It was in the air that Seward would be nominated.  Greeley said so, but he was really fighting Seward.  We spied the bald head and bespectacled eyes of the great editor moving about the Oregon delegates.  The tumult and the passion of the Charleston convention were not as dramatic as this.  These men were here to destroy the Democratic party, to take control of the government.  The air was of concentrated passion and will.  There was a declaration of principles to be formulated out of sagacity and dramaturgy.  Principles were to be observed but baits to be dangled; factions were to be conciliated, relative claims adjusted; the higher thought of the nation respected; radicalism tickled but not embraced; wrong censured, but needless offense avoided.  Hence state rights got a sop; the tariff was advocated and the Pacific railroad; the harmless Declaration of Independence was quoted at large.  Everybody had used it for more than eighty years—­why not this platform?

The balloting begins.  The expectation is intense.  All of us have caught the crowd spirit, the infection of the mob.  New England is polled first.  What is the matter?  She does not give Seward the fully expected vote.  Very well!  New York is reached.  William M. Everetts, hook-nosed and dished of mouth, plumps New York seventy votes for Seward.  The convention recovers from its fear.  All is going well for Seward after all.  What of Pennsylvania and her tariff?  She has fifty-seven votes; fifty and one half of these go to a favorite son, Simon Cameron.  This is a mere compliment; Pennsylvania will come to Seward now that her favorite son has been honored.  Illinois is reached and votes for Lincoln.  There are cheers.  But he is the favorite son of Illinois.  These are his people.  The next ballot they will go to Seward.  Indiana is reached.  All of her vote goes to Lincoln.  There are great cheers.  But Lincoln split rails once in Indiana.  This is a complimentary vote too.  Ohio is reached.  She has two favorite sons, Chase and McLean.  Missouri is reached.  Edward Bates is her son and gets the vote.  What is this vote of Virginia,—­fourteen votes out of her twenty-three for Lincoln?  Some one near us whispers:  “The South hates Seward worse than any one.”

At last the whole vote is announced:  Seward has 173-1/2; Lincoln 102.  The Illinois River breaks loose; the great shouter for Lincoln, hired for the occasion, storms and bawls above the hubbub of the convention.  Where is Hyer the prize fighter?  He has been out with his gang.  Drinking?  We do not know.  At any rate he is late, has missed one of the psychologies of the convention.  After the noise is subsided, we hear that Bates, Greeley’s favorite, has forty-eight votes.  “Call the roll!” “Call the roll!” shout hundreds of delegates.  Men are going mad with anxiety.  Arms are waved frantically, delegates rise from their seats and bawl undistinguishable words.  Curses and hisses fill the air.  The second ballot begins.