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The Bride and—
W E have not Rad many big wed
dings recently, but, at any
l'fte, we can count one more real,
sure enough wedding in our lives
‘with the past week's record. .
‘To be sure, Marion Atchison's
marriage to Edward Swift was
c‘,{laracterized by the usual hurry
up proceedings hecause of the war,
-but you never would have known
it from the perfection of all de
tails and the smoothnes with which
thte beautiful ceremony came off.
It was one of the most shccess
ful weddings Atlanta has ever
known-—-brilliant and beautiful and
full of pleasure and delight to
'everyoma present.
The young bride, absolutely fear
less of any rival beauty, had sur
rounded herself with a cirele of
the prettiest girls in this town and
others as bridesmaids—and her
fearlessness was justified.
* Seldom has Atlanta seen a love
liér bride than Marion made—hap
py and dignified ana a little solemn
looking, but quite natural and
wearing the gorgeous trappings of
white satin and duchess lace and
orange blossoms and orchids most
becontingly.
“The usuzl composed bride and
agitated bridegroom,” said the offi
¢iating minister after the ceremony.
fi.f\l:‘!e added that it was nearly al-
Ways thus—the groom seemed less
able to stand up under the battery
o{ several hundred eyes than the
I'ht‘-ifie, even though fortified by a
uniform and martial training.
But one could see few signs of
agitation in young Mr. Swift, and
he was cer®nly quite calm in the
afternoon, drinking his tea and
dancing with the maid of honor
out at the Driving Club tea-dance.
Anyway, all of Marion’s friends
fell deeply in love with the modest
!&Rng bridegroom in his dark blue
?ffi{orm of an ensign in our coun
{ (IY’ navy—fell in love with him
for his remark anent the wedding
Ting-—a lovely diamond set in plati-
num, which he said, “is not too
large to keep her from having a
good time.”
Now, if Edward lives up to that
generous remark he will make a
wonderful husband, won’t he?
Lo o
The Bridesmaids and—
HHLEN McCARTY is fully jus
tified in wondering if she will
get as magnanimous and kind a
husband as her chum, for it was all
quite settled, at Marlon's\wcdding,
that Helen would be the next
bride
She caught the gorgeous bouquet
of pale pink butterflies—or Cattleya
orchids, T believe they say the
fiowers were—and she found the
little blue matrix finger ring in her
slice of wedding cake.
So what else?
And this future husband probably
will be an ensign or something else
—and will take another girl away
-—for Helen is going to spend the
rest of har young ladyhood “with
Marion.” She replied thus when
someone of the many curious ones
asked her what she expected to do
when Marion got marriéd and left
her.
I shouldn’'t wonder if there
weren’t lots of brides-to-be in the
group of girls who “attended” young
Mrs. Swift-—they certainly . looked
lovely enough to “catch” a hushand
——anyone of them!
Dorothy Arkwright, finding a lit
tle blue thimble in her cake, imme
diately lost heart, until someone
suggested that she avoid the hoodoo
by deciding which one she wanted
to take. So maybe that little blue
thimble will be some fortunate
young man'’s luck-piece yet.
The two little “twin bridesmaids”
at the wedding did not come in to
gether, after all, but they stood ngar
each other during the ceremony,
and on looking real close at the
dainty figures in flesh-colored tulle
4nd, satin, with girdles of rose and
pink and lavender and big bouquets
of all these colors, too, even the
raerest acquaintance of Patty Mec-
- BEAUTIFUL ATLANTA BDIDE AND HER ATTENDANTS
Rgading from left to right, Miss Betty Hoyt, of Chicago, 111, Miss Julia Murph/y, Miss Dorothy Arkwright, Mrs. Jerre D.
Osborne, matron of honor; Mrs. Edward F. Swift, the bride, formerly Miss Marian Atchison: Miss Helen MeCarty, maid of
honor; Miss Mattie Lamb, of Norfolk, Miss Reba Wilson Gray, of Nashville, Tenn., and Miss Patty MeGehee. This marriage
was the social event of Wednesday evening. and took place at the Georgian Terrace, in one of the most picturesque settings
resembling a cathedral. The attendants carried cascade bouquets composed of yellow snapdragons, pink roses in the light and
deeper shades, combined with Parma violets. The bride carried a bouquet of pink Cattleya orchids and valley lilies.
