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© © A Woman Never Eats When She Has Anything Else To Do M © & § The Last of This Great Series The Seven Mistakes of Matrimony —NO. 7- By DOROTHY DIX. T HE seventh deadly mistake of matrimony Is: NOT TO MAKE MATRIMONY A PROFESSION. Terhaps the greatest mistake of all. and the one that sums all the other* up, consists In regarding suc cess In marriage as an accident In stead of a premeditated result. The most mischievous Idea that has ever been promulgated 1* that mar riage !■ a lottery. In which everything Is determined by blind chance, and In which It la a mere matter of luck whether you get a desirable life part ner or an undesirable one. or are happy or miserable. Nothing on earth Is further from the truth than this. Nowhere else does the Inevitable logic of cause and effect work out so relentlesnly as In the domestic relationship Nowhere else do we so absolutely reap as we aow as In the family circle, and. given certain people and certain conditions. It Is just aft demonstrable that a marriage will work out wall, or badly as It Is that two and two make four The trouble with u» In that wa have never yet elevated matrimony to the dig nlty of a profession, for which we have thought It worth while to pre pare. That in why we fall In the most Important thing In life. No young man would expect to m: ke a howling success an a surgeon or a lawyer if he had never even contem plated seriously medicine or the law, yet a poor deluded woman marries him under the Impression that she Is getting a flrst-clan* husband, and he himself has no doubt of his qualifica tions on that score. A young woman who wants to be an opera singer devotes years of arduous labor to fitting herself to sing on the stage, but she does not spend an hour preparing herself to All the far more difficult and complicated role of a wife and mother. A WRONG Aftftt MPTION People seem to think that a knowl edge of how to be good husbands and wives comes by nature, as Dogherrjr thought the knowledge of how to read and write did. Both assump tions are equally false. It takes effort and perspiration, as well an In-' epiratlon. to succeed In any calling, and especially the domestic calling Undoubtedly the matrimonial situa tion would be enormously eased If men and women would begin married life by a thorough understanding of Just the elementary things. If every woman knew' how to keep house and make a comfortable home when she marries Instead of having to learn her trade on her husband, and If every man could he brought to real ize before marriage Just how much money It costs to support a family, a young couple would start out with an infinitely better chance for happiness than they have where the wife getft hysterical over her Inability to cook a meal that isn't a menace to life It self. and where the husband la In a perpetual grouch when It dawns on him that matrimony Is conducted on a cash basis. Instead of the hot air currency of courtship. The hope of the future Is for In telligent people to regard marriage as a profession that Is worthy of profound study, and In which It Is %a much a disgrace to fall ns It Is In the practise of any otb**r profession. A ARCH 1ST. It Is literally true that almost any marriage could be made happy, or at least endurable. If either husband or wife would pursue the method that he or she would In trying to attain success in any profession or business, and .all that would be necessary to 1o this would be to use the same tac tic* that are used in the practise of business or the professions. Take the matter of the husband a and wife's relationship. That »s merely a partnership, und all that any mar ried couple need to achieve Ideal happiness Is Just 10 rise to the point where they can treat each other as | two men In business together do. Find a husband arid wife who work together with the same Interest in view, whe are climbing up together, | who rhare equally In the profits of | their Joint labor, who talk things over together and have an equal votoe In deciding things, yet who allow each other in their Individual capacity per sonal liberty, and you have got a husband and w'lfe whose domestic felicity Is strong enough to draw money on at the bank. Furthermore, a man who has any Intelligence tries to get along with the people with whom he deals If he was always quarrelling with his partner he would know that the house was bound to oome to disaster, lie would be aware that If he did not exercise tact and diplomacy toward his clients that it whj a mere matter rf time until the sheriff sold him out. Women know these things too. and there 1s nobody who Is more long suf- j faring, and patient, and filled with forbearance than the business or professional woman who has to ca- ; Jole the men