in their
literature put forward only his serious speeches, which were very
remarkable, especially the one he delivered in Cooper Union,
New York, which deeply impressed the thoughtful men of the East.
He could safely tell stories and jokes after he had demonstrated
his greatness as president. Then the people regarded his
story-telling as the necessary relief and relaxation of an
overburdened and overworked public servant. But before he had
demonstrated his genius as an executive, they would probably have
regarded these same traits as evidences of frivolity, unfitting
the possessor for great and grave responsibilities.

I had a very interesting talk on the subject with General Garfield,
when he was running for president. He very kindly said to me:
"You have every qualification for success in public life; you might
get anywhere and to the highest places except for your humor.
I know its great value to a speaker before an audience, but it is
dangerous at the polls. When I began in politics, soon after
graduation, I found I had a keen sense of humor, and that made
me the most sought-after of all our neighborhood speakers, but
I also soon discovered it was seriously impairing the public
opinion of me for responsible positions, so I decided to cut it
out. It was very difficult, but I have succeeded so thoroughly
that I can no longer tell a story or appreciate the point of one
when it is told to me. Had I followed my natural bent I should
not now be the candidate of my party for President of the
United States."

The reason so few men are humorists is that they are very shy of
humor. My own observations in studying the lives and works of
our public men demonstrate how thoroughly committed to this idea
they have been. There is not a joke, nor a mot, nor a scintilla
of humor irradiating the Revolutionary statesmen. There is a
stilted dignity about their utterances which shows that they were
always posing in heroic attitudes. If they lived and moved in
family, social, and club life, as we understand it, the gloom of
their companionship accounts for the enjoyment which their
contemporaries took in the three hours' sermons then common from
the pulpit.

As we leave the period of Washington, Hamilton, Jefferson, and
the Adamses, we find no humor in the next generation. The only
relief from the tedium of argument and exhaustless logic is found
in the savage sarcasm of John Randolph, which was neither wit
nor humor.