project quickly took shape; a fund of twenty-five
hundred dollars was subscribed; and on March 22, 1830, appeared the
first number of the Albany _Evening Journal_, in which were soon to be
published the sparkling paragraphs that made it famous.[262] Weed's
salary as editor was fixed at seven hundred and fifty dollars. The
paper was scarcely larger than the cloud "like a man's hand;" and its
one hundred and seventy subscribers, scattered from Buffalo to New
York, became somewhat disturbed by the acrimonious and personal
warfare instantly made upon it by Edwin Croswell of the _Argus_.

[Footnote 262: "Writing slowly and with difficulty, Weed was for
twenty years the most sententious and pungent writer of editorial
paragraphs on the American press."--Horace Greeley, _Recollections of
a Busy Life_, p. 312.]

Croswell and Weed had been boys together at Catskill. They were
neither intimates nor equals, although of the same age; for young
Croswell had the advantage of position and education given him by his
father, then publisher of the _Recorder_. To Weed, only such work came
as a bare-footed, ragged urchin of eleven was supposed to be capable
of doing. This was in 1808. The two boys did not meet again for twenty
years, and then only to separate as Hamilton and Burr had parted, on
the road to White Plains, in the memorable retreat from Manhattan in
September, 1776. But Croswell, retaining the quiet, studious habits
that characterised his youth, climbed rapidly. He had become editor
of the _Argus_, state printer, and one of the ablest and most zealous
members of the Albany Regency. He possessed a judgment that seemed
almost inspired, with such untiring industry and rare ability that for
years the Democratic press of the country looked upon the _Argus_ as
its guiding star.

Against this giant in journalism Thurlow Weed was now to be opposed.
"You have a great responsibility resting upon your shoulders," wrote
the accomplished Frederick Whittlesey, "but I know no man who is
better able to meet it."[263] This was the judgment of a man who had
personal knowledge of the tremendous power of Weed's pen. In his later
years, Weed mellowed and forgave and forgot, but when he went to
Albany, and for years before, as well as after, he seemed to enjoy
striking an adversary. An explosion followed every blow. His sarcasms
had needle-points, and his wit, sometimes a little gross, smarted like
the sting of wasps. Often his attacks were so