remarking it; indeed, I was, at the lowest figure, five pairs of stairs below the street, and plunged in the very bowels of the earth.  That my hotel should thus be founded upon catacombs was a discovery of considerable interest; and if I had not been in a frame of mind entirely businesslike, I might have continued to explore all night this subterranean empire.  But I was bound I must be up betimes on the next morning, and for that end it was imperative that I should find the porter.  I faced about accordingly, and counting with painful care, remounted towards the level of the street.  Five, six, and seven flights I climbed, and still there was no porter.  I began to be weary of the job, and reflecting that I was now close to my own room, decided I should go to bed.  Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen flights I mounted; and my open door seemed to be as wholly lost to me as the porter and his floating dip.  I remembered that the house stood but six stories at its highest point, from which it appeared (on the most moderate computation) I was now three stories higher than the roof.  My original sense of amusement was succeeded by a not unnatural irritation.  “My room has just got to be here,” said I, and I stepped towards the door with outspread arms.  There was no door and no wall; in place of either there yawned before me a dark corridor, in which I continued to advance for some time without encountering the smallest opposition.  And this in a house whose extreme area scantily contained three small rooms, a narrow landing, and the stair!  The thing was manifestly nonsense; and you will scarcely be surprised to learn that I now began to lose my temper.  At this juncture I perceived a filtering of light along the floor, stretched forth my hand which encountered the knob of a door-handle, and without further ceremony entered a room.  A young lady was within; she was going to bed, and her toilet was far advanced, or the other way about, if you prefer.

“I hope you will pardon this intrusion,” said I; “but my room is No. 12, and something has gone wrong with this blamed house.”

She looked at me a moment; and then, “If you will step outside for a moment, I will take you there,” says she.

Thus, with perfect composure on both sides, the matter was arranged.  I waited a while outside her door.  Presently she rejoined me, in a dressing-gown, took my hand, led me up another flight, which made the fourth above the level of the roof, and shut me into my own room, where (being quite weary after these contraordinary explorations) I turned in, and slumbered like a child.