In Eighteen Hundred Fifty-six, there was a goodly little demonstration in favor of Seward for President, but the idea of running such a radical for the chief office of the people was quickly downed; and Seward himself knew the temper of the times too well to take the matter very seriously.

But the years between Eighteen Hundred Fifty-six and Eighteen Hundred Sixty were years of agitation and earnest thought, and the idea that slavery was merely a local question was getting both depolarized and dehorned.  The non-slaveholding North was rubbing its sleepy eyes, and asking, Who is this man Seward, anyway?  The belief was growing that Seward, Garrison, Sumner and Phillips were something more than self-seeking agitators, and many declared them true patriots.  In every town and city, in every Northern State, political clubs sprang into being and their battle-cry was “Seward!” It seemed to be a foregone conclusion that Seward would be the next President.  When the convention met, the first ballot showed one hundred seventy-three votes for Seward and one hundred two for Lincoln, the rest, scattering.  But Seward’s friends had marshaled their entire strength—­all the rest was opposition—­while Lincoln was an unknown quantity.

When the news went forth that Lincoln was nominated, Seward received the tidings in his library at Auburn; and the myth-makers have told us that he cried aloud, and that the carved lions on his gateposts shed salty tears.  But Seward knew the opposition to his name, and was of too stern a moral fiber to fix his heart upon the result of a wire-pulling convention.  The motto of his life had been:  Be prepared for the unexpected.  It may be that the lions on the gateposts shed tears, and it is possible there was weeping in the Seward household—­but not by Seward.

He entered upon a hearty and vigorous campaign in support of Lincoln—­making a tour through the West and being greeted everywhere with an enthusiasm that rivaled that shown for the candidate.

Seward said to his wife, when the news came that Lincoln was nominated:  “He will be elected, but he will have to face the greatest difficulties and carry the greatest burdens that ever a man has been called to bear.  He will need me, but look you, my dear, I will not serve under him.  I must be at the head or nowhere.”

Lincoln knew Seward, and Seward didn’t knew Lincoln.  And so after the Convention Lincoln journeyed down East.  It took two days to go from Chicago to Buffalo, and there were no sleeping-cars; and then Lincoln went on from Buffalo to Auburn—­another day’s journey.  Lincoln wore his habitual duster and the tall hat, a little the worse for wear.  He telegraphed Seward he was coming, and, of course, Seward met him at the station in Auburn.  Lincoln got off the car alone, unattended, carrying his carpetbag, homemade, with the initials “A.L.” embroidered on the side by the fair hands of Fannie Anna Rebecca Todd.