above her in order to hold down her Job. JUST ftV PFOgK. Suppose these men and women, who ; are so plausible and suave In order j to succeed In their business should apply an equal amount of diplomacy at home; suppose these men and women, who are so careful to side step the little peculiarities of their customers, would be as nimble In sidestepping the little peculiarities of their husbands and wives, wouldn’t they make matrimony ns great a suc cess as they do law. or medicine, or the grocery business? Yea. verily. We quarrel with those with whom we live because we do not think It worth whlle'to keep the peace We say brutal things to them because there Is no money in our pocket for being polite We wound them In their tender sensibilities be cause they can’t get away from us, anyway. We make marriage a fail ure because we are too Ignorant and lazy and careless to make It a success. And the shame Is on our own heads. It ought to be Just as much a reflec tion upon any man's or woman’s abil ity to be a bankrupt in domestic hap piness as a bankrupt In business And it will be when we take marriage out of the amateur class and put it In tha professional. An irascible elderly gentleman or dered a bottle of hock with hie lunch. ’*’Ock, sir?” said the waiter. "Yes. sir.” "Not ’ock,” said the customer; "hock—hie, hac, hoc. D'you under stand ?” The waiter disappeared, and some twenty minutes elapsed, while the elderly one sat nursing his wrath to keep It warm. At last, catching the errant waiter’s eye. he yelled, furi ously ; "Where's that hock?" “ 'Ock, sir?" said the waiter. In a grieved and surprised tone. "I thought you declined it.” • • • "Doctor." said the caller, "I’m a vic tim of insomnia. Can you cure me?" "I can.’’ replied the physician. "But before I take the case I want to ask you one question. Are you in busi ness for yourself, or do you work for others?" employe*; as an assistant at a grocery,” answered the patient. "Then you'll have to pay in ad vance." said the doctor. "I’m not doubting your honesty, but after I get through with you the chances are you will sleep so soundly you'll lose vour Job. Then you can’t pay me." • • « Not long ago a North-county vicar married an elderly couple at 11 o’clock in the morning At 3 in the afternoon his duties took him to the neighboring cemetery, where he met the same couple seated loving on one of the benches. “You see. sir," the husband ex plained, "my wife is a real 'un for pleasure. I wanted to goo back to me work this artemonn. but th' missus sed we'd belter enjoy ourselves to th' foil ai^i mak.' a day on ’t.” AT BAY A Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers (Novelized by) 'From the nlay by George Hoar- b.,rough, now being prf*Rant«»d at the Thirty-ninth Street Theater, New York. Serial right* held and copyrighted by Internaflonal News Hervlre i TODAY’S INSTALLMENT. H 'K started toward her he would execute a flank maneuver and drive the wounded creature Into , a corner. "Give it to me!" ordered Flagg Flagg, with murder and lust fighting ’’You’re choking me!" the girl man aged to articulate. Tighter, tighter closed the fingers "You'll be unconscious soon." g ated her captor, "and then I’ll have my way and my pay, my fine lady " Frenzied, desperate, the g rl reveled the paper file and plunged the long, sharp end Into Flagg s breast. He stag gered back—and Ift the euddenrees of her release Aline fell across the table. By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. DEAR MIBB FAIRFAX: I haven't been married quite a year, and my husband and I are very much in love with each oth er—but the worst of It Is he Just wants me to be one of his family —and not myself at all. He has cousins and uncles and aunts, and he thinks It’s terrible, and they all seem to think so. too, if 1 want to go anywhere with people who are no relation to any of us. I think they’re queer about it— but my husband says I’m the one that's queer. Is he or am I? KINFOLKS. t w tKLL, the chance* are, Kinfolk*, \\l that you’re both queer most people are when you come right down to it. Hut. from my point of view, your huab&nd is the queerest of the two. Kinfolks are all very well in their way. but what’s the use of limiting your life to them and to them alone? Why not broaden out your circle of friends and learn something; differ ent while you are about the business of living? 