er
more ninny than knave: she is the tool of a wily plotter, picked up off
the highway road by Lord Fleetwood as soon as he had her in his eye. Sir
Meeson Corby wrings his frilled hands to depict the horror of the hands
of that tramp the young lord had her from. They afflict him malariously
still. The man, he says, the man as well was an infatuation, because he
talks like a Dictionary Cheap Jack, and may have had an education and
dropped into vagrancy, owing to indiscretions. Lord Fleetwood ran about
in Germany repeating his remarks. But the man is really an accomplished
violinist, we hear. She dances the tambourine business. A sister of the
man, perhaps, if we must be charitable. They are, some say, a couple of
Hungarian gypsies Lord F. found at a show and brought over to England,
and soon had it on his conscience that he ought to marry her, like the
Quixote of honour that he is; which is equal to saying crazy, as there is
no doubt his mother was.

The marriage is no longer disputable; poor Lady Fleetwood, whatever her
faults as a step-mother, does no longer deny the celebration of a
marriage; though she might reasonably discredit any such story if he, on
the evening of the date of the wedding day, was at a Ball, seen by her at
the supper-table; though it is admitted he left the Ball-room at night.
But the next day he certainly was in his place among the Peers and voted
against the Government, and then went down to his estates in Wales, being
an excellent holder of the reins, whether on the coach box or over the
cash box.

More and more wonderful, we hear that he drove his bride straight from
the church to the field of a prizefight, arranged for her special
delectation. She doats on seeing blood-shed and drinking champagne. Young
Mr. Mallard is our authority; and he says, she enjoyed it, and cheered
the victor for being her husband's man. And after the shocking
exhibition, good-bye; the Countess of Fleetwood was left sole occupant of
a wayside inn, and may have learnt in her solitude that she would have
been wise to feign disgust; for men to the smallest degree cultivated are
unable to pardon a want of delicacy in a woman who has chosen them, as
they are taught to think by their having chosen her.

So talked, so twittered, piped and croaked the London world over the
early rumours of the marriage, this Amazing Marriage; which it got to be
called, from the number of items flocking to swell the wonder.

Ravens ravenin