The Carlton Hotel
Midnight, 13th November

Darling Elizabeth:

The Clandevil-Parker noces took place to-day with great ostentation, as you may imagine. You will read the report of it to-morrow in the Morning Post, but I shall probably be able to give you a more graphic account of it. The ceremony was performed by the Bishop of St. Esau at twelve o'clock, at St. George's, Hanover Square, assisted by other prelates of more or less note in the ecclesiastical world. There was a thick yellow fog that made several people arrive at the church after everything was over, and prevented the crowd from congregating as it would otherwise have done. Blanche and I had excellent seats, as we arrived early; the bride was late owing to the fog, and Clandevil looked awfully bored. Following the American custom, there had been a full-dress rehearsal of the ceremony the day before, and the first five rows of pews had been taken out, and the altar banked with plants. The bridesmaids were all earls' daughters, and the best man was that notorious rake, the Honourable Ralph Swift; everyone was remarking at his cleverness in keeping out of jail. You will read all about the costumes in the Post; the bride looked well; the lace on her dress belonged to Marie Antoinette, and the dress itself was an exact duplication of that worn by the Queen of Holland at her Coronation, saving of course the royal mantle. Breakfast was served afterwards at the Dowager Duchess Wedding Presentsof Clandevil's in Eton Place, where the wedding presents were on show! Their value, apart from Mr. Parker's settlement on the bride, of a square mile of New York with a rental of two million dollars annually, is estimated at five hundred thousand dollars, the more costly gifts coming from across the Atlantic. Mrs. Parker gave her daughter a Holbein; Clandevil gave his bride a tiara of emeralds; the Dowager Duchess gave a hot-water bottle; Royalty sent the bride a lace handkerchief, and the bridegroom a horse-shoe scarf pin set with brilliants; the Hon. Ralph Swift gave a solid silver napkin ring; Mr. Sweetson gave a necklace of diamonds as big as walnuts; Mrs. Dot gave a dessert set of SÈvres specially made with the Clandevil arms on it. The Marchioness of Tuke, Clandevil's only sister, gave a solid silver inkstand, and Lady Doreen Fitz Mortimer and the Countess of Warbeck gave a bog-oak blotting-pad, with a tortoise-shell paper knife; the tenants at Clandevil gave a gold loving-cup, and the servants an oak chest of damask sheets; the clerks in Mr. Parker's office in New York sent five pieces of twelfth-century tapestry, and from various people in America there came many magnificent things. But Mr. Parker, Junior, the brother, who is in Chicago, made a panic on the Stock Exchange, and sent his profits; the cheque was put to the new Duchess's account at Coutts'. The happy pair left for Clandevil Castle, Tipperary, where the honeymoon will be spent. The Duchess will be presented on her marriage at the first drawing-room.

Mr. Parker seemed delighted, and talked a good deal after the breakfast of "my son the Duke;" Mrs. Parker seemed depressed, and when she kissed her daughter good-bye, said, "My child, I hope you will be happy." Mr. Sweetson talked to me for some time on triumphant democracy, and the effete monarchies of the old world, his favourite subjects. He said it was cheaper to buy dukes in America than in England, but admitted the price fluctuated, and depended entirely on supply, which not infrequently ran short of the demand. The atmosphere of wealth was overpowering; Blanche said she felt as if she were trampling on diamonds. Everybody thinks it will be a most happy match, for there is no pretence at love on either side, and each has got what each most desired. Flaxie Frizzle, the skirt-dancer, and her two children came to the church: everybody remarked how much the boy looked like his father.

I should have mentioned that the food and drink were beyond cavil. Mr. Parker told me he always got his "fizz" from the Russian Court, as the best brands were sent there from France. I cannot think of any more to tell you of the wedding; the crowd and the confusion were so great, I found it difficult to take in all that happened.

Blanche and I returned to the Carlton at three o'clock, and went straight to bed to sleep off the effects. When we went to dinner at eight, we saw the Vicomte de Narjac at one of the tables; we had a long chat with him afterwards. He came over to London to purchase an English automobile, and returns to Paris in a couple of days. We told him of the grand wedding we had been to, and he said he had seen a beautifully dressed woman helped out of a hansom, and carried upstairs unconscious, and when he enquired what had happened, the porter had told him in French that she was one of the invitÉes aux Épousailles de M. le duc de Clandevil avec une des plus grandes hÉritiÈres du Nouveau Monde. Blanche and I set ThÉrÈse to find out who it could have been, and she says it was the Marchioness of Portcullis; we noticed at the breakfast that she and Mr. Sweetson were drinking neat brandy, and wondered at the time what would be the result. The Vicomte was stupefied; he thought she was a demi-mondaine.

