Weed's arguments was that the Democrats were in power
everywhere and could assess their office-holders, while the
Republicans would have to rely for campaign funds upon voluntary
contributions, which would come nowhere so freely as from Mr. Morgan
and his friends. When the convention met Mr. Weed had won over
a large majority of the delegates for his candidate. It was
a triumph not only of his skill but of his magnetism, which were
always successfully exerted upon a doubtful member.

I was elected to the assembly, the popular branch of the New York
Legislature, in 1861. I was nominated during an absence from
the State, without being a candidate or knowing of it until my
return. Of course, I could expect nothing from my father, and
my own earnings were not large, so I had to rely upon a personal
canvass of a district which had been largely spoiled by rich
candidates running against each other and spending large amounts
of money. I made a hot canvass, speaking every day, and with
an investment of less than one hundred dollars for travel and
other expenses I was triumphantly elected.

By far the most interesting member of the legislature was the
speaker, Henry J. Raymond. He was one of the most remarkable
men I ever met. During the session I became intimate with him,
and the better I knew him the more I became impressed with his
genius, the variety of his attainments, the perfection of his
equipment, and his ready command of all his powers and resources.
Raymond was then editor of the New York Times and contributed
a leading article every day. He was the best debater we had
and the most convincing. I have seen him often, when some other
member was in the chair of the committee of the whole, and we were
discussing a critical question, take his seat on the floor and
commence writing an editorial. As the debate progressed, he would
rise and participate. When he had made his point, which he always
did with directness and lucidity, he would resume writing his
editorial. The debate would usually end with Mr. Raymond carrying
his point and also finishing his editorial, an example which seems
to refute the statement of metaphysicians that two parts of the mind
cannot work at the same time.

Two years afterwards, when I was secretary of state, I passed much
of my time at Saratoga, because it was so near Albany. Mr. Raymond
was also there writing the "Life of Abraham Lincoln." I breakfasted
with him frequently an