1 know some people---let's call them Bmlth—well, the Smiths never talk about h thing on earth but their "in laws" and the queer things their ‘‘in laws’’ are always doing, or saying. <>r looking or being, and the only queer thing that I can see about most of the "In-laws’’ Is that they weren't born by the name of smith and haven't the Smith nose or the Smith haven’t the Smith nose or the Smith faculty of putting up jam, or the Smith memory for figures—that’s all. Now . don't you be like the Smiths, little sister, and don’t you let your husband be like them, either Mane your own circle of friends—-don’t say mean things about your ‘‘in-law*’’— don't even think them just be so busy with your own friends and the' friends you hope to make for that nice husband of your* that you haven't time to think very much about it one way or the other. It is the woman’s place to make the friends of the fami ly—it is your business to have pleas ant friends and acquaintances—If not for your own sake, for your hus band’s. Choose them—ask them to vour M% tie fiat—have some simple little re freshment a cup of reallv good cof fee and some thin slices of bread and butter are not to be sneezed at. let me tell you. He friendly and unaf fected and kind and you’ll soon have so many friends that you won't know what to do. Then hang on to them—for they’re about all there is in tie world that makes life worth living Misunderstood. It was at a country ball at which the regular printed ball program, with the dainty little pencil attached, was being used for the first time A young fellow from the city, noting that n stout and not very attractive young woman was being a good deal of a wall flower, took pity on her and said: "Is your program full?" "My what?" "Your program." After a moment’s reflection she said: "La. no! I ain’t et but one dough nut!" At last Aline roused herself from her shrouding leth argy. Fear impelled her. The instinct to escape claimed her—and she turned to escape. Then as she faced the door Horror marked her face. What had she done? She had been at bay—she had fought —and now grim struggle was to be fol lowed by grimmer quiet. "Ah—ah—try," gasped Flagg, "to murder me!" He staggered to his feet from the chair into which he had fallen in utter collapse. "I didn’t want to hurt you!" breathed Aline, in a whisper of horror. WHAT. WHAT HAD SHE DONE? she questioned her fast beating heart. WHAT HAD SHE DONE? "I didn’t want to hurt you!" she moaned. Tall and slim and white, like a withering lily, she stood by the mas sive desk. Her brown gold hair had fallen in disarray from its coronal on her head. Her eyes were wide with terror—her lips were bleached. WHAT HAD SHE DONE? "Tommy!" called Judson Flagg. He sank Into the chair again, his face distorted with pain, his hand fumbling, fumbling to puli the long needlelike file from his breast. Paralyzed by fright and fascinated by horror. Aline stood and watched him. Strangely enough, he had become the victim now. Suddenly there was a wrench, a spurt of blood, and Flagg pulled the needle point from his breast. He staggered toward the desk and Aline shrank away at his approach. Flagg seized the edge of \he desk for support—and, too late, the girl, who had moved away, divined his purpose, for he caught her emerald brooch in his left hand. Then, still clutching the weapon of doom as he had pulled it from his breast, he be gan groping—groping At last Aline roused herself from her shrouding lethargy. Fear Impelled her. The Instinct to escape claimed her —and she turned to escape. Then as she faced the door and safety—just as she stood under the full glare of the center chandelier and was face to face (If she had lifted her tired eyes) with Flagg's masterpiece of art. the paint ing of Justice—Just then, there was a blinding flash! Flagg's groping hand had found the electric button! He gasped for breath—and then, with a final chuckle. Judson Flagg spoke his epilogue to life. "1 got your brooch—and I got your picture for the police!" The noise of the explosion died—the light faded again. "Tommy!" screamed Judson Flagg— gurgling the death agony. But he voiced his cry to the one human being who loved him. "Coming—Uncle Judson!" came a far-off voice. The girl fled back into the shrouding night. She made her way to the home she had left that fear might be de stroyed—and, instead, fear triumphed. What had she done? Across the table In a grim den of and safety—just as she stood under the full glare of the cen ter chandelier and was face to face (if she had lifted her tired eyes) with Flagg’s masterpiecce of art, the painting of Justice —just then, there was a blinding flash! "What the h—1 do you think I am?" She thrust the infamous yet precious pink paper into the bosom of her gown, caught hack the clinging, Impeding soft draperies—and fled In wild effort to escape her pitiless hunter—fled to the great door—toward the outside world—toward sanctuary—and Home! In His Hand. She reached the threshold, her fingers fumbled against the wood—touched the knob- and Judson Flagg reached her in an evil, spiderlike leap and caught her white wrist In a quick, twisting grasp Innocence can not bear the physical horror of the clammy touch of