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Allen
H. Talmage, I
DEALER IIV ]
Pino Qiinririac U/onmnn 1 onrnhnn WUnA
1 .110 UUgglOOf II
Clayton Street;
a&UHd) LaplUUOdp IlllijJd} Libs
ATHENS, GA.
tH^ BANNER, SATURDAY MORNING, DiGiMBER 36, 1963.
QUEEN OF CONGO
Is
DUELING STILL COMMON
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TALLULAH FALLS RAILWAY 00.
Time Tublo IVo. 35.
Effective, Tuesday, August Is’, 1905, 8 00 A. M Eastern.Time.
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No 18
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No 12
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No 11
No. 29
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STATIONS
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Only
a
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8 -10
11 40
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Cornelia _
7 13
1 20
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Demores t
0 58
1 05
a 50
9 05
9 I.j
4 40
12 05
8
Clarksville
6 48
12 55
It
12 10
9
F _ Hills
6 43
12 50
5 40
9 2ti
12 20
11
F _ .Anandale
6 33
12 40
5 30
9 30
12 b0
13
Hollywood
0 23
12 30
9 45
3 20
12 43
lrt
Turnerville
6 08
12 15
5 '5
5 SC
12 55
19
F..Tallulah Park
5 53
12 05
4 55
10 02
10 05
5 S8
a 40
1 02
1 05
20
Tallu’ah Lodge...
5 51
5 49
U 58
IL 58
4 28
4 4C
10 07
5 43
1 07
F . ..Will rd House..
5 47
11 55
4 44
10 08
5 44
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F The Pines .
5 4G
11 54
4 43
10 u9
5 45
to
1 09
2!
Tallulah Fails
1 53
4 42
1 24
F _ JTi. Jones..
5 30
11 33
0 07
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27
F •_ Mathis
5 27
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1 30
28
Wylie
5 24
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6 30
1 43
32
Tiger.
- 5 10
11 03
6 37
1 50
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F .... Bethel . _
5 05
10 55
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. Clayton
5 00
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_ ...Passover
4 40
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*p ii.
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All Northbound trains hare right of tra- fc over trains of he same class in opposite di
rection. F—Flag Stop, stops only when fla :sed Numbers 13, 11. 89 and 40 dally Nurobe
Saturdays only NnmS*, t7, Mondays • nly ■V S EBWIN (general Manager.
CAT BACK AFTER 12 YEARS.
Feline prodigies of all degrees gave
place io a new champion yesterday,
when Xig, a coal-black cat, returned
to ihe Hoboken home of John Bowe af
ter an absence of twelve years. Gen
erations of less sturdy cats had re
spired, aspired and expired in the in
terval, but Nig must have lapped a
feline fount of youth, for he was fresh
as ever when he went hack to Bowe’s
house in Twelfth street. True, his left
hind foot and most of his tail were
missing and there was a deep scar in
his left thigh, but those were old
marks. He received the hurts in his
former period of servitude to Bowe,
when a mowing machine in the Nut
meg state taught him the futility of
opposing witchcraft to modem machin
ery. It was by the scar and the sketch
iness of anatomy that Bowe recogniz
ed his long lost pet. He couldn’t be
sure the sable stranger was Nig’s own
self until lie examined the souvenirs
of the mower.
Nig displayed valor in returning to
his allegiance. He had to fight his
way by his namesake—a big New
foundland dog Bowe had come to look
on as a solace. Bowe heard a commo
tion outside his door and looked out
to see dog and cat leading a cat-and-
dog life on the threshold. Nig the
Second had Nig the First by the throat
and was about completing the work
* begun by the mowing machine when
his master interfered. The cat, with a
grateful glance, bounded by the dog
and scampered into the hhuse. It was
a disgusted Newfoundland that saw
Bowe gather the newcomer into his
arms and eagerly examine the tail, leg
and thigh. Bowe, amazed by recovery
of his cat, told everybody he first got
the original Nig in Connecticut, and
that the cat disappeared shortly after
they moved to Hoboken. Where Nig
had been all those years was a topic
for general discussion in the Jersey
city last night.
A slanderous addendum to the truth
ful tale said that when the cat strayed
away he had been sent after a mouse,
and that when he returned twelve
years after it was with the skeleton of
a rat in his mouth. That was* denounc
ed by Bowe as a canard intended to
cast doubt on the marvel.—New York
Press.
In
Praise of Chamberlain's Cough
Remedy.
