I recall sitting beside him in the White House one day when a
message was brought to him telling of the capture of several
brigadier-generals and a number of horses somewhere out in
Virginia. He read the dispatch and then in an apparently
soliloquizing mood, said: "Sorry for the horses; I can make