Gehee and Reba Gray could tell
them apart.
Said one yoiung person of this
couple’s striking resemblance:
“They certainly do look alike, but
I believe Miss Gray has a prettier
mouth.”
“Yes,” responded another, ‘“but
Patty has the cutest back!”
And after everything was said and
done, the bride positively refused to
slip off by the back stairs.
“I want to tell everyone good
bye,” she said.
So in her trim little blue gown,
with a spring hat of dark blue and
Kolinsky furs, Mrs. Edward Swift,
Jr., appeared among her friends and
shooK hands with everybody—llike
the sensible young woman she is.
She saw no reason why a bride
should slip down the bhack stairs
and out, anyway-—besides, there
weren't any back stairs!
# o ous
The Men Guests— -
I'l‘ being cusomary to tell all
about the women guests at a
wedding—and every other writer
on social news in this town having
gotten the start on me, and told
about the women wedding guests—
I suppose 1 shall have to put my
Attention on the men.
I've had harder things to do
in my life.
Well, although this wedding was
a naval wedding i))stead of an army
wedding, as were all the rest we've
ATLANTA, GA., SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 1918
had this season, it was noticeable
that the army was still predomi
nant in the matter of men guests,
if not of bridegrooms.
In fact, I remember \only one
other répresentative of “the navee”
among those present, except the
bridegroom. Of course, you re
member him, too-Edward Lamb,
I mean, son of Mr. and Mrs. Bd
ward T. Lamb, and won't to travel
in his papa’s private car—yet go
ing about now in the simpel uni
form of a naval private—whatever
they call ’em-—sailor boys, I believe
it is.
Edward was resplendent, at that,
though he did look somewhat like a
post which had long been standing
in the arifting snow, with a little
round cap of snow on top.
“But somebody had to be a priv
ate in this war,” said Edward. (Or
perhaps 'twas “sailor,” he said.)
To go from the ridiculouk to the
sublime—no, I won’t call any of
Uncle Sam's fighting uniforms ri
diculous—not even the white cap
of the navy—.
So ,I will begin this sentence
again: To go from the impres
sibly simple to the—er—‘simply
impressive,” I will skip over the
usual khaki-clad guests, from Ed
ward the sailor to the captain in
the French army, who had worn,
in honor of this occasion, all the
wonderful things that a French
army officer can wear—red trous
ers and horizon blue coat and gold
‘shoulder straps, and the Cross of
the Legion of Honor and the Croix
de Guerre, and so on.
- And, oh, yes, 1 believe nobody
hag mentioned that pretty Anna
Case dropped in to see the fun,
when she had finished singing at
her concert. Anna is a boy some
times, you know-—when she is Gil
da, in Rigoletto, for instance--but
she wasn't at the wedding—she
wasn't even an opera singer at the
wedding—she was just a young
woman full of eager interest in the
bride and the clothes, like all the
rest of the girls.
‘Which reminds me of an inci
dent in Anna Case’s life which she
does not know about at all. It was
the last times he appeared here
with the Metropolitan Opera Com
pany, you remember, and was very
charming in her boy’s make-up for
the evening of her appearance,
Looking at her closely through
her opera glasses a certain young
Atlanta matron who does not read
Musical America very regularly,
made languid comment:
“That’s a pretty boy!”
And her husband agreed with
alacrity: ;
‘“Yes, she is!”
SoCo
A Gibson Girl—
'lT'S been some time since we
counted over our gains and
losses in the personnel of that
ever-changing circle, brought here
and takén hence, by the more or,
less stern dictates of Mars.
So we will begin again, espe
cially as our gains have exceeded
our losses of late. Indeed, except
for the young ensigns who ha,v§
stepped in and ecarried off some of
our own girls as brides, we have
not lost out by these shiftings of
the war machine of late.
