“‘Did you ring, sir?’ asked the waiter, as the clock struck twelve. “‘No,’ I replied; ‘but you may give me a light, and I will retire.’ “I was shown to my chamber, and was soon in bed. From the weight of the covering, I felt sure that the extra blanket which I had requested to be put on was there; yet I was shivering with cold. As the sheets began to get warm, I discovered, to my astonishment, that they were damp--indeed, wet. My first thought was to ring the bell for the servant, and have them changed; but, after a moment’s consideration, I resolved to adopt a different course. I got out of bed, pulled the sheets off, rolled them up, raised the window, and threw them into the street. After disposing of the wet sheets, I returned to bed, and got in between the blankets, and lay there trembling with cold till Morpheus came to my relief. “The next morning I said nothing about the sheets, feeling sure that the discovery of their loss would be made by the chambermaid in due time. Breakfast over, I visited the ruins of the old castle, and then returned to the hotel, to await the coach for Hereford. As the hour drew near for me to leave, I called the waiter, and ordered my bill. ‘Yes, sir, in a moment,’ he replied, and left in haste. Ten or fifteen minutes passed away, and the servant once more came in, walked to the window, pulled up the blinds, and then went out. “I saw that something was afloat; and it occurred to me that they had discovered the loss of the sheets, at which I was pleased; for the London newspapers were, at that time, discussing the merits and the demerits of the hotel accommodations of the kingdom, and no letters found a more ready reception in their columns than one on that subject. I had, therefore, made up my mind to have the wet sheets put in the bill, pay for them, and send the bill to the Times. “The waiter soon returned again, and, in rather an agitated manner, said, ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but the landlady is in the hall, and would like to speak to you.’ Out I went, and found the finest specimen of an English landlady that I had seen for many a day. There she stood, nearly as thick as she was tall, with a red face garnished around with curls, that seemed to say, ‘I have just been oiled and brushed.’ A neat apron covered a black alpaca dress that swept the floor with modesty, and a bunch of keys hung at her side. O, that smile! such a smile as none but an adept could put on. However, I had studied human nature too successfully not to know that thunder and lightning were concealed under that smile, and I nerved myself for the occasion. “‘I am sorry to have to name it, sir,’ said she; ‘but the sheets are missing off your bed.’ “‘O, yes,’ I replied; ‘I took them off last night.’ “‘Indeed!’ exclaimed she; ‘and what did you do with them?’ “‘I threw them out of the window,’ said I. “‘What! into the street?’ “‘Yes; into the street,’ I said. “‘What did you do that for?’