Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

1 A Woman Never Eats When She Has Anything Else To Do a NE © The Last of This Great Series The Seven Mistakes of Matrimony —NO. 7— AT BAY a Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers (Novelized by) play by George Scar- 0( ' T By DOROTHY DIX. ■ oventh deadly mistake of mfrimony Is: \OT TO MAKE MATRIMONY PROFESSION. p. the greatest mistake of 1 the one that Rums all the ■ . iup. consists In regarding suc- marrlage as an accident in- f ,f a premeditated result, pv.. r ,. 0 st mischievous idea that has , v.p rtn promulgated Is that mar- i lottery. In which everything rmined by blind chance, and h it is a mere matter o£ luck • u get a desirable life pa’rt- an undesirable one. or are ipr or miserable. \o»h k on earth is further from truth than this. Nowhere else , inevitable logic of cause and • t • *i k out so relentlessly as in ,’lo n ,.qtic relationship. Nowhere ,ln we so absolutely reap as we , V .,s in the family circle, and, given pie and certain conditions, i ■ s t as demonstrable that a "ill work out well, or badly that two and two make four, h. trouble with us is that we have . yet elevated matrimony to the ■ ,f ;i profession, for which we thought it worth while to pre- r. That is why w* fail in the u important thing In life. No ig man would expect to mr.ke a ,wling success as a surgeon or a er if he had' never even contem- ,U(1 seriously medicine or the law, • a poor deluded woman marries i under the. impression that she is •isng i first-class husband, and he self has no doubt of his quallflca- ms on that score. A young woman who wants to he opera singer devotes years of iluous labor to fitting herself to sing the stage, but she does not spend hour preparing herself to fill the r more difficult and complicated le of a wife and mother. WRONG ASSUMPTION. People seem to think that a knowl- ige of how to he good husbands and , ives comes by nature, as Dogberry hought the knowledge of how to ead and write did. Roth assump- j ioj*s are equally false. It takes! ffort and perspiration, as well as in-* piration. to succeed in any calling, nd especially the domestic calling. Undoubte-dly the matrimonial situa- <*u would b enormously eased if would begin married uY hv a thorough understanding of r the elementary things. If every in knew how to keep house and • a comfortable home when she ies instead of having to learn trade on her husband, and if i could be brought to real- ■ - fme marriage just how much i ' • it costs to support a family, a 1 «-■ ouple \tfotild start out with an better chance for happiness t'l-y have where the wife gets rival over her inability to cook i that isn't a menace to life it- and where the husband is in a crp-tual grouch when it dawns on t .at matrimony is conducted on ■-h basis, instead of the" hot air urrency of Courtship. The hope of the future is for In- ii-'.-nt people to regard marriage s a profession that is worthy of ref und study, and in which it is as inch a disgrace to fail as It is in the raetise of any other profession. ‘ SECRET. ■ 1 is literally true that almost any <-;>• could be made happy, or at ! < ndurable,. if either husband or 1 would pursue the method .that ‘ or she.would la trying to attain “ s in any profession or business, j o.l that would be necessary to ’ a would be to use the same tac- a that are used in the practise of • in< ss or the professions. I o th,» matter of the husbands i wife's relationship. That is merely partnership, and all that any mar- 'I ouple need to achieve ideal •appiness is just to rise to the point * they can treat each other as two men in business together do. Find a husband and wife who work together with the same interest In view, who are climbing up together, who chare equally in the profits of their joint labpr, who talk things ove? together .and have an equal voice in deciding things, yet who allow each other in their Individual capacity per sonal liberty, and you have got a husband and wife whose domestic felicity is atrong 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 hound to oome to disaster. He would'be aware that if he did not exercise tact and diplomacy toward his clients that it was a mere matter nf time until the sheriff sold him out. Women know these things too. and there is nobody who is more long suf fering. 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 SI PPOSE. Suppose these men and women, who are so plausible and suave In order 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 as 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 while 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 the professional. (From the borough, now being presented at the Thirty-ninth Street Theater, New York. Serial rights held and copyrighted by International News Service.) TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT. H E started toward her—he wpuld execute a flank maneuver and drive the wounded creature into a corner. “Give it to me!E ordered Flagg. Flagg, with murder and for place in his evil eyes. The wounded animal—at • to the wall—fights hard. “You’re choking me!’’ the aged to articulate. Tighter, tighter closed the fingers. "You’ll be unconscious soon," gloated her captor, “and then I’ll have my way and my pay, my fine lady." Frenzied, desperate, the girl reversed the paper file and plunged the long, sharp end Into Flagg's breast. He stag gered back—and In the suddenneas of her release Aline fell across the table. L Up-to-Date Jokes ,Vr irascible elderly gentleman or- r e<1 a bdttle-of hock with his lunch, sir?” said the waiter. “Yes, ’ock,” said the customer; -hie, hac, hoc. D’you under- 0 waiter disappeared, and some ,f>r ty minutes elapsed, while the jer] y one sat nursing* his wrath to warm. At last, catching the v a iter’s eye. he yelled, furi- ^ here’s that hock?” '' sir?” said'the waiter, in a ;| nd surprised tone, “I thought 11 declined it.” * ♦ * Doctor,” said the caller, “I’m a vic- insomnia. Can you cure me?” 