gh a splendid
English palace, standing amidst parks and gardens, than which none more
magnificent has been seen since the days of Aladdin, in company with a
melancholy friend, who viewed all things darkly through his gloomy eyes.
The housekeeper, pattering on before us from chamber to chamber, was
expatiating upon the magnificence of this picture; the beauty of that
statue; the marvellous richness of these hangings and carpets; the
admirable likeness of the late Marquis by Sir Thomas; of his father, the
fifth Earl, by Sir Joshua, and so on; when, in the very richest room
of the whole castle, Hicks--such was my melancholy companion's
name--stopped the cicerone in her prattle, saying in a hollow voice,
"And now, madam, will you show us the closet where the skeleton is?" The
seared functionary paused in the midst of her harangue; that article
was not inserted in the catalogue which she daily utters to visitors for
their half-crown. Hicks's question brought a darkness down upon the hall
where we were standing. We did not see the room: and yet I have no
doubt there is such an one; and ever after, when I have thought of the
splendid castle towering in the midst of shady trees, under which the
dappled deer are browsing; of the terraces gleaming with statues, and
bright with a hundred thousand flowers; of the bridges and shining
fountains and rivers wherein the castle windows reflect their festive
gleams, when the halls are filled with happy feasters, and over the
darkling woods comes the sound of music;--always, I say, when I think
of Castle Bluebeard:--it is to think of that dark little closet, which
I know is there, and which the lordly owner opens shuddering--after
midnight--when he is sleepless and must go unlock it, when the palace is
hushed, when beauties are sleeping around him unconscious, and revellers
are at rest. O Mrs. Housekeeper: all the other keys hast thou: but that
key thou hast not!

Have we not all such closets, my jolly friend, as well as the noble
Marquis of Carabas? At night, when all the house is asleep but you,
don't you get up and peep into yours? When you in your turn are
slumbering, up gets Mrs. Brown from your side, steals downstairs like
Amina to her ghoul, clicks open the secret door, and looks into her
dark depository. Did she tell you of that little affair with Smith long
before she knew you? Psha! who knows any one save himself alone? Who, in
showing his house to the closest and dearest, doesn'