Among the gaina we may count
some young and charming wives
of aviatipn men. You know,
aviation is the acknowledged fa
vorite branch of the mervice for
that type of young men who have
charming young wives—-or are apt
to have,
Among these who have fallen—l
beg pardon for usthg such a word
in connection with an aviator—
who have dm’fpad into—no, who
have arrived In our midst, is Mra.
George B. Post, of New York.
Mrs. Post ig the daughter of
Charles Dana Gibson, and you
would almost know it by looking
at her, You may think lam mak
ing this up, but it {s really true
that when Mrs. Post arrived, wear-
Ing a big black fat with the wide
hrl'm slightly indented, just over
the left eye, the Indentation hold
ing a small red rose in. place,
some one seeing her, promptly
made the following remark:
“That girl looks exactly like a
magazine cover drawn by Charles
Dana Gibson.”
Yowswhat do you think of that?
Mrs, Post is of the tall, stately,
handsome type, with vivid color
ing and an artistic style of dress
ing which makes her looW pictur
esque at all times. She has al
most no resemblance, T am told hy
a Virginia lady who knew the
' Langhornes on their native heath.
to her mother's people the famous
Southern sisters who went abroad
in the land and everywhere they
went conquered as soon as seen,
The Langhornes are of the slen
der Southern type, whilst Mrs,
Post, as said, 1g of the sturdier,
more vivid type that one usually
sees in the North.
She is a highly accomplished and
talented youmg woman, I under
stand—"“Speaks French better than
I do,” acknowledges little Mrs.
Gatins, her oldest- friend in At
lanta, because she was a friend
when unmarried herself and liv
ing in Paris where Irene Lang
horne was a schoolgirl at one of
those famous old French pensions,
Mr. and Mrs. Post have joined
most pleasantly in Atlanta soclety
and are very charming additions
which Atlanta is hoping will not be
taken away about the time they
meet everybody, at the Driving
Club dinner-dances.
o 0 0o
The -Bishop's Camouflage—
THEN there are Bishop Rem
ington and Mrs. Remington,
who have already made quite a
place for themselves in Atlanta.
And it may be taking liberties to
say 90, but it sgeems to me no bish
op should look as younkas does
Bishop Remington.
How he looked in his lLishop's
robes I can't say, but in his ‘“regi
mentals,” I should estimate the
bishop's age, with the usual casual
eye, and about four feet away, as
not over 19, at best. He Iqoke 18,
but I would give him a year, so as
to be on the safg side.
This is really true—no exagger
ation—-I want to impress upon vou
who do not know by sight your
selves, so that you will not do Mrs.
Remington an injustice, when pe
rusing the following littls anec
dote, told by that lady herself to
a. group of friends the other day.
You must understand that it is
not bacause she looks any older
than a gracious charming wife of
a bishop should look, but that the
bishop—as aforesaid-—.
Bishop and Mrs. Remington
boarded a car, and as it was a
Peachtree car, it was crowded, of
course, and there being only one
vacant seat the lady took it whilst
her husband stood MWeside her. A
saucy little debutante shared the
seat with the bishop’s wife.
The little debutante’s bright eyes
had noted the slim, youthful look
ing soldier—to be sure, to be spure
—and pretty soon, when someone
got off, she saw a chance to make
a hit with the soldier boy. Seo
sxe turned to the lady beside her
and sweetly said: ;
“T'll take that seat across \i:ho
aisle so that your son can sit here
with you.”
Now, Mrs. Remington, knowing
how exceedingly youthful looking
her “son” is, smilingly accepted the
debutante's offer and forgave her
on the spot. ’
‘Which proves what I said about
the bishop's wife— that she 'is a
very graelous, cha.n'(‘flng lady—and
doesn’t look old at all—“to have
a grown son!”
But I can even beat this, on the
bishop’s seeming youthfulness. The
night of his arrival someone pass
ed a group of ladles and pointed
out the newcéomer.
“See that young man in khakt!
over ' there; he's the son of the
bishop of Minnesota.”
And all the evening the hishop
passed for his own son!
. O 000
A Masterpiece—
A GOOD thing but not mine own
is the allegory herein below
printed. You know George Jean
Nathan, the writer, whose theme
is always the frivols, fads end fol
i A
Continued on Page i%
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