Clean sheets are not remarkably common at common inns, where, I am informed, that the practice is to take them from the bed, sprinkle them with water, to fold them down, and then put them in a press.  When they are wanted again, they are, literally speaking, shewn to the fire, and in a reeking state laid on the bed.  The traveller is tired and sleepy, dreams of that pleasure or that business which brought him from home, and the remotest thing from his mind is, that from the very repose which he fancies has refreshed him, he has received the rheumatism.  The receipt, therefore, to sleep comfortably at inns, is to take your own sheets, to have plenty of flannel gowns, and to promise, and take care to pay, a handsome consideration for the liberty of choosing your beds.  Damp beds are oftenest found in inns that are least visited; they ought to be carefully avoided, for they not only produce dreadful disorders, but have often proved the death of the person who has had the misfortune to sleep in them.  Especially in winter, not only examine the beds, to see whether they are quite dry, but have the bedclothes in your presence put before the fire.  Just before you go to bed, order a pan of hot coals to be run through it, then place a clean tumbler inverted between the sheets, and let it remain there for a few minutes;—­if on withdrawing it the slightest cloud is observable on the inner surface, be certain that either the bed or the sheets are damp:  sleeping in the blankets is a disagreeable, but the safest way of escaping such danger:  there are many persons in the habit of travelling, who make it a constant practice.  A wash leather sheet, about 8 feet by 5, is not an unpleasant substitute for linen.  But the only absolutely safe plan is, to sleep in a bed which you are sure has been occupied the night before; and that, must be the best-aired bed which was slept in by the best-aired person!—­Qy.  The cook?—­The Traveller’s Oracle.

* * * * *

BURMAN THIEVES.

The Burmans used to approach, on dark nights, on their hands and knees, and often crawled close up to the sentinels, before they were discovered; sometimes they carried off knapsacks and arms, and went away with their booty unperceived.

A laughable instance of their dexterity took place in the Great Pagoda, on the night of the 2nd July.  The soldiers, for several nights previous, had missed some arms, although a sentry was before the door, and they generally slept with their firelocks by their sides.  This evening, every one was on the alert, extra sentries were posted, and every precaution taken to secure the marauders.  When, on a sudden, the alarm being given, the officer on duty, who was reposing in one of the little temples, ran to the door and inquired what had occurred,—­but hearing that only a knapsack had been found in the grass, and that no other traces existed of the depredators, he