LUCY. Indeed, ma'am, I traversed half the town in search of it: I don't
believe there's a circulating library in Bath I ha'n't been at.
LYDIA LANGUISH. And could not you get _The Reward of Constancy_?
LUCY. No, indeed, ma'am.
LYDIA. Nor _The Fatal Connexion_?
LUCY. No, indeed, ma'am.
LYDIA. Nor _The Mistakes of the Heart_?
LUCY. Ma'am, as ill luck would have it, Mr. Bull said Miss Sukey Saunter
had just fetched it away.
LYDIA. Heigh-ho!--Did you inquire for _The Delicate Distress_?
LUCY.----Or, _The Memoirs of Lady Woodford_? Yes, indeed, ma'am. I
asked everywhere for it; and I might have brought it from Mr.
Frederick's, but Lady Slattern Lounger, who had just sent it home, had
so soiled and dog's-eared it, it wa'n't fit for a Christian to read.
LYDIA. Heigh-ho!--Yes, I always know when Lady Slattern has been before
me. She has a most observing thumb; and I believe cherishes her nails
for the convenience of making marginal notes.--Well, child, what _have_
you brought me?
LUCY. Oh! here, ma'am.
[Taking books from under her cloak, and from her pockets.]
This is _The Gordian Knot_, and this _Peregrine Pickle_. Here are _The
Tears of Sensibility_, and _Humphrey Clinker_. This is _The Memoirs of a
Lady of Quality, written by herself_, and here the second volume of
_The Sentimental Journey_.
LYDIA. Heigh-ho!--What are those books by the glass?
LUCY. The great one is only _The Whole Duty of Man_, where I press a few
blonds, ma'am.
* * * * *
... O Lud! ma'am, they are both coming upstairs....
LYDIA. Here, my dear Lucy, hide these books. Quick, quick. Fling
_Peregrine Pickle_ under the toilet--throw _Roderick Random_ into the
closet--put _The Innocent Adultery_ into _The Whole Duty of Man_--thrust
_Lord Aimworth_ under the sofa--cram _Ovid_ behind the
bolster--there--put _The Man of Feeling_ into your pocket--so, so, now
lay _Mrs. Chapone_ in sight, and leave _Fordyce's Sermons_ open on the
table.
LUCY. Oh, burn it, ma'am, the hairdresser has torn away as far as
_Proper Pride_.
LYDIA. Never mind--open at _Sobriety_. Fling me _Lord Chesterfield's
Letters_.--Now for 'em.
[Mrs. Malaprop and Sir Anthony Absolute enter and after Lydia has
been ordered to her room--]
MRS. MALAPROP. There's a little intricate hussy for you!
SIR ANTHONY. It is not to be wondered at, ma'am--all this is the natural
consequence of teaching girls to read. Had I a thousand daughters, by
Heaven! I'd as soon have them taught the black art as their alphabet!
MRS. MALAPROP. Nay, nay, Sir Anthony, you are an absolute misanthropy.
SIR ANTHONY. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, I observed your niece's
maid coming forth from a circulating library! She had a book in each
hand--they were half-bound volumes, with marble covers! From that moment
I guessed how full of duty I should see her mistress!
MRS. MALAPROP. Those are vile places, indeed!
SIR ANTHONY. Madam, a circulating library in a town is as an evergreen
tree of diabolical knowledge! It blossoms through the year! And depend
on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves,
will long for the fruit at last.--R. B. SHERIDAN. _The Rivals._