could be found to write a
paragraph for the evening paper announcing and approving the
nominations, he quickly penned a dozen lines eulogistic of the
convention and its work. To Weed, who shed bitter tears, he wrote
consolingly. "I wish I were sure that your sense of disappointment is
as light as my own," he said. "It ought to be equally so, if we have
been equally thoughtful and zealous for friends, party, and country. I
know not what has been left undone that could have been done, or done
that ought to be regretted."[553] During the week many friends from
distant parts of the State called upon him, "not to console," as they
expressed it, "but to be consoled." His cheerful demeanour under a
disappointment so overwhelming to everybody else excited the inquiry
how he could exhibit such control. His reply was characteristic. "For
twenty years," he said, "I have been breasting a daily storm of
censure. Now, all the world seems disposed to speak kindly of me. In
that pile of papers, Republican and Democratic, you will find hardly
one unkind word. When I went to market this morning I confess I was
unprepared for so much real grief as I heard expressed at every
corner."[554]

[Footnote 552: "On the day the convention was to ballot for a
candidate, Cayuga County poured itself into Auburn. The streets were
full, and Mr. Seward's house and grounds overflowed with his admirers.
Flags were ready to be raised and a loaded cannon was placed at the
gate whose pillars bore up two guardian lions. Arrangements had been
perfected for the receipt of intelligence. At Mr. Seward's right hand,
just within the porch, stood his trusty henchman, Christopher Morgan.
The rider of a galloping steed dashed through the crowd with a
telegram and handed it to Seward, who passed it to Morgan. For Seward,
it read, 173-1/2; for Lincoln, 102. Morgan repeated it to the
multitude, who cheered vehemently. Then came the tidings of the second
ballot: For Seward, 184-1/2--for Lincoln, 181. 'I shall be nominated
on the next ballot,' said Seward, and the throng in the house
applauded, and those on the lawn and in the street echoed the cheers.
The next messenger lashed his horse into a run. The telegram read,
'Lincoln nominated. T.W.' Seward turned as pale as ashes. The sad
tidings crept through the vast concourse. The flags were furled, the
cannon was rolled away, and Cayuga County went home with a clouded
brow. Mr. Seward retired to rest at a late hour, and the