evil. "Don’t put your hand on m*I M •creamed Aline, shrill with horror and degrading fear. That this creature of •lime and crime should touch her! "I'll put both hands on you—you vix en!" cried the man. This was a game fish, thought he—It struggled—well, more Joy when he landed it—in his arms and at his feet. He caught the girl In his arms. He drew her roughly and violently into an evil embrace and set his lips on hers with the menace of his tainted life for her sweet youth. "That letter! That—or my days by the sea!’’ he said. "Give up—my girl— \ have you!" "1 won’t! 1 won’t!" cried Aline. Her desperate resistance taxed his wasted and dial pa ted strength, he dragged her from the door, over to tyls heavy table, he forced her slender body back against his edge Dully she felt the bruising pain of the wood. In the grim light of the room they struggled, untaxed youth with clean longings and aspirations against wary age. with evil desire and overtaxed and outworn energy. To which the victory, and would vic tory not mean defeat, too? The girl was a creature at bay. Life, honor, happiness, a chance for existence were being hunted by a merciless crea ture who would scarcely enjoy the fruit of his victory- To Aline that fight was for more than life, to the man It was less than dust, and there was a price both must pay. Aline freed her arm. She groped wildly for a weapon. She must have aid. Her woman’s strength was going She was fighting In a struggle for which life had offered her no training Her blindly, groping hand knocked papers and books to the floor; wild disarray claimed the desk and room. Flagg's heel ground deep into one of the cap tain’s roses. Suddenly he pinioned her free arm hack of her. The pain was excruciating —but she could bear it—for her fingers had closed on cold heavy metal—a great iron Hill - - file. She shrieked hysterically, and he loosed her arm to draw her whole form closer—to' kiss her again. "Let me go! Let me go!" She struck him on the shoulder with ! the flat base of the bill-holder. "Put that down! I’ll break your | arm!" She gave a sob of pain and stuck at ; his forehead. In a fury he laid his long > rapacious fingers on her white throat, i "And your d n neck, tool' hissed i gloom sprawled Judson Flagg—dark, saturnine, like a giant spider, and in his hand was the emerald brooch Gor don Graham had given his wife when their baby girl was born. But across the table, a tiny stream of blood was trickling toward the bills—the $300 that had been too small a price for honor— or life. Silence and darkness! Then a boy’s anguished cry—"Uncle Ju/dl Uncle Jud! Speak to me! Uncle Jud! DEAD! MURDERED!” The flash of light from every corner of the gloomy chamber, the jar of an opening window, a quick glance up and down the empty at.-eer. and then a boys trembling voice steadied to a whd scream. Police Pn«!” • * * The Secret Service. In the office of the Chief of the Se cret Service of the United States three men sat talking. They were Captain Larry Holbrook, Chief Dempsey and Father Shannon. "Larry," said the chief, "you have been arrested once bv this Govern ment." There was a bit of quiet in sinuation in his tone. "Yes. Chief, once in New Orleans. You arrested me for trying to get some rifles over to General Garcia. But re member this, six months later the Uni ted States sent the whole army over on the same job." "But the Government regarded you as an offender then," went on the insinu ating voice. "Not too much to make me a cap tain in the Philippine constabulary a year later." "Why did you quit—your GOVERN MENT Job?" went on Dempster. "Something- in the blood.” "Fever?’ "Born there—I couldn’t ride herd on a people lighting for their own liberty. You see. Chief if I were two years old er I’d been born in Ireland. As it was I was born on Second avenue. Oppres sion drove my father from home. I think it was the stories I heard at my mother’s knee that made me ready to take filibustering jaunts UNDER A FLAG FOR FREEDOM. THAT MADE ME A PERPETUAL MEMBER OF THE MINORITY." "He is that," said Father Shannon, warmly, "the rascal saved my life in Manila 1 was in the minority and the flames were a vast majority!" "What nonsense. I made him get out of bed when a house was on fire." "He carried me unconscious ’’ be gan Father Shannon. "Some friend is apt to do as much for me any Saturday night." laughed the merry Irish lad of 38. "Chief, he touches no drop!" said Father Shannon, and a twinkle came to the chief’s eye. "Holbrook!" said he, "there’s a big expedition on foot for Nicaragua. What can you tell me about It?" There was a steady gleam in his eye—he would not be denied. "Dutch Dugan busy again!" exclaimed the captain. "That’s the man, but we can’t get our hands on him, captain." "I’d tell you, Bob, if I knew, but " The two