But he, as
the result showed, could not have intercepted the opportunities for
such suggestions. Yet, why not? Was he not active? Was he not blooming?
Blooming he was as Fanny herself.
"Say, all our praises why should lords----"
Stop, that's not the line.
"Say, all our roses why should girls engross?"
The coachman showed rosy blossoms on his face deeper even than his
granddaughter's--_his_ being drawn from the ale-cask, Fanny's from
the fountains of the dawn. But, in spite of his blooming face, some
infirmities he had; and one particularly in which he too much resembled
a crocodile. This lay in a monstrous inaptitude for turning round. The
crocodile, I presume, owes that inaptitude to the absurd _length_
of his back; but in our grandpapa it arose rather from the absurd
_breadth_ of his back, combined, possibly, with some growing
stiffness in his legs. Now, upon this crocodile infirmity of his I
planted a human advantage for tendering my homage to Miss Fanny. In
defiance of all his honourable vigilance, no sooner had he presented to
us his mighty Jovian back (what a field for displaying to mankind his
royal scarlet!), whilst inspecting professionally the buckles, the
straps, and the silvery turrets [Footnote: "_Turrets_":--As one who
loves and venerates Chaucer for his unrivalled merits of tenderness, of
picturesque characterisation, and of narrative skill, I noticed with
great pleasure that the word _torrettes_ is used by him to designate
the little devices through which the reins are made to pass.
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