closet, cackling her list
of pictures and wonders: and furtively turning up a corner of brown
holland to show the colour of the old, faded, seedy, mouldy, dismal
hangings.

At last we came to her Ladyship's bed-room. In the centre of this dreary
apartment there is a bed about the size of one of those whizgig temples
in which the Genius appears in a pantomime. The huge gilt edifice is
approached by steps, and so tall, that it might be let off in floors,
for sleeping-rooms for all the Carabas family. An awful bed! A murder
might be done at one end of that bed, and people sleeping at the other
end be ignorant of it. Gracious powers! fancy little Lord Carabas in a
nightcap ascending those steps after putting out the candle!

The sight of that seedy and solitary splendour was too much for me.
I should go mad were I that lonely housekeeper--in those enormous
galleries--in that lonely library, filled up with ghastly folios that
nobody dares read, with an inkstand on the centre table like the coffin
of a baby, and sad portraits staring at you from the bleak walls with
their solemn Mouldy eyes. No wonder that Carabas does not come down here
often.

It would require two thousand footmen to make the place cheerful. No
wonder the coachman resigned his wig, that the masters are insolvent,
and the servants perish in this huge dreary out-at-elbow place.

A single family has no more right to build itself a temple of that sort
than to erect a Tower of Babel. Such a habitation is not decent for a
mere mortal man. But, after all, I suppose poor Carabas had no choice.
Fate put him there as it sent Napoleon to St. Helena. Suppose it had
been decreed by Nature that you and I should be Marquises? We wouldn't
refuse, I suppose, but take Castle Carabas and all, with debts, duns,
and mean makeshifts, and shabby pride, and swindling magnificence.

Next season, when I read of Lady Carabas's splendid entertainments in
the MORNING POST, and see the poor old insolvent cantering through the
Park--I shall have a much tenderer interest in these great people than
I have had heretofore. Poor old shabby Snob! Ride on and fancy the world
is still on its knees before the house of Carabas! Give yourself airs,
poor old bankrupt Magnifico, who are under money-obligations to your
flunkeys; and must stoop so as to swindle poor tradesmen! And for us, O
my brother Snobs, oughtn't we to feel happy if our walk through life is
more even, and that we are out of t