Why Lincoln Laughed

by Russell H. Conwell

There are several reports afloat as to how “Honest Old Abe” received the news of his nomination, none of which are correct. We give the correct report.

The Official Committee arrived in Springfield at dewy eve, and went to Honest Old Abe’s house. Honest Old Abe was not in. Mrs. Honest Old Abe said Honest Old Abe was out in the woods splitting rails. So the Official Committee went out into the woods, where, sure enough, they found Honest Old Abe splitting rails with his two boys. It was a grand, a magnificent spectacle. There stood Honest Old Abe in his shirt-sleeves, a pair of leather home-made suspenders holding up a pair of home-made pantaloons, the seat of which was neatly patched with substantial cloth of a different color. “Mr. Lincoln, Sir, you’ve been nominated, Sir, for the highest office, Sir—” “Oh, don’t bother me,” said Honest Old Abe; “I took a stent this mornin’ to split three million rails afore night, and I don’t want to be pestered with no stuff about no Conventions till I get my stent done. I’ve only got two hundred thousand rails to split before sundown. I kin do it if you’ll let me alone.” And the great man went right on splitting rails, paying no attention to the Committee whatever. The Committee were lost in admiration for a few moments, when they recovered, and asked one of Honest Old Abe’s boys whose boy he was? “I’m my parent’s boy,” shouted the urchin, which burst of wit so convulsed the Committee that they came very near “gin’in eout” completely. In a few moments Honest Ole Abe finished his task, and received the news with perfect self-possession. He then asked them up to the house, where he received them cordially. He said he split three million rails every day, although he was in very poor health. Mr. Lincoln is a jovial man, and has a keen sense of the ludicrous. During the evening he asked Mr. Evarts, of New York, “why Chicago was like a hen crossing the street?” Mr. Evarts gave it up. “Because,” said Mr. Lincoln, “Old Grimes is dead, that good old man!” This exceedingly humorous thing created the most uproarious laughter.

INTERVIEW WITH PRESIDENT LINCOLN

I hav no politics. Not a one. I’m not in the bizniss. If I was I spose I should holler versiffrusly in the streets at nite and go home to Betsy Jane smellin of coal ile and gin, in the mornin. I should go to the Poles arly. I should stay there all day. I should see to it that my nabers was thar. I should git carriges to take the kripples, the infirm, and the indignant thar. I should be on guard agin frauds and sich. I should be on the look out for the infamus lise of the enemy, got up jest be4 elecshun for perlitical effeck. When all was over and my candy-date was elected, I should move heving & erth—so to speak—until I got orfice, which if I didn’t git a orfice I should turn round and abooze the Administration with all my mite and maine. But I’m not in the bizniss. I’m in a far more respectful bizniss nor what pollertics is. I wouldn’t giv two cents to be a Congresser. The wuss insult I ever received was when sertin citizens of Baldinsville axed me to run fur the Legislater. Sez I, “My frends, dostest think I’d stoop to that there?” They turned as white as a sheet. I spoke in my most orfullest tones & they knowed I wasn’t to be trifled with. They slunked out of site to onct.

There4, havin no politics, I made bold to visit Old Abe at his humstid in Springfield. I found the old feller in his parler, surrounded by a perfeck swarm of orfice seekers. Knowin he had been capting of a flat boat on the roarin Mississippy I thought I’d address him in sailor lingo, so sez I, “Old Abe, ahoy! Let out yer main-suls, reef hum the forecastle & throw yer jib-poop over-board! Shiver my timbers, my harty!” [N. B. This is ginuine mariner langwidge. I know, becawz I’ve seen sailor plays acted out by them New York theater fellers.] Old Abe lookt up quite cross & sez, “Send in yer petition by & by. I can’t possibly look at it now. Indeed, I can’t. It’s on-possible, sir!”

“Mr. Linkin, who do you spect I air?” sed I.

“A orfice-seeker, to be sure,” sed he.

“Wall, sir,” sed I, “you’s never more mistaken in your life. You hain’t gut a orfiss I’d take under no circumstances. I’m A. Ward. Wax figgers is my perfeshun. I’m the father of Twins, and they look like me—both of them. I cum to pay a friendly visit to the President eleck of the United States. If so be you wants to see me, say so, if not, say so & I’m orf like a jug handle.”

“Mr. Ward, sit down. I am glad to see you, Sir.”