'n,’ replied the physician. “But I take the case I want to ask ■’ one question. Are you in busi- o «, r . Yourself, or do you work for ' m employed as an assistant at a V 1 ’ • answered the patient, nen you’ll have to pay in ad- said the doctor. "I’m not ting your honesty, but after I ■ cough with you the chances are i h s * ee P PO soundly you’ll lose Job. Then you can't pay me." * * « ’ Jong ago a North-county vicar 1 I ft® olderty coup!© at . ii in the morning. At 3 in the ./I 001 ? duties took him to the 'boring cemetery, where he met ’ne couple seated loving on one uie benches. , sir,” the husband ex- ' I; qd, “my wife is a real ’un for jf". 1 " anted to goo kirk, to me k --arternoon. but th’ missus ’ d better enjoy ourselves to th’ - 4-na mak' a day on t,” By BEATRICE FAIRFAX. DEAR MISS 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 npt 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 I 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. V\ tBLL, the chances are. Kinfolks, ' that you’re both queer—most people are when you come right down to it. But, from my point of view, your husband is the queerest of the two. Kinfolks are all very well in their way, hut what’s the use of limiting your life to them—and to them alone? Why riot broaden out your circle of friends and learn something differ ent while you are about the business of living? I know some people—let’s call them fcmith—well, the Smiths never talk about a thing on earth but their “in laws” and the queer things their “in laws” are always doing, or saying, or 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 Hmith 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 he like them, either. Maite your own circle of friends—don’t say mean things about your “in-laws”— don’t even think them—just be so busy with your own friends and the friends you hope to make for that nicy husband of yours 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 your M% tle flat—have some simple little re freshment—a cup of really good cof fee and some thin slices of bread and butter are not to he sneezed at, let me tell you. Be 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 tke world that makes life worth living. Misunderstood. It was at a country ball at which the regular printed hall program, with the dainty little pencil attached, was being used for the first time. A young fellow from the city, noting that a 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 ft . moment's reflection site said: "T.a, 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 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 back 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 ber 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 me!” screamed Aline, shrill with horror and degrading fear. That this creature of slime 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 Ups 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 t have you!” “I won’t! I won’t!” cried Aline. Her desperate resistance taxed his wasted and disipated strength, he dragged her from the door, over to his 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 ber free arm back of her. The pain was excruciating —but she could bear it—for her fingers had closed on cold heavy metal -a great iron bill — 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 rapa^ous fingers on her white throat. “And your d n neck, too!'' hissed 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 DON®? "Tommy!” oalled Judson Flagg. He sank Into the chair again, his face distorted with pain, his hand fumbling, fumbling to pull 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 the 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 th© weapon of doom as he had pulled it from his breast, he be gan groping—groping—— At last Aline roueed herself from her shrouding lethargy. Fear Impelled her. The Inatlnct 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!" screamted 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 hack into the shrouding night. She made her way to the home she had left that fear might he de stroyed -and. instead, fear triumphed. What had she done? Across the table in a grim den of 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 $U00 that had been too small a price for honor— or life. Silence and darkness! Then a boy’s anguished cry—“Uncle Ju/3! Uncle Jud! Speak to me! T'ncle 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 steeet, and then a boy's trembling voice ste*i lied t * a wbd sc-cam. Police P e '* * * * The Secret Service. In the office of the Chief of the Se cret Service of the Fnited States three men sat talking. They were Captain Larry Holbrook, Chief Dempsey and Father Shannon “Larry,” said the chief, “you have been arrested once by 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 atlng 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 “Somethine in the blood.” “Fever ?’ “Born there—I couldn’t ride herd on a people fighting 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 1 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. I 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 rne unconscious ” be gan Father Shannon. “Some friend is apt to do as much for me any Saturday night,” laughed the merrv 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 go 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. “Y’ou 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 TliK IMA Mo\(> Kir a Mi c Hut of ▼ Ask forf'lf |.< nt h tfb* DIAMOND BRAND PILLMorl! years known as Baat. Safaat. Always Reliable SOID BY DRUGGISTS EVERYWHFM Woman la inter«Mterl and should know about the wonderful Marvel 5 T - ’ Douche Aak yoor druggist for it. If he cannot sup ply the MARVEL, accept no other, but send stamp for book. U, <U,23I St.. *.». THE FAMILY CUPBOARD A Dramatic Story of High Society Life in New York (Novelized byl (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 eves filled with purpose, with some dim emo tion he scarcely sensed as be faced his boyhood sweetheart, the only loyal friend of his whole wasted young life •Mary!" ft was as If sunshine and the breath of springtime had come with Mary Burk to his garish, gloomy and tobacco poi soned 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 sahe?" —who knows what it was yet to mean to Kenneth Nelson? The boy stood staring at 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 abd 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. Kennetlw and very unhappy. She could not send you mon ey to spend on something of which she did not approve—and your father haa 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 ft 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 T came. I am not proud, you see. Ken. I have some mon ey here Not much—but it !■ quite— quite my own. I’ll leave It, Ken.” The girl took a little roll of bills from her bag and dropped it on the able. "NO!” There was surprise mingled with horror of what he had become in his tone. But Kenneth Nelson knew that Mary Burk was offering him the kindest, truest friendship his life was over to know. “Why not? We have hen friends al ways. You can* pay me big interest. It will be a good investment,” coaxed the girl, trying to make her love offer ing appear only a business transaction “as man to man.” “NO!” "How silly! I would not hesitate to ■ ask a favor of you! I—I will never hesitate to come to you if T 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 ’ trailed off. Mary 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 was wafted to Kenneth’s Imagi nation again. The two girls faced each other. The boyhood sweetheart—the 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 eats and smiling chil dren with trusting eyes! This was Just 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. KODAK OCT A 15 to $M Br*wnlei SI to $12. Sond for aomploto cttalM to-day SPECIAL ENLARG ING OFFIB—eY»xi'S. maunted. tram any ««dak nafattva. 30r A K HAWKES CO..*?•%•& An Opportunity ToMakeM oney iaveafen. men of ideaa ead iaraativa ability, ahotiW write to- ^•7 br our list of iamdoia needed, and prixoa ofered by Italbg manufacturer* pAtenta aecured or our fee returned Sooo !■?— Lad, How to Got Your Patent and Yoor Money, n other valuable booklets cent free to nay addrew. I RANDOLPH & CO. Patent Atforoe/a, 618 “F” Street, N. W„ WASHINGTON, D. C. Schedules Change Dec. 7,1913 ON AND AFTER SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7TTT, 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, Americas, Jacksonville and intermediate points. Parlor-Car to Albany, Ga. No. 98, 9:47 a. ra.—DIXIE LIMITED, first train December 8, for Macon, Cordele, Tifton, Wayeross and Jacksonville. Observa tion Library Car, Pullman Sleeping Cars, Dining Car and Coaches to Jacksonville, Fla. No. 10, 12:30 p. m.—For Macon, Milledgeville, Millen, Valdosta, Americas, Albany and intermediate points. Parlor Car to Macon, Ga No. 12, 4:00 p. m.—For Griffin, Macon and intermediate paints. Parlor Car to Macon, Ga. No. 94, 8:30 p. m.—DIXIE FLYER -E'er Macon. Cordate, TIP- ton, Wayeross and Jacksonville. Observation Library Car, Pullman Sleeping Cars and Coaches. No. 4, 9:00 p. m.—NIGHT EXPRESS-—For Maoon and Savan nah. Connects at Macon with G. S. & F. for Corde.le, 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, Wayeross and Jacksonville. Sleeping Cars and Coaches to Jacksonville. Broiler Buffet Car<8erves breakfast Tifton to Jacksonville. No. 8, 11:45 p. m.—MIDNIGHT EXPRESS—For Macon, Americus, Albany, Thomasville, Dawson, Cuthbert, Eufaula and Southwest Georgia and East Alabama points. Pullman Sleeper toi 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 Jaeksonville, Wayeross, 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. m., instead of 9:35 p. ni. No. 98, DIXIE LIMITED, first train South, will leave Atlanta Monday, December 8th. For additional information, ask the TICKET AGENT, comert Peachtree and Marietta streets, and at Terminal Station. W. H. FOGG, District Passenger Agent, Atlanta, Ga. CENTRAL OF GEORGIA RAILWAY