symbolized by a closing detail of his stay. An odd bit of incongruity
was the inclusion of his name in the list of managers of the Inaugural
Ball of 1849. Nothing of the sort had hitherto entered into his
experience. As Mrs. Lincoln was not with him he joined "a small party of
mutual friends" who attended the ball together. As one of them relates,
"he was greatly interested in all that was to be seen and we did not
take our departure until three or four o'clock in the morning."(7)
What an ironic picture--this worthy provincial, the last word for
awkwardness, socially as strange to such a scene as a little child,
spending the whole night gazing intently at everything he could see,
at the barbaric display of wealth, the sumptuous gowns, the brilliant
uniforms, the distinguished foreigners, and the leaders of America, men
like Webster and Clay, with their air of assured power, the men he had
failed to impress. This was his valedictory at Washington. He went home
and told Herndon that he had committed political suicide.(8) He had met
the world and the world was too strong for him.

And yet, what was wrong? He had been popular at Washington, in the same
way in which he had been popular at Springfield. Why had the same sort
of success inspired him at Springfield and humiliated him at
Washington? The answer was in the difference between the two worlds.
Companionableness, story-telling, at Springfield, led to influence; at
Washington it led only to applause. At Springfield it was a means; at
Washington it was an end. The narrow circle gave the good fellow an
opportunity to reveal at his leisure everything else that was in him;
the larger circle ruthlessly put him in his place as a good fellow and
nothing more. The truth was that in the Washington of the 'forties,
neither the inner nor the outer Lincoln could by itself find lodgment.
Neither the lonely mystical thinker nor the captivating buffoon could do
more than ripple its surface. As superficial as Springfield, it lacked
Springfield's impulsive generosity. To the long record of its obtuseness
it had added another item. The gods had sent it a great man and it had
no eyes to see. It was destined to repeat the performance.

And so Lincoln came home, disappointed, disillusioned. He had not
succeeded in establishing the slightest claim, either upon the country
or his party. Without such claim he had no ground for attempting
reelection. The frivolity of the Whig machine in the S