There is no other medicine manu
factured that has received so much
praise and so many expressions of
gratitude as Chamberlain’s Cough
Remedy. It is effective, and prompt
relief follows its use. Grateful par
ents everywhere do not hesitate to tes
tify to its merits for the benefit of
others. It is a certain cure for croup
and will prevent the attack if given
at the first apearance of the disease.
It is especially adapted to children as
it is pleasant to take and contains
nothing injurious. Mr. E. A. Hum
phreys, a well known resident and
clerk in the store of Mr. E. Lock, of
Alice, Cape Colony, South Africa,
says: “I have used Chamberlain’s
Cough Remedy to ward off croup and
colds in my family. I found it to be
very satisfactory and it gives me
pleasure to recommend it.” For sale
by H. R. Palmer & Sons, Athens; W.
J. Smith & Bro., Athens.
On Fine Printing the Banner Leads.
a Beautiful White Woman* Who
Rules a Horde of Blacks.
In the Pildao Mountains, near the
headwaters of the Rembo river, in the
French Congo, there has been found
the woman who is declared to be the
most beautiful woman in all the world.
One European traveler—the only
one who has seen her—declares that
her beauty is almost superhuman, and
throughout the Ishogo nation, over
which she has established her rule,
the men vow that she is “the spotless
one,” and they worship her. Two le
gions of gigantic blacks, chosen from
the most perfect men of the tribe,
guard her home, which is situated in
the mountains, overlooking the river.
The woman, wearing Parisian
gowns, reigns as an unauthorized
queen over the tribe of blacks in the
tropical equatorial country, almost in
the heart of Africa. Who she is, what
she is, and why she is there, no one
knows. From the tribes around, from
the missionaries, the ivory dealers,
the Arab traders, there have come to
the coast the wildest and most fantas
tic stories in regard to her. She is
described as a reincarnation of some
ancient Egyptian goddess, as a weal
thy woman who seeks to convert the
entire Ishogo nation to Christianity,
as a beautiful murderess who has fled
from Europe to escape punishment
for her crime, and as a society beauty,
tired of the world, who seeks change
and relief from ennui among the most
savage tribe in all Africa.
Leon de Cambri, the French explor
er, is, so far as is known, the only
white man who has obtained a person
al interview with this mysterious
beauty.
“Her beauty,” he says, “is dazzling
and astounding. I had heard among
the people—the Bantu especially, who
inhabit the near-by country—of
beautiful white woman, a goddess
who dwelt among the hills near the
headwaters of the Rembo river, but in
Africa one hears many such stories
which are conjured from the imagina
tions of the superstitious ones. When
I asked among the Ishogo, with whom
I was trading, and to the woman,
was met with scowls and threats
They would tell me nothing, and that,
more than anything else, convinced
me that there was some truth in the
story. However, I was utterly unpre
pared for what I found. With my par
ty of natives I had been paddling up
the stream that pours from the east
into the Rembo, near the foot of the
mountains, when suddenly our party
was surrounded by a fleet of war ca
noes that shot out from either bank.
“Outnumbered we saw that resist
ance was useless. My men were held
captive at the river bank, and I, sur
rounded by half a dozen glorious spec
imens of humanity, naked except for
breechclouts, but wearing heavy gold
anklets and necklets, was hurried
through the forest. We ascended
small mountain, and near the crest,
beside a small lake in the middle of
the forest, we stopped. Just before us
was a small house made of bamboo
yet not fashioned at all like any house
I ever had seen in Africa. A long
mat was laid on the grass under a sort
of porch in front.
“My guards prostrated themselves
on the grass, and demained with their
foreheads touching the ground, and
while yet I wondered there emerged
from the hut, or house, the most beau
tiful woman I have ever seen. She
was gowned perfectly, all in white
with small, high heeled white slip
pers, and she carried a white lace par
asol. It was as if she suddenly had
stepped from her carriage on to the
lawn at the race course at Auteuil,
She advanced, smiling, with hand ex
tended to greet me.
“She is small, petite, blonde, her
hair like molten gold, her complexion
perfect, her figure faultless. Her eyes
are large and brown, her lips curled
perfectly and her features without
fault. Every movement was grace
itself, every gesture was poetry, and
as she spoke I stood as if in a trance
At St. Pierre, and One Man has Fought
Ten Times.
