The central figure of the crisis seemed at first to be the brilliant Republican Senator from New York.  Seward thought he understood the South, and what was still more important, human nature.  Though he echoed Greeley’s cry for peace—­translating his passionate hysteria into the polished cynicism of a diplomat who had been known to deny that he was ever entirely serious—­he scoffed at Greeley’s fears.  If the South had not voted lack of confidence in the Breckinridge crowd, what had it voted?  If the Breckinridge leaders weren’t maneuvering to save their faces, what could they be accused of doing?  If Seward, the Republican man of genius, couldn’t see through all that, couldn’t devise a way to help them save their faces, what was the use in being a brilliant politician?

Jauntily self-complacent, as confident of himself as if Rome were burning and he the garlanded fiddler, Seward braced himself for the task of recreating the Union.

But there was an obstacle in his path.  It was Lincoln.  Of course, it was folly to propose a scheme which the incoming President would not sustain.  Lincoln and Seward must come to an understanding.  To bring that about Seward despatched a personal legate to Springfield.  Thurlow Weed, editor, man of the world, political wire-puller beyond compare, Seward’s devoted henchman, was the legate.  One of the great events of American history was the conversation between Weed and Lincoln in December, 1860.  By a rare propriety of dramatic effect, it occurred probably, on the very day South Carolina brought to an end its campaign of menace and adopted its Ordinance of Secession, December twentieth.(1)

Weed had brought to Springfield a definite proposal.  The Crittenden compromise was being hotly discussed in Congress and throughout the country.  All the Northern advocates of conciliation were eager to put it through.  There was some ground to believe that the Southern machine at Washington would accept it.  If Lincoln would agree, Seward would make it the basis of his policy.

This Compromise would have restored the old line of the Missouri Compromise and would have placed it under the protection of a constitutional amendment.  This, together with a guarantee against congressional interference with slavery in the States where it existed, a guarantee the Republicans had already offered, seemed to Seward, to Weed, to Greeley, to the bulk of the party, a satisfactory means of preserving the Union.  What was it but a falling back on the original policy of the party, the undoing of those measures of 1854 which had called the party into being?  Was it conceivable that Lincoln would balk the wishes of the party by obstructing such a natural mode of extrication?  But that was what Lincoln did.  His views had advanced since 1854.  Then, he was merely for restoring the old duality of the country, the two “dominions,” Northern and Southern, each with its own social order.  He had advanced to the belief that this duality could