journed to meet in Baltimore, June 18th. May 9th, there met in Baltimore a convention of elderly Whigs and "Know-Nothings," who nominated John Bell, of Tennessee, for President, and Edward Everett, of Massachusetts, for Vice-President. This was the so-called conservative ticket, intended to pour oil on the troubled waters, and elect a President that should have no ideas, no notions, no policy, on the subject of slavery.

The Richmond convention, composed of proslavery Democrats, nominated John C. Breckinridge, afterward a Rebel general, for President. Subsequently, the regular convention, as it was to be considered (although only the anti-Lincoln Democrats were left in it), met in Baltimore, and nominated Stephen A. Douglas for President. The breach between the Northern and Southern Democrats was complete, irreparable.

There was intense excitement all over the Republic when the Republican national convention assembled in Chicago, June 17, 1860. Everybody felt that a crisis in the affairs of the nation had now come. The Democratic party was hopelessly divided on the great and vital question of human slavery. At that time there were nearly four millions of human beings held in bondage in the United States, bought and sold as if they were cattle, or chattels. The States in which slavery was recognized as a divine and righteous institution were solidly united in an attempt to force that institution into the free Territories, and so make the laws of the free Republic that slave property would be safe everywhere, that black

men and women should be sacred as property in every State in the Union, and no fugitive from bondage should be safe anywhere on any rood of land over which the American flag waved. The party now about to set its candidates in the field was irrevocably opposed to the further extension of the alleged rights of slavery in any direction whatever. No man could be nominated by that party who was not irretrievably and unmistakably in favor of the fundamental principle to which, through Lincoln's advice, it had been already pledged, that “all men are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, among which are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

The city of Chicago was crowded with strangers from every part of the United States. It was estimated that twenty thousand people were gathered in and around the vast building, called the "Wigwam," in which the convention was to be held, only a small portion of whom could obtain admittance. The platform of resolutions adopted by the convention contained the political principles that had already been announced in many different forms by Lincoln, during his unparalleled canvass of the Northern States. Joshua R. Giddings, of Ohio, an old-time anti-slavery man, offered for the convention one more plank, the phrase from the Declaration of Independence affirming the birthright of freedom granted to every man. Strange to say, there was some opposition to the adoption of this immortal sentence. There lingered in the convention some little element of timidity on the anti

slavery issue. A few men in the party were yet afraid of being confounded with the long-hated and dreaded "Abolitionists." George W. Curtis, an impetuous and eloquent young delegate from New York, made an impassioned plea for the phrase offered by Giddings. It was accepted, and the whole series of ringing and courageous resolutions were adopted by the convention amid the wildest enthusiasm. A tremendous roar went up from the assembled thousands in the building. Other throngs without took up the cheer, and a vast wave of sound went thundering down the lake-side, telling the world that at last a great national party had asserted in unmistakable language the right of man to freedom.

Then the balloting began. Mr. William M. Evarts, of New York, placed before the convention the name of William H. Seward, of that State. In like manner, Mr. Judd, of Illinois, nominated Abraham Lincoln. Mr. Dayton, of New Jersey, Simon Cameron, of Pennsylvania, Salmon P. Chase, of Ohio, Edward Bates, of Missouri, and John McLean, of Ohio, were subsequently named. But only the names of Seward and Lincoln, the two great leaders of the new party, provoked much enthusiasm. When these were mentioned, their friends sent up shouts that reverberated like the surges of the sea smiting on the shore. Now the audience adjusted itself to the real business of the day. Telegraph operators sat ready with their instruments to send the news abroad. An army of newspaper reporters, their pencils poised to note events that were coming,

crowded the platform allotted to the press. The air was hushed. Everybody knew that the supreme moment had arrived. A great act in the drama of national history was about to begin. The roll of the States was called for the first ballot. It was evident that this would be inconclusive; but every ear was strained to catch the slightest whisper from the delegations that were to cast the vote of their several States. Now and again a roar of applause would break forth, as if the delegates were unable to restrain themselves, intense as was their desire to hear the result from each other. Such a burst went up whenever New York steadily cast her seventy votes for Seward, the well-beloved son of the Empire State. And such a burst shook the air when Indiana and Illinois gave their solid votes to Lincoln. The first ballot was as follows: William H. Seward, one hundred and seventy-three and a half; Abraham Lincoln, one hundred and two; Edward Bates, forty-eight; Simon Cameron, fifty and a half; Salmon P. Chase, forty-nine. The remaining forty-two votes were scattered among John McLean, Benjamin F. Wade, William L. Dayton, John M. Reed, Jacob Collamer, Charles Sumner, and John C. Frémont. There was no choice, two hundred and thirty-three of the total four hundred and sixty-five votes cast being necessary to nominate.

On the second ballot, Lincoln gained seventy-nine votes from Vermont, New Hampshire, and Pennsylvania, receiving one hundred and eighty-one, all told. Seward gained eleven, having one hundred and eighty-four and a half, all told. The third

ballot began amid the most tense interest, for all felt that this must determine the contest for the nomination. Thousands on the floor and in the galleries followed the ballotings with their pencils, silently keeping tally of the votes as they were announced to the chairman by the spokesmen of the several delegations of the States. Before the secretaries could figure up and verify the result, it was whispered about the convention, which fairly trembled with suppressed excitement, that Lincoln came near to a nomination. He had two hundred and thirty-one and a half votes, lacking only a vote and a half of the nomination. Then, while the house was as still as if it were empty, Mr. Carter, of Ohio, rose and said that four of the votes of that State were changed to Abraham Lincoln. The work was done. Lincoln was nominated.

Turning his face upward to a skylight in the roof, where stood an intent watchman, one of the secretaries cried, "Fire the salute! Lincoln is nominated!" The elate watchman fled along the roof of the Wigwam and shouted the glad tidings to those below. Inside the building, after an instant's pause, like that in the midst of a storm, a hurricane of enthusiasm, almost maddening, broke forth. Men flung away their hats, danced in a wild delirium of delight, hugged and kissed each other, and cheered and cheered again, as if they could find no vent to their overpowering joy. The vast Wigwam shook with the torrent of noise. Without, surging crowds broke forth into answering roars as the cheering inside died away, and this was taken up by those