LYDIA LANGUISH AND THE CIRCULATING LIBRARY
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.