Men and brethren, tariff discussions have
familiarized me with tall and lusty and va
riegated lying: but since this wrangle over
Foreign Missions commenced—
Guess I'd better change cars, here.
Hon. Martin Calvin and Two New
Features in the Jeffersonian
When I emerged from the Wire-grass re
gion of Georgia, in 1876, and returned to my
old home to begin, in dead earnest, the battle
of life, one of the first men whom I listed as
a friend was Martin V. Calvin, of Augusta.
He had sold newspapers on the streets when
a boy and, at the time he and I became ac
quainted had become Agent for the Lippin
cott Publishing Company. No man that
ever knew Martin Calvin became his enemy.
It is simply impossible to hate him. My old
friend Jim Barrett tried to do it, but couldn’t.
For at heart Jim Barrett is a man of tender
ness and quick human sympathies—despite
the fact that he is such a promiscuous scrap
per that poor Pat Sullivan used to call him
The Red Indian.
In spite of the fact that the Tenth District
got as hot as—well, Halifax—in the Nineties,
and Martin was in Augusta, nobody ever ?
heard him say a word against Yours Truly.
Acted the gentleman, clean through, and al-
(CONTINUED ON PAGE THIRTEEN)
PAGE NINE.