We asked the Vicomte all about the Lucerne set. He says Mr. Wertzelmann has been transferred to St. Petersburg, and that Madame Colorado has gone to spend the winter at the American Embassy; she was such a dear friend of Mrs. Wertzelmann's. The De Pivarts are in Paris; the Marquis has a procÈs running in the Courts against the Swiss Government, and hopes he will make enough out of it to start a stud in the spring. It seems the Marquise was arrested on a steamboat on Lake Geneva, being mistaken for Mrs. Phineas Mrs. PorterPorter, the beautiful American, whose husband shot Monsieur Dupont in the Hotel Beau Rivage. And the New York Paris Herald has been full of it. Mrs. Phineas Porter lives in Paris, and Mr. Phineas Porter in Chicago; he comes over every year, and, on this occasion, said good-bye to his wife and left for Havre, but returned secretly, and found Mrs. Porter had disappeared. He traced her and Dupont, who is a prominent member of the Jockey Club, to Geneva. He arrived late at night, knocked on his wife's door at the Beau Rivage, who thought he was the chamber-maid, and forced himself in. Mrs. Porter shrieked, and Dupont, who had retired for the night, jumped out of bed, and was chased by Mr. Porter with a loaded revolver through the whole suite of apartments into the last room, and Dupont, caught in a cul de sac as it were, hid behind an arm-chair, where Mr. Porter killed him. As you may imagine, the affair created a scandal, for the people are so well known in Society. Mr. Porter was arrested by the police, and is now on trial. In the confusion Mrs. Porter disappeared, and has up to the present baffled all attempts to find her. The Marquise de Pivart is said to be the image of her, and, as she was embarking about a week after the affair on a steamboat, to spend the day at Chillon, she was arrested by the stupid Swiss police. The Vicomte says the Swiss authorities apologised most humbly when they discovered their mistake, but both the Marquis and the Marquise would not be satisfied with anything less than heavy damages. The procÈs has added to the Porter-Dupont esclandre, and the reputation of the Marquise has been torn to shreds. The Vicomte says it is very amusing to read the accounts in the Paris Herald, and everybody says the Marquis could get a divorce as well as the Marquise, but they swore the deepest affection for one another in the courts, and will swear anything for the chance of touching the pockets of the Swiss Government. They are always seen together just like the ouvriers on Sundays at Nogent-sur-Marne. The Vicomte added that the sacrifices they were making of their private feelings were well worth one hundred thousand francs, the sum they claim as damages.

Old Mrs. Johnson has found a Roman Prince in the place of Count Albert for Rosalie Isaacs. The Vicomte says he is all that can be desired. He has a palazzo like a fortress at Rome, with a priceless collection of Greek marbles which he can't sell, and was so poor that he spent one winter on the Via Corniche, with a monkey and an organ that he borrowed from his former steward, who had just returned from tramping in America with enough to start himself in a small business. But the Prince is not bogus; he has the right to stand in the presence of the King of Italy, and best of all he is a Bourbon sur la cÔtÉ gauche. The Vicomte thinks he cost infinitely less than Clandevil cost the Parkers, and Rosalie's wedding this winter in Rome will be much more magnificent, for the Pope will marry her, and the Royal Family will be present. Mrs. Johnson must be trÈs fiÈre of her success. But, as Blanche remarked, the extraordinary part of these American marriages Elasticity of Conscienceis the elasticity of the religious conscience. The Parkers are Baptists, yet Mr. Parker has been restoring Gothic churches, and Miss Parker, who has been "dipped," was married by the Bishop of St. Esau. And Mrs. Johnson, who told me in Lucerne that she belonged to the Plymouth Brethren, after marrying her daughter to a Jew and her granddaughter to a Roman Catholic, will actually receive the Papal benediction! But of course, as I told Blanche, one must be À la mode, and that I asked the Bishop of St. Esau at the wedding if he would not A Prayer for Paquinput in a prayer for Paquin in the Litany after "and all the nobility."

Well, my darling, I must say good-night; it is frightfully late, and the champagne that came from the Russian Court that I had this morning, has given me just a wee bit of a migraine.—Your dearest Mamma.