ked originality.
The frequency with which he called upon a tall visitor to measure up
against him reveals the poverty of his social invention. He applied this
device with equal thoughtlessness to the stately Sumner, who protested,
and to a nobody who grinned and was delighted.

It was this mere envelope of the genius that was deplorably evident on
the journey from Springfield to Washington. There was one detail of the
journey that gave his enemies a more definite ground for sneering. By
the irony of fate, the first clear instance of Lincoln's humility, his
reluctance to set up his own judgment against his advisers, was also
his first serious mistake. There is a distinction here that is vital.
Lincoln was entering on a new role, the role of the man of action.
Hitherto all the great decisions of his life had been speculative; they
had developed from within; they dealt with ideas. The inflexible side of
him was intellectual. Now, without any adequate apprenticeship, he was
called upon to make practical decisions, to decide on courses of action,
at one step to pass from the dream of statecraft to its application.
Inevitably, for a considerable time, he was two people; he passed back
and forth from one to the other; only by degrees did he bring the two
together. Meanwhile, he appeared contradictory. Inwardly, as a thinker,
his development was unbroken; he was still cool, inflexible, drawing all
his conclusions out of the depths of himself. Outwardly, in action,
he was learning the new task, hesitatingly, with vacillation, with
excessive regard to the advisers whom he treated as experts in action.
It was no slight matter for an extraordinarily sensitive man to take up
a new role at fifty-two.

This first official mistake of Lincoln's was in giving way to the fears
of his retinue for his safety. The time had become hysterical. The
wildest sort of stories filled the air. Even before he left Springfield
there were rumors of plots to assassinate him.(6) On his arrival at
Philadelphia information was submitted to his companions which convinced
them that his life was in danger--an attempt would be made to kill him
as he passed through Baltimore. Seward at Washington had heard the same
story and had sent his son to Philadelphia to advise caution. Lincoln's
friends insisted that he leave his special train and proceed to
Washington with only one companion, on an ordinary night train. Railway
officials were called in. Elaborate precau