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The Last of This Great Series
The Seven Mistakes
of Matrimony
—NO. 7-
By DOROTHY DIX.
T HE neventh deadly mlstak* of
matrimony 1*:
NOT TO MAKE MATRIMONY
A PROFESSION.
Perhaps the greatest mistake of
all, and the one that atims all the
«ther* up, constats In regarding suc
cess In marriage as an accident in
stead of ■ premeditated result.
The moat mischievous Idea that has
been promulgated Is that mar
rlagc Is a lottery. In which everything
Is determined by blind chance, and
In which it Is 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 relentlessly ns In
the domestic relationship. Nowhere
else do we so absolutely reap as we
sow as in the family circle, and. given
rertaln people and certain conditions,
It Is Just as demonstrable that a
marriage will work out well, or badly
as it Is that two and two make four.
The trouble with us Is that we have
never yet elevated matrimony to the
dignity of a profession, for which we
have thought it worth while to pre
pare. That Is why we fall In the
most Important thing in life. No
young man would expect to m:.ke a
howling success as 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
Setting a first-class husband, and ho
himself has no doubt of his qualltica-
tions on that score.
A young woman who wants to be
in 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 fill the
far more difficult and complicated
role of a W'lfe and mother.
\ WRONG ASSI MPTIOM.
People seem to think that a knowl
edge of how to he good husbands and
wives comes by nature, as Dogberry
thought the knowledge of how to
read and write did. Both assump
tions are equally false. It takes
effort and perspiration, as well as In
spiration, 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
Ufa 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 be brought to real
l/.e 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 gets
hysterical over her inability to cook
a meal that Isn't a menace to life It
self, and where the husband Is In a
perpetual grouch when it dawns on
him that matrimony la conducted on
a cosh 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 as
much a disgraco to fail as It Is In the
practise of any other profession.
A SECRET.
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
• uccese in any profession or business,
ind all that would be necessary to
1o this would be to use the same tac
tics that are used In the practise of
business or the professions.
Take the matter of the husband's
end wife’s relationship. That is merely
a partnership, and all that any mar
ried couple need to achieve Ideal
happiness Is just to rise to the point
where they can treat each other as
Up-to-Date Jokes
An irascible elderly gentleman or
dered a bottle of hock with his lunch.
**'Ock, sir?” said the waiter. “Yes,
sir.’*
“*Cot ’ock,” said the customer,
“hock—hie, hac, hoc. I>’you under
stand?'*
The waiter disappeared, and acme
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, a*' V’ said the wailev, in a
grieved ard surprised ton*. “I thought
you declined iL"
• * *
“Doctor." said the catler. • I'm a vic
tim of insomnia. Can you cure me?"
“I can,” replied the physician. "But
before I take the caRe 1 want to ask
you one question. Are you in busi
ness for yourself, or do you work for
others?"
“I'm employed 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
set through with you the chances are
you will sleep so soundly you’ll lose
your 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
a rleasure. I wanted to goo back t.. me
y‘or’.y this arternoon, but th* mlimm
r ’ • - r enjoy oureelv to th*
Xdll and mak’ a day on ’l,”
Too Very Queer
People
By BEATRICE FAIRFAX.
DEAR MISS FAIRFAX:
I haven’t been married quite
a year, ami my husband ami 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.
BAY A Thrilling Story of Society Blackmailers
[two men In business together do.
! Kind a husband and wife who work
J together with the same Interest In
'lew, who are climbing up together,
who rhare equally in the profits of
! their Joint labor, who talk things over
i together and have an equal voice In
I deciding things, yet who allow each
other In their Individual capacity per-
t-onal liberty, and you have got a
husband and wife whose domestlo
felicity In 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 be deala. If
! he was always quarrelling with hi*
partner he would know that th*
house ea* bound to come to disaster.
Jie would be aware that if he did not
exercise tact and diplomacy toward
his clients that It was a mere matter |
of 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 SUPPOSE. *
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 beenuae we do
not think It worth while to keep the
pence. 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 malts 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 ns a bankrupt In business. And
it will be when we take marriage out
of the amateur data and put It In
the professional.
(Novelized by)
(From the nlay by George Scar
borough. now being presented nf the
Thirty-ninth Street Theater, New York.
Serial rights held and copyrighted by
International News Service.)
TO DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
M *E 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
for place In hls evil eyes.
The wounded animal at bay—driven
to the wall fights hard.
“You’re choking me!” the girl man
aged to articulate.
Tighter, tighter closed the fingers.
“You’ll be unconscious soon," gloated
iter 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 suddenness of
her release Aline fell across the table.
m
w
• ■
111
At last Aline roused herself from her
argy. Fear impelled her. The instinct
her—and she turned to escape.
shrouding leth-
escape claimed
Then as she faced the door
to
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!
w
tELL, 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 ,ln their
way, but what’s the use of limiting
your life to them ami to them alone?
