ience of ten thousand
souls? the low, wavelike roar of its ordinary conversation; the rolling
cheers that greeted the entrance of popular favorites; the solemn hush
which fell upon it during the opening prayer? There was just enough of
some unexpected preliminary wrangle and delay to arouse the full
impatience of both convention and spectators; but at length the names
of candidates were announced. This ceremony was still in its
simplicity. The more recent custom of short dramatic speeches from
conspicuous and popular orators to serve as electrifying preludes had
not yet been invented. "I take the liberty," said Mr. Evarts, of New
York, "to name as a candidate to be nominated by this convention for
the office of President of the United States, "William H. Seward." "I
desire," followed Mr. Judd, "on behalf of the delegation from Illinois,
to put in nomination as a candidate for President of the United States,
Abraham Lincoln of Illinois." Then came the usual succession of
possible and alternative aspirants who were to be complimented by the
first votes of their States--"William L. Dayton, Simon Cameron, Salmon
P. Chase, Edward Bates, Jacob Collamer, John McLean. The fifteen
minutes required by this formality had already indisputably marked out
and set apart the real contestants. The "complimentary" statesmen were
lustily cheered by their respective State delegations; but at the names
of Seward and Lincoln the whole wigwam seemed to respond together.

[Sidenote] Halstead, "Conventions of 1860," p. 145.

There is something irresistibly exciting in the united voice of a great
crowd. For a moment the struggle appeared to resolve itself into a
contest of throats and lungs. Indiana seconded the nomination of
Lincoln, and the applause was deafening. Michigan seconded the
nomination of Seward; the New York delegation rose _en masse_, waved
their hats, and joined the galleries in a shout which doubled the
volume of any yet given. Then a portion of the Ohio delegates once more
seconded Lincoln, and his adherents, feeling themselves put upon their
mettle, made an effort. "I thought the Seward yell could not be
surpassed," wrote a spectator; "but the Lincoln boys were clearly
ahead, and, feeling their victory, as there was a lull in the storm,
took deep breaths all round, and gave a concentrated shriek that was
positively awful, and accompanied it with stamping that made every
plank and pillar in the building quiver."

The tumul