There is one place in North Ameri
ca where dueling is still common. That
is St. Pierre Miquelon. Among other
practices peculiar to the mother coun
try, France, is that of settling affairs
of honor by an appeal to the pistol or
the rapier. From a recent publication
the Pierrois Journal, La Vigie (The
ookout), it is learned that 17 duels
have taken place there the last four
years, or an average of one every
three months. In 10 of these M. Paul
Louis Legasse, the fishery merchant,
who represents the little colony in the
French chamber at Versailles, has fig
ured as a principal. It is evident, there
fore, that he lives a strenuous and
dangerous life, though as nobody has
every been seriously wounded in these
encounters the peril must be less than
would appear at first sight. The little
town has only 6,500 people, and whit
may be termed its aristocracy is v/ry
limited. M. Legasse, who is the^/ead-
ing fishery outfitter, owningriwer 60
THE ORIGINAL
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HONEY and TAR
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ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO.. NEW YORK
DICKENS’ LONDON.
Old
Landmarks Disappearing From
City by the Thames.
London is so great, so boundless,
essels that ply on the Grand Banks I j.jj e f ace Q f , s constantly under
and whose wealth far exceeds that of
any competitor in the place, has to
find his adversaries among the officials
who conduct the administration
among the candidates who contest his
seat when the biennial elections take
place.
His latest duel was with M. Caperon,
the retiring Chief Justice of the little
colony. Between the two there had
been a feud since last summer, when
M. Legasse, being charged with com
plicity in some alleged marine scan
dal, was arrested by order of this
judge, hail being refused until M. Le-
gasse’s friends appealed by cable to
the Minister of Justice in Paris, who
ordered his release. M. Legasse, be
ing unable to insist upon a meeting
while M. Caperon was actually holding
his exalted office, had to wait until his
transfer to another post was ordered.
Then he promptly challenged the
chief justice. They fought with pistols
at 45 paces, but neither was hit. M.
Legasse’s previous important duel was
with M. Dumont, a creole from St.
Pierre, Martinique, ail of whose rela
tives were killed by the tragic explo
sion of Mt. Pelee. M. Dumont, who
is a lawyer, ran against M. Legasse
for deputy in the last election, and
special interest attached to his candi
dacy because many of his followers
advocated the annexation of the is
land to the United States.
It was an outcome of some violent
language that the Legasse-Dumont
duel took place. Previous appearances
of M. Legasse on the field of honor
were made with other officials and
with one or two rivals in the commer
cial line. Officers of the gendarmerie
on the island and the naval squadron,
which gathers there every summer,
figured in some of these affairs.”-
Chicago News.
“We talked ail afternoon—of Paris,
of London, of Vienna and St. Peters
burg. She talked wisely of the poli-1 in the novel,
tics of Europe, and asked as to cer
tain statesmen, as if she knew them
well. Yet never a hint could I get as
to her, and late in the afternoon, grow
ing bolder, I asked about herself. I
asked many questions, and she evaded
them. Finally, clapping her hands
going a change. That the changes
are, in the majority of cases, for the
better there is no doubt, but when the
hand of the “improver” falls it strikes
heavily, and there is hardly an im
provement of some sort or other which
does not rob London of a landmark
of importance.
And so it is with the London which
Charles Dickens loved so well. But
really there is very little of Dickens’
London left to us nowadays.
The great illusion — threatened
times without number—is there, how
ever, and we are wont to fondly gaze
at it and fancy that Little Nell really
did live there at the Old Curiosity
Shop off Lincoln’s-Inn-Fields; hut
there is not one shred of evidence to
prove that this was the home of that
sweet child and her grandfather.
The house is doomed, and when it
has passed away one of the great de
lusions of Charles Dickens’ London
will have passed away, too, and if
we are not the poorer for it in that
respect we shall certainly mourn its
lots as a vanished hit of Old London
Lant street, or at least that part of
it where Dickens lived as a hoy, and
where Bob Sawyer held his memor
able party, has gone; so has the Mar-
shalsea prison of Little Dorrit fame,
hut a tablet Is still there to record the
fact. St. George's Church, where Lit
tle Dorrit slept on the night of her
“Party,” and where she was after
ward married, still stands. London
bridge steps, figuring in “Oliver
Twist,” although altered by the re
cent widening, are still there. The
“Curious little nooks in a great place
like London”—the Inns of Court—-are
mostly still with us. It is true that
Furnival’s Inn has disappeared alto
gether, and a great loss to Dickens
London it is; for here the young
novelist had chambers, and here
“Pickwick” was written. Yet for all
that Furnival’s Inn is not mentioned
It was Gray’s Inn that
occasioned the remark of Mr. Pick
wick that the Inns of Court were
rious little nooks in a great place like
London,” and it was here “up two
pairs of steps and dirty stairs” that
Mr. Perker, the little attorney, lived.