men eyed each other, and the steady twinkle never faded from Larry Holbrook’s eyes. "But tell your men to gp easy with Dugan. He’s not a bad chap!” The chief smiled, and a glint of steel came into his eyes and over the settled lines of his mouth. In the further office a telephone sounded its insistent call. "Excuse me, gentlemen,’’ said the chief with grave courtesy. Holbrook turned to the father. "Well now. I'll tell you something in confi dence, as a man to his priest, mind ye. in the most sacred confidence. You will give it?" Father Shanon smiled. "You know well you can trust me. Larry.” "Well—then—I AM DUGAN’S expedi tion!" “You. me lad?" To Be Continued Monday. CHICHESTER S PILLS t THE UIAMUND BRAND. yy • —* ■« hut of to*l Askfordll.CinCft-TEM’B DIAMOND KRAND PILLft.Vr•• ’ y«»rs known as Best. Safest. Always Reliable SOLD BV DRUGGISTS EVERYWHFR5 Woman Is lotereatsd sod ihoold know about tb« wonderful WliiHbC S*r«j Ask roardronristfor it. If he cannot sup ply the. MARVBL. accept no other, but send stamp forbook. 44 t. U* ft, ILL THE FAMILY CUPBOARD A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in New York [Novelized byl An Opportunity ToMakeM oney inventor*, men of ideas and inveetrr* ability. *houM wnte to day far ovr list of wmntions noedod. and prise* ofersd Wy ten dint man id sc hirers. _ . ##c « r * 4 or mn hm rehimed. "WKy Some farmer* •il. How to Got Yonr Patent and Yonr Money,** and ©die? valuable booklet* Mat free to aay address (From Owen Davis’ play now being pre sented at the Playhouse, New York, by William A. Brady—Copyright, 1913, by International News Service.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT "Ken!" she said in her sweet ca- denced voice—the music inherited from the far off isle of Erin, the Gaelic tones that come down through long genera tions to the daughters of Ireland. "Mary!" The boy leaped to his feet. His shoul ders straightened to manhood, his eyes filled with purpose, with some dim emo tion he scarcely sensed as he faced his boyhood sweetheart, the only loyal friend of his whole wasted young life. "Mary!” It was as if sunshine and the breath of springtime had come with Mary Burk to his garish, glcfomy and tobacco poi- aoned rooms. "Thank you, Mary, for Just—coming —here," said the boy In a dumb misery that was brightened with perfume and sunshine that he felt were across a high wall he might never climb. There were roses in the garden spot that was Mary’s life—well, he thought, he might inhale the perfume for one more min ute—and then good-bye to Mary Burk. But a love like Mary Burk's never dies —and perhaps, perhaps—"quien sabe?" —who knows what It was yet to mean to Kenneth Nelson? The boy stood staring at her as at some wonderful vision. Mary laughed a bit—and softly and kindly to relieve the tension. "Ken, I read your letter to your mother." "Did you?" said the boy, nervously— ill at ease before this girl who breathed the purity and fine sweetness that he had unconsciously been missing from his life. "Did you—the last one—you mean it —it was funny—wasn’t it, Mary?” "It was very sad. Ken—it almost broke her heart—and mine," added Mary in a frightened little hushed under tone. "She did not even answer It," said the boy. "But you cared, you sympa thized, Mary!" He concluded his sen tence with an abrupt self-consciousness that a tender tone was creeping from his hungry heart to his voice. And what right had he to talk tenderly to a girl like Mary Burk? "She could not! She just could not! She is very proud, Kenneth, and very unhappy. She could not send you mon ey to spend on something of which she did not approve—and your father has written asking her not to help you.” "My father has written to her? Why, they are getting together over the prod igal," exclaimed Kenneth, cynically. "No!" said Mary, sadly, "I had to read that letter to her and we did not answer it. And It only said not to help you under the—circumstances. He is proud, too!" And Mary, who had the fine pride that is ashamed only of a wrong intention and an evil deed, sighed at the tangle of life that held the people she loved as if they were lost in a noisome jun gle- • Kenneth’s pride flared anew. "I won’t ask again!" he declared, stubbornly. "I felt that—so I came. I am not proud, you see, Ken. I have some mon- ey here. Not much—but it is qulte- quite my own. I’ll leave It, Ken " The grlrl took a little roll of bill, from her bag and dropped It or. th, table. "NO!” There was surprise mingled with horror of what he had become in hla tone. But Ketineth Nelson knew that Mary Burk was offering him the kindest, truest friendship his life was ever to know. "Why not? We have ben friends al ways. You can pay me big interest. It will be a good investment," coaxed the glrU trying to make her love offer ing