From these various complications, Lincoln’s embarrassment and perplexity as the time for holding the Republican Convention drew near were extreme.  A journalistic friend (Mr. J.M.  Winchell), who had a lengthy conversation with him on the subject, gives what is no doubt a correct idea of his state of mind at that period.  “Mr. Lincoln received me,” says Mr. Winchell, “kindly and courteously; but his manner was quite changed.  It was not now the country about which his anxiety prevailed, but himself.  There was an embarrassment about him which he could not quite conceal.  I thought it proper to state in the outset that I wished simply to know whatever he was free to tell me in regard to his own willingness or unwillingness to accept a renomination.  The reply was a monologue of an hour’s duration, and one that wholly absorbed me, as it seemed to absorb himself.  He remained seated nearly all the time.  He was restless, often changing position, and occasionally, in some intense moment, wheeling his body around in his chair and throwing a leg over the arm.  This was the only grotesque thing I recollect about him; his voice and manner were very earnest, and he uttered no jokes and told no anecdotes.  He began by saying that as yet he was not a candidate for renomination.  He distinctly denied that he was a party to any effort to that end, notwithstanding I knew that there were movements in his favor in all parts of the Northern States.  These movements were, of course, without his prompting, as he positively assured me that with one or two exceptions he had scarcely conversed on the subject with his most intimate friends.  He was not quite sure whether he desired a renomination.  Such had been the responsibility of the office—­so oppressive had he found its cares, so terrible its perplexities—­that he felt as though the moment when he could relinquish the burden and retire to private life would be the sweetest he could possibly experience.  But, he said, he would not deny that a re-election would also have its gratification to his feelings.  He did not seek it, nor would he do so; he did not desire it for any ambitious or selfish purpose; but after the crisis the country was passing through under his Presidency, and the efforts he had made conscientiously to discharge the duties imposed upon him, it would be a very sweet satisfaction to him to know that he had secured the approval of his fellow citizens and earned the highest testimonial of confidence they could bestow.  This was the gist of the hour’s monologue; and I believe he spoke sincerely.  His voice, his manner, gave his modest and sensible words a power of conviction.  He seldom looked me in the face while he was talking; he seemed almost to be gazing into the future.  I am sure it was not a pleasant thing for him to seem to be speaking in his own behalf.  For himself, he affirmed that he should make no promises of office to anyone as an inducement for support.  If nominated and elected, he should be grateful to his friends; but the interests of the country must always be first considered.”