Atlanta Georgian. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, December 21, 1913, Image 21

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liss Cooiiey’s Dance iss Dorothy Judkins, who is spending the winter with her md; Miss Jessie McKee, a debutante of this season; Miss Louise Riley, the beautiful young daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Robert /Mr® El Riley; Miss Laura Lee [ 1 RjgSk Cooney and Mrs. R. L. H*r'Cooney as they appeared at l ^ e debut dance of Miss 1 J$m Cooney at the Piedmont j Club Tuesday evening. wanted to dream some more over the idyllic setting 1 , but anyhow, some body should have remained with him. Some of the folks heard a commotion outside and ran out to see him floundering in the flowing brook, hob-nobbing with the little Ashes, and very, very wet. He tried to explain, but the obvious thing was that he dreamed himself one of*the goldfish, and In he went. But to get back to the serious beau ties the party. What do you think when I tell you that the wonderful stream was only one Incident In the general scheme? I entered the bail- room through a forest of pine trees. Within the big room there were tall columns adorned with gray mo3s. That room was a dream chamber, with a profusion of pink roses toning sweetly with the gray. The brook was on the porch just off the dance hall, running between banks thick with small ferns and tropical palms, with red flowers and narcissi here and there. I was fascinated like everyone else. And the cabare: during dinner! Xo; this is not Aladdin's Garden I am de scribing, but an evening’s entertain ment here in Atlanta. There were Hawaiian singers and dancers, with guitars and banjos and other tuneful and bright featuies. I verily believe a new custom has been established by this cabaret entertainment. As far k w / ELL, my eyes are wide open \ \/ now, and I am really startled. How grandly our debutantes ,f this season are being launched upon the sea of society! A mighty iot of fuss and feathers. We all thought, didn’t we. that the iiu • for elaborate debut parties was reached at the Inmans’ entertainment for Margaret Grant. But, of course, ; ons of us dreamed of the glories that vvere being arranged for the party of the Cooneys, when Laura Lee Cooney inale her bow. Oh. That Cooney party! I do hope you were one of the fortunates who were there. And I do hope you saw the rhiborate mise-en-seene of rocks am! running streams and their cute, wr. ;gly goldfish. It was a superb ar rangement. But what are we coming to? I re member-talk of the far-famed debu tante party in Washington for Mar garet Draper, when golden butterflies were; freed to flutter through the parlors. That WAS the limit, wasn’t it? Yet. it was not a far cry from *he h'ooney party. That running stream! And those goldfish! And the gasps of admira tion! Of course, something had to hap pen. After the guests had duly ad mired the stream, word came out that Donna Bain was dancing within the house, and everybody crowded to see day, and Christmas hadn’t coma yat. and for several days I was kept in mystery aa to why ahe should have sent them. Finally I learned that, even though ahe was a happy mar ried woman, aha had been up to soma mischief, and was afraid that I would hear of it and tell you. A young girl friend told her she was going to tell me about the fun and she replied, "I don’t care If you do. I have already bribed her." So that la the why of the roses. her white satin gown with its drapery of tulle and rhinestones. Nothing could have set off her ivory complex ion and her jet black hair quite so well. None of the debutantes seemed more popular than she—gracious, charming she. The Cooneys, wise persons, have always believed in girls waiting until they reach young lady hood before commencing the social life. And in consequence their daugh ter is capable of enjoying everything. She is not at all blase, as so many girls are these days—however, I think most of* them affect it—and she is proud to own that she is having a good time in a way thats he has not known before. held in place with two little animals called fitch, the newest thing in fur. With this creation she w'ore some superb diamonds in the way of a necklace, the central stone of which represented a small fortune in itself. Mrs. Brandon was so quaint in her little (for you know how dainty a creature she is. and that word fits her garments perfectly) cream and violet charmeuse. the violet being intro duced in the drapery so that it reached her toes. Her slippers were of the violet satin, too. I hear that violet is the last word in color now and royal purple is also very popular. Speaking of royal purple, did you M ANY of th© girls in town read what Madame Haute Monde has to sav about styles every Sun day, and as a result one girl waa brave enough to adopt the fashion of wearing black gloves. Of course, she waa very willing, as It keeps a girl V/| RS. JOHN MARSHALL SLA- j I TON, wife of our Governor, who is one of the most stun* ning matrons of society, is noted for her exquisite taste in selecting her gowrs. Her clothes are always no ticeable for their perfect fit and in dividual charm, no matter what the occasion may be. I saw