ABSTRACT
How do we know that Captain Crosier was in love ? Did he, like Sir Proteus, go ungartered ? No ! he wore socks, and required no garters. Did he wreathe his arms like a malcontent ? No ! they usually hung down straight and limp as bellropes, for he was an idle man, and of little energy. Did he relish a love song ? If an organ played "Still so gently"beneath his windows, he swore at it. Did he sigh frequently ? Only after long draughts from the tankard of bitter ale. He was beyond all poetic tests, for he was of a gross nature, and, unless moved by drink, but little addicted to sentiment. I n describing his sufferings-for he did suffer-it would be absurd to waste any flowers of speech. Most decidedly this long-legged officer could not be likened to a captive bird struggling for liberty, and beating its pretty bosom against its cruel cage, as Bertha might fantastically be styled. We would not even typify the moustachoed swain as a wretched dog whining to be free of its chain, and vainly trying to force its head through its relentless collar-another allusion to the cruel maid. We much prefer, in matter of fact parlance, to state that, since his mind had been spurred into briskness by Bertha's piercing eyes, and whipped into gentle exercise by her long lashes, ever since he had had something to think about besides prize fights, horse races, and rat-killing, his body had become more and more listless and torpid, as if his organisation did not contain energy enough to keep both muscle and brain working. He lay from morning till night upon the sofa, motionless as a bundle. His cigar went out twenty times before he had finished smoking it. He looked more as if he were thinking of suicide than love, as though he were reflecting on razors and prussic acid instead of on Bertha and a cottage near a wood.