appear only a business transaction "as man to man." "NOP* "How silly! I would not hesitate to ask a favor of you! I—I will never hesitate to come to you if I am in need of a true friend, Ken. Why, you are more than that—you are almost like my brother!" When a woman wants to serve the man she loves with that peerless devo tion that can come only once In a life time—with that love that most men, worthy or unworthy, miss—she will de ny her love—she will call him "friend" and "brother" so that he may the more willingly accept the sacrifice that puts his love beyond her claiming, and gives it to the woman he has chosen. The door to the side corridor opened. With a little air of being perfectly at home, Kitty May entered the room. The Two Girls. At sight of Mary she affected pretty confusion. “Hello!" she began—"Oh! I ’’ she trailed off. Man' turned and looked at her. Then with a friendly little gesture she step ped forward. "This is Kitty?" she asked. Kenneth hung his head in the most genuine shame he had ever felt, at the thought of what he had done with his life for love—if love It could be called— of Kitty May. "You’d better go," he said. "Why?” asked Mary genuinely. Kitty braced herself against the table and spoke with a hard little show of bravado. "Because all his fine friends are too proud to know' me." Mary smiled gently. Some of the sweetness of that old-fashioned flower garden w r as wafted to Kenneth’s inia^' - nation again. The two girls faced eaeli other. The boyhood sweetheart—tl e girl he might have loved, except that the son of Mrs. Charles Nelson, leader of society, could not marry his mother’s social secretary, was smiling with gen tle kindness on Kitty Claire. And the girl whose evil spell, like a fog from the sea, had hidden shoals and rocks from the eyes of that same boy, was staring back at Mary with insolent hardness. Kenneth had a queer little vision of a thin alley cat, eyes aflame, back up. spitting and snarling and scratching at the little child who was stooping with friendly hand to smooth ruffled fur. He dashed his hand across his eyes—what a fool he was, thought he—seeing gar dens and fogs and cats and smiling chil dren with trusting eyes! This was Ju6t Mary and Kitty! Just Mary and Kitty— but the good and the bad angels of his life would war for him to-day. Mary and Kitty! Which would win? To Be Continued Monday. GET A KODAK FOR XMAS ! <5 to Brown!•« '*1 to fit- for •omploto ratal** to-day. SPECIAL ENLARG- J ING OFFER—S'.xl'v mounted, from any | kodak nofatfv*. SO* A K HAWKES CO "MI Schedules Change Dec. 7,1913 ON AND AFTER SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7TH, CENTRAL OF GEORGIA RAILWAY TRAINS WILL LEAVE ATLANTA, FROM TERMINAL STATION, AS FOLLOWS, EXCEPT AS NOTED: No. 2, 8:00 a. m.—DAY EXPRESS, for Macon, Savannah, Al bany, Americus, Jacksonville and intermediate points. Parlor Car to Albany, Ga. No. 98, 9:47 a. m.—DIXIE LIMITED, first train December 8, for Macon, Cordele, Tifton, Waycross and Jacksonville. Observa tion Library Car, Ptillman Sleeping Cars, Dining Car and Coaches to Jacksonville, Fla. No. 10,12:30 p. m.—For Macon, Milledgeville, Millen, Valdosta, Americus, Albany and intermediate points. Parlor Car to Macon, Ga. No. 12, 4:00 p. m.—For Griffin, Macon and intermediate points. Parlor Car to Macon, Ga. No. 94, 8:30 p. m.—DIXIE FLYER—For Macon, Cordele, Tif ton, Waycross and Jacksonville. Observation Library Car, Pullman Sleeping Cars and Coaches. No. 4, 9:00 p. m.—NIGHT EXPRESS—For Macon and Savan nah. Connects at Macon with G. S. & F. for Cordele, Tifton, Val dosta and Palatka. Sleeping Car to Savannah, Ga., and PalAtka, Fla. No. 32, 10:10 p. m.—SOUTH ATLANTIC LIMITED—For Ma con, Cordele, Tifton, Waycross and Jacksonville. Sleeping Cars and Coaches to Jacksonville. Broiler Buffet Car serves breakfast Tifton to Jacksonville. No. 8, 11:46 p. m.—MIDNIGHT EXPRESS—For Macon, Americus, Albany, Thomasville, Dawson, Cuthbert, Eufanla anil Southwest Georgia and East Alabama points. Pullman Sleeper to Thomasville, Central Sleeper to Montgomery. NOTE.—All trains will arrive in Atlanta at Terminal Station, as at present, except No. 15 from Macon, Southwest Georgia and East Alabama points will arrive at 7 :55 p. m. instead of 8:10 p m-, and No. 99, DIXIE LIMITED, from Jacksonville, Waycross, Tifton. Cordele and Macon, will arrive (first train December 9th) 8 :03 p. m NOTE.—No. 4, NIGHT EXPRESS, for Macon and Savannah, carrying Savannah and Palatka Sleepers, will leave at 9:00 p. ®- instead of 9 :35 p. m. No. 98, DIXIE LIMITED, first train South, will leave Atlanta Monday, December 8th. For additional information, ask the TICKET AGENT, corner Peachtree and Marietta streets, and at Terminal Station. W. H. FOGG. District Passenger Agent, Atlanta, Ga. CENTRAL OF GEORGIA RAILWAY