"Ohio changes four votes from Chase to Lincoln !" shouts Judge Cartter. Like the burst of a tornado is the roar that rolls up from the vast assembly. A cannon upon the roof of the building belches its thunder. The thousands in the streets toss their hats into the air. The man who in early life had been a wood-chopper, rail-splitter, and boatman is before the world as a candidate for the highest office in the republic. Thurlow Weed writes a word or two and hands it to the telegraph operator, bows his head, covers his eyes to hide the unbidden tears. The great hope and expectations have gone down. William H. Seward never can be President.

Abraham Lincoln, in Springfield, was not unmindful of what was going on at Chicago. The telegraph had kept him informed as to the doings of the convention from hour to hour. He would be something more or less than human were he to remain indifferent to what was taking place. He could not sit quietly in his office and await the result, but killed time by playing base-ball and billiards. He was in the office of the Springfield “Journal,” sitting with compressed lips and thoughtful countenance when the telegraph messenger entered with the result of the ballot-his nomination.

"There is a little woman down the street who will want to hear the news. I will go and tell her," he said.

William H. Seward had left Washington and was at his charming home in Auburn, N. Y. Many people came from the surrounding country to be present when the telegraph announced the nomination of the man they loved. They were sure he would be selected. A cannon had been loaded. Flags would be waved on the instant. Mr. Seward was surrounded by intimate friends. A horseman came with a telegram giving the first ballot, which was received with tumultuous cheering. He brought the result of the second ballot.

"I shall be nominated the next time," the words. Again the cheers resounded, and again the messenger appeared.

"Lincoln nominated.-T. W."

Nothing more. No cheer. The flags were furled. The match to fire the cannon was not lighted. Friends took their departure as when they have laid a loved one in the grave.

Hannibal Hamlin, of Maine, was nominated for Vice-president. An excited crowd surged through the streets of Chicago. Bonfires blazed, cannon thundered, cheers rent the air. The work of the convention was done, and the delegates turned their steps homeward.

On Saturday morning, after the adjournment, a passenger car drawn by one of the fastest locomotives of the Illinois Central Railroad rolled out from Chicago. It bore to Springfield the committee appointed

May 17, 1860.

WILLIAM H. SEWARD.

by the convention to apprise Mr. Lincoln of his nomination. Being a member of the Press, I accompanied the committee. The sun was setting when we reached Springfield. A crowd had gathered in the State-house grounds-not to welcome the committee, but to listen to John A. McClernand, who was to make a speech favoring Douglas for the Presidency. The clock had struck the hour of eight when the party from Chicago proceeded to the house of Mr. Lincoln. Mr. Lincoln's two boys, Willie and Thomas-or "Tad," as he was familiarly called-were perched on the fence before the house, chaffing their playmates. "Tad" stood erect, and welcomed. the committee by shouting "Hooray!" Both boys were brimming over with life. The committee entered the house and passed into the parlor, where Mr. Lincoln received them. Mr. Ashman, president of the convention, made a brief address. The reply was equally brief.

The formality ended, and all restraint was gone. Smiles rippled upon Mr. Lincoln's face as he then addressed William D. Kelley, of Pennsylvania.

"You are a tall man, Judge Kelley. What is your height?"

"Six feet three."

"I beat you," said Mr. Lincoln; "I am six feet four without my high-heeled boots on."

"Pennsylvania bows to Illinois. I am glad that we have found a candidate for the Presidency whom we can look up to, for we have been

informed that there were only little giants in Illinois," the graceful allusion to Mr. Douglas.

A few moments before, Mr. Lincoln, under the constraint of formality, was like a school-boy making his first declamation. The un

other celestial), a plain table, a pitcher of cold water and glasses, but no wines nor liquors.

"You did not find any great spread of liquors, I take it," the remark of a citizen of Springfield the next morning.

"No," my reply.

"Thereby hangs a little story: When we knew you were on your way, a number of us called on Mr. Lincoln and said that in all probability some of the members of the committee would need some refreshment, wines or liquors. I haven't any in the house,' he said. We will furnish them.' 'Gentlemen, I cannot allow you to do what I will not do myself,' the reply. But that was not the end of it. Some of our good Democratic citizens, feeling that Springfield had been highly honored by the nomination, sent over some baskets of champagne, but Mr. Lincoln sent them back, thanking them for their intended kindness."

200

The birds were singing and building their nests in the trees two mornings later as I crossed the public square and entered the office of Mr. Lincoln. A pine table occupied the centre of the room, a desk one The May sun shone through uncurtained windows upon ranges of shelves filled with law-books, pamphlets, and documents-a helterskelter arrangement. Newspapers littered the floor. Mr. Lincoln was

corner.