Why not 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
Smith 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
tiling that l 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. Make
your ow n 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 ’he
friends you hope to make for that nice
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, tor your hus
band’s.
ChooSF them—ask them to vour 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 be sneezed at, let
me tell you. Re 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 the 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 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 a moment s reflection she
said:
"La, no.' 1 ain’t et but one dough
nut!”
"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, impelling
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 me!”
•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 ihe man.. This was a game
fish, thought he it struggled-well,
more Joy when he landed it In hls arms
and at hls feel
lie 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 hls tainted life for
her sweet youth.
“That letter! That—or my days by
the sea''' he said “Give up my girl—
V have you!’’
“I won’t! 1 won't!” cried Aline.
Her desperate resistance taxed his
wasted and disipttted 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, untaxeg youth with clean
longings and aspirations against wary
age. with evil desire and overtaxed and
oiitworn 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
back of her. The pain was excruciating
—but she could boar 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 j
arm!”
She gave a sob of pain and stuck at
his forehead. In a fury he laid his long j
rapacloug fingers on her white throat, j
“And jour d n neck, loo!” kissed j
Horror marked her face. What had
sho 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 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 tiie desk and Aline shrank
away at his approach. Flagg seized the
edge of the desk for support—anjj, 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 tnhde her way to the home
she had left that fear might be de
stroyed and, instead, fear triumphed.
What had she dune?
Across the table in a grim den of
gloom sprawled Judson Flagg—dark,
saturnine, like a giant spider, and in
hls hand was tlie 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 $200 that
had been too small a price for honor—
or life.
Silence and darkness!
Then a boy’s anguished cry—“Uncle
Jud! Uncle Jud! bpeak 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 street, and then a bov s
trembling voice stanliad to a w.id
scream. Police
* * *
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 attested 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 w r hole army over ori
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 fighting for their own liberty.
You see. Chief, if 1 were two years Old
er I'd been born in Ireland. As it was
1 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 Shr nuon,
warmly, "the rascal saved my lift- in
Manila. I was in the minority’ and the
flames w’ere a vast majority’!”
"What nonseryse. I made him get
out of bed when a house was on fire."
"He carried ine 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 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. "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
r-C-'V THK UIAMONU .
, ---B.1»UM©!*» BRAND.
A.A Jon, »,o,,l.| for
Diamond Brand.
I HU in Itrd and Bold mcttUic
sealed with Blue Ribbon.
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 Brodv —Copyright, 1$13, 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 hls
boyhood sweetheart, the only loyal
friend of hls whole wasted young life.
"Mary!”
It 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 lifer-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
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 sw’eetness 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 Tat her has written to her? Why,
they anf getting together over the prod
igal.” exclaimed Kenneth, cynically.
"No!” said Mary, sadly. "I had to
read that letter to her and we did nol
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 n ,, n .
ey here. Not much—but it is 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
table.
"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
i ever to know.
“Why not? We have ben friends *1-
I ways. You can pay me big interest.
It will be a good Investment,” ooexed
the girl, trying to make her love offer-
i 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 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 th«
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.
Mary turned and looked at her. Then
with a friendly little gesture she step
ped forward.
“This is Kitty?” she asked.
Kenneth living 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 mo
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 sun of Mrs. Charles Nelson, leader
of society, could not marry hls 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. Be
dashed hls 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 Just
Mary and Kitty! Just Mary and Kitty-<
but the good and the bad angels of hi•
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To Be Continued Monday.
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• ATLANTA
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, Pullman 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, 11:45 p. m.—MIDNIGHT MAIL—For Macon,
Americus, Albany, Thomasville, Dawson. Cuthbert, Eufaula amt
Southwest Georgia and East Alabama points. Pullman Sleeper to
Thomasville, Central Sleeper to Montgomery.
NOTE.—All trains will arrive in Atlanta at Terminal Station.
a» at present, except No. 15 from Macon, Southwest Georgia ami
East Alabama points will arrive at 7 :55 p. m. instead of 8:10 p. m ,
and Np. 99, DIXIE LIMITED, from Jacksonville, Waycross, Tifton,
Cordele and Macon, will arrive (first train December 9th'l 8 :03 p. tn-
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. m. No. 98, DIXIE LIMITED, first train South,
will leave Atlanta Monday, December 8th.
For additional information, ask the TICKET AGENT, comer
Peachtree and Marietta streets, and at Terminal Station.
W. H. FOGG, District Passenger Agent, Atlanta, Ga.
CENTRAL OF GEORGIA
RAILWAY