"Vat a noise be here! Vere
ist Mr Reepraaptong?"

"Just _stepped_ down _below_, to Miss Brocade, in the
breakfast-parlour," I replied.

"Ah, bah! _c'est un veritable chevalier aux dames_" said Monsieur
Cherfeuil, and slamming to the door, he hurried downstairs to reclaim
his too gallant representative. We allowed Mr Riprapton to inhabit for
some time two floors at once, for he was, in his position, perfectly
helpless; that admired living leg of his stretched out at its length
upon the floor. We soon, however, recovered him; but so much I cannot
say of his composure; for he never lost it. I do not believe that he
was ever discountenanced in his life.

"Nobody coming to woo-oo-oo," sang Miss Brocade, below--down into her
lap come mortar, rubbish, and clouds of dust! And, when the mist clears
away, there pointed down from above an inexplicable index. Her senses
were bewildered; and being quite at a loss to comprehend the miracle,
she had nothing else to do but faint away. When Monsieur Cherfeuil
entered, the simple and good-natured Gaul found his beloved manageress
apparently lifeless at his feet, covered with the _debris_ of his
ceiling, and the wooden leg of his usher slightly tremulous above him.
The fright, of course, was succeeded by a laugh, and the fracture by
repairs; and the whole by the following school-boy attempt at a copy of
verses, upon the never-to-be forgotten occasion:

Ambitious usher! there are few
Beyond you that can go,
In double character, to woo
The lovely nymph below.
At once both god and man you ape
To expedite your flame;
And yet you find in either shape
The failure just the same.

Jove fell in fair Danae's lap
In showers of glittering gold;
By Jove! his Joveship was no sap;
How could _you_ be so bold,
To hope to have a like success,
Most sapient ciphering master,
And think a lady's lap to bless
With show'rs of _lath_ and _plaster_?

That you should fail, when you essay'd
To act the god of thunder,
In striving to enchant the maid,
Was really no great wonder;
But when as _man_ you wooing go,
Pray let me ask you whether
You had no better leg to show
Than one of wood and leather?

These verses are exactly as I wrote them, and I trust the reader will
not think that I could now be guilty of such a line, as "To _expedite_
your flame," or of the pedantic school-boyism of calling a housekeeper
"nymph." In fact, it is by the merest