A gentleman called at the White House one day, and introduced to him two officers serving in the army, one a Swede and the other a Norwegian.  Immediately he repeated, to their delight, a poem of some eight or ten verses descriptive of Scandinavian scenery, and an old Norse legend.  He said he had read the poem in a newspaper some years before, and liked it, but it had passed out of his memory until their visit had recalled it.  The two books which he read most were the Bible and Shakespeare.  With these he was perfectly familiar.  From the Bible, as has before been stated, he quoted frequently, and he read it daily, while Shakespeare was his constant companion.  He took a copy with him almost always when travelling, and read it at leisure moments.”

Lincoln was never ashamed to confess the deficiencies in his early education.  A distinguished party, comprising George Thompson, the English anti-slavery orator, Rev. John Pierpont, Oliver Johnson, and Hon. Lewis Clephane, once called upon him, and during the conversation Mr. Pierpont turned to Mr. Thompson and repeated a Latin quotation from the classics.  Mr. Lincoln, leaning forward in his chair, looked from one to the other inquiringly, and then remarked, with a smile, “Which, I suppose you are both aware, I do not understand.”

While Edwin Forrest was playing an engagement at Ford’s Theatre, Mr. Carpenter spoke to the President one day of the actor’s fine interpretation of the character of Richelieu, and advised him to witness the performance.  “Who wrote the play?” asked the President of Mr. Carpenter.  “Bulwer,” was the reply.  “Ah!” he rejoined; “well, I knew Bulwer wrote novels, but I did not know he was a play-writer also.  It may seem somewhat strange to say,” he continued, “but I never read an entire novel in my life.  I once commenced ‘Ivanhoe,’ but never finished it.”

Among the few diversions which Lincoln allowed himself in Washington was an occasional visit to the theater to witness a representation of some good play by a favorite actor.  He felt the necessity of some relaxation from the terrible strain of anxiety and care; and while seated behind the screen in a box at the theatre he was secure from the everlasting importunities of politicians and office-seekers.  He could forget himself and his problems while watching the scenes on the mimic stage before him.  He enjoyed the renditions of Booth with great zest; yet after witnessing “The Merchant of Venice” he remarked on the way home:  “It was a good performance, but I had a thousand times rather read it at home, if it were not for Booth’s playing.  A farce or a comedy is best played; a tragedy is best read at home.”  He was much pleased one night with Mr. McCullough’s delineation of the character of “Edgar,” which the actor played in support of Edwin Forrest’s “Lear.”  He wished to convey his approval to the young actor, and asked Mr. Brooks, his companion at the moment, with characteristic simplicity, “Do you suppose he would come to the box if we sent word?” Mr. McCullough was summoned, and, standing at the door of the box in his stage attire, received the thanks of the President, accompanied with words of discriminating praise for the excellence of his delineation.