Gray’s Inn has not much changed
sharply, she turned away, and before since then in outward appearance, hut,
I could ask another question I was being somewhat distant now from
seized by a crowd of her blacks and the center of legal London, it is not
hurried away. so favored by lawyers as it was when
“She is French, I know from her ac- the pages of “Pickwick” were written
cent. She speaks Russian, and Ger- Almost opposite, and “behind the
man, and English, and evidently has I most ancient part of Holburn, London,
traveled much. Indeed, she spoke to | where certain gabled houses some cen-
me of many things that puzzled me, as
if she possesses secrets of life that
are lost to others, and once she spoke
of ancient Egypt as if she had lived
there thousands of years ago.”
The stories told by others bear out
in part, yet in part contradict, the
story of De Cambri. One English mis
sionary declares that he was told by
natives living to the northward, but
in touch with the Ishogo people, that
the woman maintains an army of
blacks, who obey her slightest order,
and that she is an Italian woman, the
wife or former wife of a Portuguese
army officer, who, disgraced by an in
trigue, fled to Africa, carrying with
her a great sum of money.—Chicago
Tribune. .
turies of age still stand looking upon
the public way, as if disconsolately
looking for Old Bourne that has long
run dry, is a little nook composed of
two irregular quadrangles called
Staple Inn.”
These inns are the only real parts
of Dickens’ London left us. Those
that are still preserved are almost in
tact. Staple Inn is no exception. Dick
ons must have had a great fondness
for the Inns of Court, for almost with
out exception we find mention of them
more or less, in every one of his books.
Gray’s Inn finds a place in his first
novel; Staple Inn in his last.
I can conceive no more picturesque
spot in all London than Staple Inn.
How long it will remain hidden away
behind the handful of bulging old
houses I do not know. We are con
tinually hearing that the old houses
on Holburn are doomed, and when
thy fall Staple Inn will fall, too. The
old houses are world famous, but not
so with Staple Inn. Why, I know not,
but the average Londoner is, perhaps,
hardly aware there is such a place.
"It is one of those nooks,” continues
Dickens, “the turning into which from
the clashing street imparts to the re
lieved pedestrian the sensation of hav
ing put cotton in his ears and velvet
soles on his boots. It is one of those
nooks where a few smoky sparrows
twitter in smoky trees, as though they
called to one another, ‘Let us play.at
country,’ and where a few feet of gar
den mold and a few yards of gravel
enable them to do that refreshing vi
olence to iheir thiy understandings.
Moreover it is one of those nooks
which are legal nooks, and it contains
a little hall, with a little lantern in its
roof, to what obstructive purpose de
voted, and at whose expense, this his
tory knoweth not.”
Passing from the outer quadrangle*
passing the tree and the birds, we
reach the inner quadrangle, where, in
the left-hand corner, we find the set
of chambers “presenting in black and
white over its ugly portals” the mys
terious inscription:
P
J T
1747
Which "might mean Perhaps John
Thomas or, Perhaps Joe Tyler,” Here
.VIr. Grewgious lived. There is a
.nournful memory attaching Itself to
this house iu Staple Inn. It was the
last of many London houses immortal
ized by Charles Dickens. It is the on
ly such house now remaining!
Adjacent to Staple Inn is Barnard’s
inn, which Pip described as “the ding
iest collection of shabby buildings ev
er squeezed together in a rank corner
as a club for tomcats.” In those days
"Barnard was * * * a disembodi
ed spirit or a fiction,” and even now
it is very much the same. There is
not much of Barnard left, he is incor
porated with a school, and his “inn” is
no more.
There is still another “inn" left off
Holborn —Thavies Inn, from which
Mrs. Jellyby addressed long epistles
to the world on the subject of Borriolo-
boola-Gha, leaving her children in gen
eral to themselves, and little Peepy
in particular to get his head fixed be
tween the area railings. Thavies Inn
is-still “a narrow street of high houses
like an oblong cistern to hold the fog,”
and there are area railings galore for
the little Peepys of today to come to
grief upon.
The “Golden Cross at Charing Cross
has undergone many changes since
May 13, 1827, when Mr. Pickwick and
his friends started on their memorable
journey; the low archway through
which the coach passed calling forth
the warning of Mr. Jingle, “Heads,
heads; take care of your heads,” has
been put to more modem uses. Hung-
erford stairs have gone, and the black
ing factory, too. We are not far off
the abbey now where Charles Dickens
sleeps his last sleep in the companion
ship of our immortal dead.—London
Chronicle.
When you want a pleasant laxative
take Chamberlain’s Stomach and Liv
er Tablets. For sale by H. R. Palmer
& Sons, Athens; W. J. Smith ft Bro.,
Athens.
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