her the other evening with Mrs. Morris Brandon, buav constantly trying to always have a fresh pair of whit© ones ready for each party. Now th© young lady ts very much put out. On© evening she wont to the theater with her best beau, wearing her black gloves They were seated near the back of th© box when sud denly she felt him catch hold of her hand. She tried to pull away, but h© held It too tightly. After pleading with him softly, she told him that she was afraid that someone would see. He re plied, promptly: "No, they won’t, and you know that. Isn't that why you are wearing black gloves—so that I can hold your hand without It being visible on my coat? It’s awfully sw’eet of you, Gertie.” Now she has gone back to white coverings for her hands, cost what they may. things as the frivolities of the flesh cross his mind, and you'll have this latest suspect. Think of Oh, never mind, you could never guess. But I heard Just the other day ■that somebody had picked Dr. A. T. Spalding as Polly Peachtree. Poor Brother Spalding, to be thus ma ligned! Anyhow, I am proud to say, as I am writing this, that nobody has ever so much as breat^d a hint to me that I jam suspected of being Polly Peach tree. Peachtree a Man! A woman whom I have every reason to regard as a dear, dear friend of mine sailed sweet ly up to a certain man the other day and hailed him as Polly Peachtree. "You are, you know you are," she said archly, as if that settled it. And, oh, I heard her! Then I went home and had an old-fashioned cry for the sake of my feminine pride. It was quite an exquisite grief that came over me to know that somebody thinks T write or talk or think like a Man. Oh, dear Kind friends, believe me. T am the most Ferninihe creature alive. I arn really of the old-fashioned school of Femininity, a regular clinging vine. I have fainted on occasions. I haven t been converted to the slit skirt—that is, not much of a slit. But enough of my wall. There Is a funny side to this. The man who my friend said was Polly is about the only man who knows who I really am. And he wasn’t exactly flattered when he was called Polly. "To think that anybody should pic ture me writing or thinking this wom an stuff!" he growled. I HARDLY know whether I am sane or not from this run of Christmas shopping. I set my mind to get this for Sally, and when I come to the counter where such articles are sold, th© pretty girl behind says to me: "\^© ar© out of that" and "We will have a fresh supply to-morrow. Come back and I will love to sell you then." That is th© hard part of it. You have to go back, not once, but time and again, and you wear your self out getting nothing. I hear a lot of people saying that they are sim plifying their Christmas gifts, but somehow when the great day cornea l always feel bad when I find that someone has sent me something much nicer than I planned for her. That’s the most miserable feeling in the world. I enjoy making personal things for the girls, but how to please the men! They grumble about everything. I heard one man the other day on the subject of Christmas shopping. He said he has ceased going home to luncheon, as he is sure to find his wife and daughters out. and when at night fall they return from town so tired they can hardly drag their feet into the dining room, the only topic of conversation is what they ar© buying, O UR own Tracy I/Engle is making quite a hit in the dramatic world. Sh« took the part of Beau Brummel In the play of that name presented recently at Wellesley by the dramatic club. From reading the papers I gather she made an excellent Brummel, bringing out to perfection the refinement, airy graces, superb self-confidence and lordly manners of the Beau. In fact, the audience wept real tears at the death of Beau Brummel, thereby showing Tracy’s artistic and convincing qual ity of acting. She is a remarkable girl and does well what she under takes to do at all. With her natural born talent for things pertaining to the stage there Is no wonder that she completely overwhelmed her hearers on this occasion. she would show the people here some sights—and she did! More than they are accustomed to seeing. However, her slippers were exquisite with their heels of rhinestones embedded in the purple satin, and everything was as it should be. What more could we ask? A ND now that we are discussing Identity, and setting ourselves right, gues.4 who Is another blissfully innocent person they ha vs accused of be*- Polly 4, You couldn’t L m- erucss r.irh* M M * P INK roses! Have you ever won dered why I so constantly speak of them? One person has decid ed that it must be my favorite fipwer, and mighty glad I was when up came the loveliest box of them one day last week. But it wasn’t my birth- N OW, I am mad. Downright an gry. And at the same time there is a pang in my feminine heart that is half sad and half re sentful. Oh, Sister Emmeline across the seas, condole with me! They have called me a Man. P/ ^ \ when she was beautifully gowned in I see that purple gown at a rec ent a Larisse model of gold and blue bro- I function that one of the visiting cade chiffon, the drapery of the skirt I women wore? She must have thought. Continued on Page 4, Column L ■jo 4